Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (28 page)

“
But I
didn’t say ... oh. Sally was a little drunk and was running on
about how she’d outsmarted them all and got her money changed. I
was with her and I’d said something about it before.”

“
I wonder
how clever she feels about outsmarting that bunch now! Are you
booked out of the country?”

“
Yes. Ten
o’clock out of David if I can get there.”

“
Get out
of here and to the bus. You have time. Call the airport and tell
them you’re on the way, so don’t give your ticket to anyone else.
This isn’t a joke. You can’t tell your grandkids about it unless
you survive to tell them.”

“
I’m
going to turn everything here over to Yvon. I won’t come back for
at least a year.”

Clint nodded and watched as Rita checked him
out and released him.

“
Oh! The
bank changed the hundred. They didn’t even really check
it.”

Clint nodded again and went with Rita to see
Sally, who was a mass of bandages around the mid-section. She was
sedated. Vern was allowed in for a minute, then he and Clint went
to Jola’s Restaurante for breakfast. Vern didn’t seem too upset
about Sally.

“
Will you
get pissed if I ask you some rather personal questions?” Clint
asked.

He grinned. “I’m bought and paid for. She
wanted a toy-boy to impress her sorority girlfriends and is about
the greediest one person I ever met. She has money up the ass, her
family owns about half of California and Oregon and all she can
talk about is getting more. She wants to own most of Panamá if she
can work it. She thinks she’s above all this trash and can buy
anything she wants.

“
If
anything happens to her I get nothing. It’s a pretty good life in
some ways, but it’s a huge mistake in others. I’m the lazy type who
only wants enough to get along. I get to go all over the world this
way.

“
I think
I’d like to live here. Not so much here as around Bocas. I do like
to surf and fish and dive and it’s damned well within my budget
without her. I think what will really kill her is if I walk out
from perfect gorgeous spoiled brat HER! The whole WORLD wants
HER!

“
You can
guess I’m a little sorry they didn’t cut her stupid damned
throat!

“
Anything
else?”

Clint laughed. “That covers it.”

They chatted about things. Vern was probably
going to do exactly that. Walk out on her and live in Bocas. He was
really a very likeable type.

“
Wanda” –
actually Frederico Martos, a transvestite who hung around El
Critico, came by and greeted Clint. He said he’d seen Vern and was
most impressed.

“
You
should wipe off all that excess make-up in the daytime,” Clint
counseled. “You look ridiculous in street clothes with that mascara
running down your face.”

“
I was
busy last night. I’d like to get busy with you and your friend for
a few days and nights.”

Vern laughed. “If you’d heard the
conversation we just had you’d know I think I’d prefer that to the
woman I’m stuck with in there!” He pointed to the e-room door.

“
The ‘ME!
ME! ME!’ bitch? I can see how life with that one would be hell.
Want to go lay around the beach – or my place?”

“
If she
croaks, I’ll take you up on that.”

“
Serious.
She’s stupid as hell to run her mouth about the money. They WILL
kill her if she doesn’t shut the fuck up.”

“
It isn’t
Lariez. Who?” From Clint

“
Yeah!
Everyone is shocked that you seem to be such great good friends
with the MexMaf! I think that Jorge and Sergio Smith bunch. Four of
them. Black family from Colón. They’re usually the ones into that
kind of crap. We’ll put up with it for just so long, then they’ll
get a little warning or two of their own.”

“
The
frente onto them or just watching Paulo?”

“
Paulo.
They don’t have a clue about anything else. You have to file a
complaint with fifty of the bills and ten witnesses and they’ll
send it to Panamá City, who’ll give the evidence to their committee
who will report to the board, who may or may not investigate.
Meanwhile, the phoney bills get lost somewhere and oh, madre de
dios! Where could it be?!”

Cling grimaced and asked who was in on it at
the bank.

“
Enrico
seems to have a hell of a lot of money to throw around, but I
didn’t have any part of any such conversation about anything
whatever with you.”

Clint nodded and grinned. Vern said he’d
better get back to the hotel. Sally wouldn’t be talking for another
three hours, minimum. He had the good luck to have that time to not
have to listen to her.

“
Shouldn’t you sit around the waiting room wringing your
hands about the HOR-rible way your DEAR wife was treated?” Fredrico
asked.

“
I
suppose I SHOULD. It would be expected. I’m through doing what
would be expected.”

They all laughed at that one. Clint said it
was disgusting how they were sitting around laughing and joking
when she was so close to death in the hospital a couple of blocks
away. They broke it up and Clint went to find Batty just leaving
his office with a couple of large suitcases. He said it wouldn’t be
smart to take any of the phoney money along.

“
God, no!
I don’t need anything like that! Do you want it? I have about
twelve hundred in there.”

Clint started to say “No,” and thought about
it. He smirked. “Yeah. Give it to me. I’ll go deposit it in the
bank.”

Batty grinned and went in to hand over twelve
hundreds from his drawer. “That should light a fire or two!”

“
You just
left it in the drawer?”

“
Yeah. I
was hoping someone would steal it. I have insurance for eighty
percent.”

Clint saluted, Batty got on the bus five
minutes later and Clint went back to the hotel to see Gerald
yelling that no one in Panamá knew how to make a decent omelet.

“
Depends
on who they’re making it for,” Clint told him. “You simply ain’t
gonna catch on, are you?”

“
I don’t
remember asking you!”

“
As loud
and vulgar as you’re acting it can be assumed you meant to be
addressing anyone within earshot. I guess if you’re raised in a
barn you’ll tend to bray like a jackass. Do have a nice day. I’m
sure you can find a hundred things to complain about before noon
and that seems to be your most charming attribute.” He went to the
elevator and stepped in.

“
Bloody
thing’s not working – like everything else in this HOLE!” Gerald
announced loudly. Clint pushed the “on” button and grinned at him
as the door closed. Gerald was beet red and about to have an
apoplexy attack. Again.

He spent a little time on his laptop, then
went to the bank to deposit the twelve hundred in his account. He
made it a point to go to Enrico’s caja. The money went into the
drawer and he had a receipt.

“
Hmm.
First time I ever gave a bank hundreds when they didn’t check them!
Tell the Smiths I said hello – and to be very careful. Far too many
people go swimming here before they find out about the rip tides
and are never heard of again.” He walked out with Enrico staring at
his back. Now he could expect a visit.

He went back to the hotel and called Manny
Mathews (Actually Marko Boccini, a retired major mafia don from
California) to ask about the counterfeit money scam.

“
I’ll
have it checked out,” Marko replied. “An hour or so. Want me to do
anything about it?”

“
Manny, I
don’t know what’s going on. It’s not about Lariez or these
funny-money people. It’s all a little bit extreme, if you get what
I’m saying. Reactions are just the least bit out of sync. ‘Way
overdone. It might have something to do with the
refinery.”

“
There
are schemes within schemes within schemes and everybody is out to
screw everybody else. I’m not involved with any of that crap
anymore, but I’ll see what my contacts can find.

“
Lariez
tried to get in contact last night, but my boys said I’m in Greece
and won’t be available for a few days. He just wanted to let me
know you were getting involved with people there he couldn’t do
anything about and might need protection.

“
Don’t
get into too tight a situation there until I can find what’s going
on. It could be coming from Syria.”

“
Syria!
That’s a new one for me!”

“
They’re
unreachable there.”

“
But I’m
not there. I think I can see why some things are happening and why
the ones involved are the ones involved.

“
Thanks,
Manny.”

They talked about Marko’s new kid and how it
was going to be raised like the Indios, not like the typical
Itallian Mafia Godfather family. Marko was living on Isla San
Cristóbal. No one but Clint and Judi Lum knew Manny was Marko.
Marko was supposed to be living on a private island somewhere in
the Mediterranean.

He thought for a few minutes, then went to
the long wharf sticking out into the Pacific. It was a beautiful
spot and the views from the wharf were spectacular. Several people
greeted him as he went out toward the control shed near the end. He
stood chatting with a couple of his Indio friends and watched as
four big blacks came strolling casually out onto the dock. He
grinned at Quentin and Nino and said to keep an eye on them. They
might try to start something.

“
Ladrones
de Colón. Son malagentes. Esta con mucho experiencia. Hay mucho
cuidado. Ellos tiene pistolas,” Nino warned.

“
Yo
tambien.”

(“Thieves from Colón. Bad people. We have
experience with them. Take care. They have guns.”

“
So do
I.”)

The four came out to stand under the shed in
the shade. One of them called, “Faraday! Come here!”

“
It’s the
same distance from there to here as from here to there, so you can
come to me if you want to talk, Smith.”

One came over. The other three stood where
they were. Nino and Quentin waved and went on out to where six or
seven other Indios were fishing. They all went to the other side of
the wharf to where four more were working on a small boat. Clint
grinned to himself.

“
What do
you think you’re doing telling Enrico you’re going to send us out
into the sea and we aren’t coming back?”

“
A
warning, same as with the Wallace woman and Batty. How can even
such as you be that stupid? You want the CIA here looking into your
piddling little projects? You want them to know about the Syrian
connection? And how could those people be idiots enough to get your
type involved, anyway? Nobody else stupid enough to get wrapped up
in Colombian funny-money?”

“
You
bulletproof? I’ll show you who’s stupid!” He pulled a switchblade
out of his pocket and made a short stab at Clint – who expected it
and dumped him, stamped hard on the hand with the knife, then
kicked it into the Pacific.

“
You sure
as hell did that!” Clint replied as the hood squealed at his
mangled hand. The other three came running over, one pulling a
revolver from his pocket. The pistol’s hammer caught the fabric and
he almost shot himself in the leg before it came out, which gave
Clint time to step toward him and shove him over backward. He
rolled and jumped up, bringing the pistol up at the same time.
Clint moved toward him again before he had his footing, slapped the
pistol to the side where it fired into the wharf, then shoved the
hood over the side of the wharf into the Pacific – about 40 feet
below at low tide. Another hood charged at him and suddenly jerked
and went over backward as Nino and several other Indios dropped a
rope around his neck and jerked him off his feet. The last hood
stood with his hands up while six Indios surrounded him.

“
Matar?”
Quentin asked. (“Kill him?”)

“
No. Is
solo para un lecion,” Clint replied, then turned to the three
hoods. “Get your friend out of the water if he can make it to the
platform. I don’t give a damn if he drowns. Get back to Colón where
you belong.”

“
We’ll be
back!” the one with the mangled hand said. Clint roundhoused him,
knocking him off his feet and probably breaking his
nose.

“
I’ll be
waiting. Should be fun.”

The Indios decided it would be fun to deliver
a little lesson of their own and beat hell out of the other two.
They walked off the wharf with Clint. The guard said the four told
him not to go out there, no matter what he saw or heard – so he
didn’t.

“
They
should be more careful on this old dock. They might slip and hurt
themselves on all those loose boards.”

The guard grinned and Clint treated his Indio
friends to sodas and patacones, then went back to the hotel. He
still didn’t have a clue as to what was really happening, but
someone wanted to stay anonymous and pull strings. Maybe this would
bring him out of the shadows a bit. He wasn’t going to get to Clint
Faraday with this kind of local amateur talent.

He saw a
woman he’d seen before in some real estate office just leaving the
hotel with Yvon Leonardo, Batty’s girlfriend/secretary. Monica
Something-or-other. Batty had mentioned her.

Monica Standing.