Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (11 page)

“
Like you
said, that bunch just think they can think,” Judi said.

“
Just so
it doesn’t happen here,” Clint replied.

Manny and Judi saluted with their
glasses.

Gone Fishin’

Clint Faraday stretched his stiff back,
groaned and picked up his coffee. Judi Lum was on her porch over
the bay and waved to him, shaking her finger. He hadn’t bothered to
put on anything yet because he hadn’t decided what he was going to
do.

Jorge went by in his boat on his way out to
the medicinal plant research institute. No passengers today, so he
was going to pick someone up.

It was going to be a good day. Bright until
about 5:00, then some rain. Perfect day to go down around the
Zapatilla’s. Water was clear and the fish would be around the
little islands that each had a little coral reef around it.
Yellowtail snapper would be thick and were great panfish. Maybe
some langosta if they were coming in yet. September was great
here!

Well, so was anytime else. Bocas del Toro is
a rain forest area, so the almost daily rains are expected and
enjoyed. The rains were generally cool, but almost never cold and
you dried quickly.

Jim went by on his motorcycle out front, so
it was 5:55. He was regular as a digital clock on his way for
coffee at Don Chicho’s, the only place open at 6:00AM there in
Bocas Town except the Laguna’s restaurant. Don Chicho’s is typical
food and costs about a third of what the hotels charged. Clint
liked the local food over the many tourist restaurants.

Yeah. Fishing today. He went inside to get a
few things together, put the “Gone Fishin’” sign on the front door,
got in his boat and headed east, then south. The trip took about 45
minutes in his boat and many of the Indios greeted him as he went
by. He stopped to talk to a couple.

It always amazed him when there was rough
water. The waves and wind would toss his 26' boat around like a
cork and it was all he could do sometimes to keep it upright – and
the Indios would paddle by in their 8' cayucas on the way to Isla
Solarte or Isla San Cristóbal totally unperturbed by the waves. The
hollowed-out trees are unbelievably stable. They are also as
unbelievably efficient in the water. Obilio has about a 50' cayuca
with a 15 HP engine that takes him from San Cristóbal to Almirante
in about 20 minutes and will return with 20 passengers and about a
ton of freight in about 25 minutes. Clint watched him take a load
of plantains, stacked 3' above the sides, from Almirante to Bocas.
Plantains are HEAVY, as Clint learned when he picked up a stalk of
them. He estimated there were more than 4 tons of the green bananas
in that boat, it was rough and raining, but the trip took only
about 45 minutes – that the water taxis with 20 passengers and
150HP engines cross in 25 minutes.

Great day to muse and wonder.

Maribel and Gloria waved as he passed Crawl
Cay. He went to a special little beach to ground the boat, then
swam out to look for langosta. He got two, decided that was more
than he needed and let one go. He swam and lazed around awhile
until the gringo tourists started coming, then went around toward
Isla Popa to catch a few yellow snapper, have a couple of
sandwiches, laze around a little more, then head back to Bocas. It
had been as great a day as he’d predicted!

... Until he pulled up to the dock to see the
body of Raymondo Gortas, a local hood, sprawled across the porch
deck, that is.

“
Es
muerto,” the local substitute for the coroner pronounced
seriously.

“
With all
that congealed blood and his throat cut from ear to ear, I’d
suppose so,” Clint replied.

“
Que?”

“
Si. El
es muerto,” Clint agreed. “Probablimente porque esta cortado de oir
a oir.” (Yeah, he’s dead. Probably because he was cut from ear to
ear)

So his Spanish still was a long way from
perfect.

“
Si. Por
doce horas, mas o menos.”

(For 12 hours, more or less)

“
Menos.
No es aqui a la siete y media este manana.”

(Less. He wasn’t here at 7:30 this
morning)

Judi came from her house to ask what was
going on. Clint explained.

“
I was
home until five of eight,” she said. “I would have seen anything
before then. I just got back. We went to Bocas del Drago for the
day.”

“
Ahha!”
the doctor cried. “Es ocho y catorce minutos!”

(Ah! At 8:14)

“
Como
conoce?” Judi asked.

(How do you know?)

“
Reloj
digital. Agua adentro. Cristal quebrada.” he explained as though
that settled the question.

(Digital wristwatch. Water inside. Broken
crystal.)

That would be close enough, regardless. Maybe
the watch crystal did break when he dropped or when he flailed
around during the attack, water on the deck, watch battery grounded
and it stopped. Clint searched the area and found a small chip of
glass under the corner of the wrought iron table, so he probably
broke it there during the fight. That explained everything except
the small detail of why he was there at all.

Clint went to the boarding house where
Raymondo had stayed for the past two months to see what there was
to see. There wasn’t much – except a cell phone under the underwear
in a drawer. There was no phone with the body, but that would be
the first thing anyone would take for a number of reasons. Clint
slipped the phone into his pocket. The room had already been
searched in an amateurish way. He searched it in a professional
way.

There were some women’s items in the bath and
the bedroom. Nothing much else that was telling in any way. Clint
asked the people at the house who the woman was who was spending
time there.

Angela Smith and sometimes Dona Mariana.

Was Angela a gringa?

No. Expected because there are a number of
Smiths among the Panamanian population.

Clint left to find the women. He considered
that two months was about the time Manny had moved to Isla San
Cristóbal. (Manny was actually Marko, a mafia don from California
who had come there to get away from that “business.” He married a
good woman and wanted a normal life and kids who wouldn’t be
ashamed of how papa made his.)

Angela worked various places at various
times. She was seen a lot at Bongos Café, but didn’t work there.
Dona worked at the almacen on the end of the town. She hadn’t seen
Raymondo for a couple of weeks since he’d brought that Angela bitch
in and only twice before that. If he would lay with that kind of
slut he damned well wouldn’t lay with her! No telling what kind of
disease she would give him! What a puerco! Pure trash! He was a
thug who hit women. Coward and scum!

He found Angela at the Pirate cadging drinks
from the gringos. She was a part Indio, part Black woman in her mid
twenties. Very good shape and rather pretty except for the fact she
was half drunk. The lines on her face and the slack look indicated
she was drunk a lot of the time.

Raymondo hadn’t come home last night and
didn’t even leave her enough to get a few groceries in! Pig! She
had half a mind to dump his ass! Clint agreed about the half a
mind. That was about what she had left.

Clint went to Refugio and sat on the deck
with a Balboa, took the phone from his pocket, wrote down all the
numbers in the memory – with particular emphasis on the last ten
dialed and received calls. The last received that was answered was
at 16:59 yesterday. That close to 17:00 exactly was an expected
call. It was from a home phone. He’d called the number four times
earlier in the day. It was answered at 15:23.

Seeing the other numbers were either in his
phone book or local merchants, that had to be it.

22.... number. Panamá City.

There
were two text messages not erased. One was to call Sara. One simply
said,
Cuidado! Te el busca!
(Careful! He’s looking for you!) It was from a local
number.

Clint dialed it. As is the custom here, when
it was answered he immediately said, “Quien habla?”

(Who speaks)

“
Matheu
Armada. Quien quere?”

(Matheu Armada. Who do you want?)

“
Ang ...
Dona.”

“
Es
trabajando.”

(She’s at work.)

“
Gracias.”

(Thanks.)

So! Dona did seem to be a bit too pissed at
some guy she’d spent only a little time with, now didn’t she? But
what was it about?

He called the Panamá City number and repeated
the “Who’s speaking?” bit.

“
Miguel,
sir. Who do you wish to speak with?”

“
I really
don’t quite know. Dona Mariana said to call with ... certain
problems.”

“
Ah,
probably her brother, Vincente. One moment, please.”

Clint cut it off. Dona’s brother? He had
enough that he had a secretary to answer the phone? She was working
for a dollar an hour or less and living in a dump on Bocas?

This had to do with Marko. Someone was trying
to find him. Maybe the name Vincente Mariana would mean something
to him. The phone rang, so he answered the, “Quien habla?” with, “A
friend of Marko’s.”

“
Ah. So
he is here in Panamá.”

“
He’s on
a little island in the Mediterranean that you can’t find – and
would end up cut bait if you did,” Clint replied. “You made a BIG
mistake offing that hood on my dock. The only reason I could see
was that he was looking for Marko. I called Marko and he asked that
I find who was behind it. He’ll handle it from this point on. I’d
recommend you get your little sister out of Bocas.
Fast!”

“
I had
that Raymondo character ... removed ... because he was a threat to
Marko. I work for Marko. He already knows all about it. He ... how
did you find my name? Didn’t he tell you who I am?”

“
I
haven’t talked with him yet. I just found who you are. It took all
of ten minutes to find the number, call it and know. Very
unprofessional, so I doubt very seriously that Marko would hire you
for anything.”

“
I see.
Now you have made a big mistake. I have a person who is sitting in
Refugios observing you at this very moment. She is on another phone
and needs one word from me and you become another minor irritation
I have had removed. Very unprofessional of YOU, Mr.
Faraday!”

“
Then he,
the hood sitting at the bar, should be able to tell you I also have
another phone laying on the arm of this chair – and Marko is
listening to every word,” Clint lied. “I called Marko the second I
spotted the crumb.”

Clint quickly took his own phone from his
pocket and waved it at the hood, then pointed to the entrance hall
where four large men were just coming in. Clint had no idea who
they were, but pointed to them.

“
Tell
your hood he has thirty seconds to live if he doesn’t head for the
door right now! You and your sister might have as much as an
hour.”

There was a short pause. The hood threw a
five on the counter and headed for the door.

“
What can
we do to alleviate this little problem?” Vincente asked. Clint
could hear the fear in his voice.

“
A
minute,” Clint said, then acted like he was talking into his phone
in case someone else was there. “Marko will call you and explain
things,” he said to Vincente. “Oh! And get your sister off this
island. Distance yourself from your hit man here – who is probably
that goon who was here. He made a mess on my deck that’s going to
be hard to clean up. That has me pissed. Don’t ever so much as
mention Marko’s name again. Not even to your little sister. He’ll
probably explain the consequences of that himself.”

“
I think
I could like you,” Vincente replied. “I was acting for another
person and was made arrogant in thinking I could handle any such
situation here in Panamá. You have burned my tailfeathers, as you
say in the states. There will be no connection between me and
Lasko. Good night, Mr. Faraday.”

Clint immediately called Manny and told him
the whole story and what he’d learned, then gave him the number to
call for Vincente. He would call through a number in the states
with a transfer that nobody could trace, though it would have an
origination number that could be somewhere in the
Mediterranean.

Now. How to get out of there alive?

He waited until the four he’d pointed to left
and went with them, chatting about the Olas Hotel, where they were
staying. Lasko was standing just past VIP’s bar, but didn’t dare
try to follow. Clint thought a moment, excused himself from the
four and went back to wave for Lasko to come along with him. Lasko
was scared and uncertain, but walked along. He suddenly blurted
out, “I had no choice! Honest! I had no choice!” He had a Russian
or Slavic accent.

“
I know.
That’s why you’re alive right now. The Ruski’s bit?”

“
Colombiano.”

Clint nodded like he knew exactly what he was
talking about. “Cripes! That bunch of amateur idiots are stupid
enough to go after Marko? What? They’re suicidal?”

“
Marko is
just a name I’m supposed to tell you or ... a couple of others.
They will kill me now, so I will tell you what I know.

“
It is
about a woman named Fiona Gabrizzi and a man named Juan D’Angona.
They are wanting to utilize this Marko person for the leverage to
get in control of some businesses in this country. They are working
with some syndicate people in Panamá City who have a large business
near the Via Espania. Frothingwell’s.They live in a large house
near Tocumen.