Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (9 page)

The scene was textbook for a professional
hit. Clint asked if it could be a lucky stab.

“
Here?
Get real, Mon! First place, ain’t no way anyone NOT a pro could get
here to stick him. You wouldn’t get past the front door if we
weren’t here, Mon! Second place, this guy was a thug from the
California mob. Alvin Aaron Myers. San Francisco. Bernardino mob.
Rap sheet as long as your arm.”

“
You
found that out this fast?”

“
Yo!
Phony passport in his pocket, real one in the drawer there. Easy to
check, Mon. Stupid thing to do!”

“
Yeah.
Too stupid for a professional to do. Someone wanted us to know who
and what he was,” Clint pointed out.

“
Why?”
Tonio seemed confused.

“
So we
wouldn’t look past that. If we did – and I damned well WILL – we
might find things they don’t want found.”

“
Such
as?”

“
Who he
worked for.”

Tonio looked even more confused. “The
Bernardino mob.”

“
I
really, really, REALLY don’t think so!”

“
Why
not?”

“
Because
that would bring in another much bigger and stronger mob looking
for why he was hit. He was asking too many questions about the
wrong person.”

“
Maybe
that’s the object? Make it look like that to get at the Barnardino
mob?”

“
Uh-huh.
Exactly. I think maybe I’ll try to see who in the Bernardino mob
crossed them and needs a diversion – like having the whole bunch
wiped out.”

“
Better
you than me, Mon!”

Clint
gave him the finger. Clint was sure he knew who, but didn’t
know
who
.

Yet.

“
What did
you find?” Al asked.

“
He was
hit by a professional, then the place was set up to let us know he
was a hit man for the Bernardino mob. We’re supposed to drop it
because it was strictly a mob deal and it’s better all around if
they handle those things themselves. Saves taxpayers a bundle by
not prosecuting something that you can’t hope to get a conviction
on anyhow.”

“
I can
see that, but you said ‘supposed to,’ so you won’t?”

“
Nope! I
want to see how certain people react to a couple of little
discrepancies in the case,” Clint explained ... getting a feeling
of accomplishment from the look on Al’s face.

Me, you ain’t gonna manipulate that way, turkey!
He thought.

“
But ...
but ... I don’t ... discrepancies?”

“
Uh-huh.
It’s pretty obvious what this is supposed to accomplish, just not
quite clear who’s trying to use it ... or why.

“
Well,
I’ll get on back to Bocas!”

“
BOCAS!?!
I mean, what’s ... why Bocas?”

“
Because
that’s the last thing they’d expect. The answers are there, but
they don’t want those answers found,” Clint explained like Al was a
slightly retarded child. “At least, SOME of them they don’t want
found.

“
Amateurs! Marko had THAT part right! I’ll see you in a few
days, I guess. I’ll have to come back here.” He walked off with
Al’s mouth hanging open with a dead fish expression on his
face.

“
But ...
you know who did it?”

“
Yup!”

Al actually staggered. He looked like he’d
have a heart attack any second. That made Clint feel good!

“
Yo,
Judi! Got some work to do,” Clint greeted as he got out of his boat
onto his deck. “First, a gallon or so of coffee.

“
It’s
gonna get hairy, I think. I don’t think they’ll come after you, but
be careful. I’m not going to stay here. Maybe I’ll check into the
Sagittarius until this is over. Maybe stay with that author
character over on sexta. I’m invited. I don’t want this place shot
up or firebombed or whatever. I’m used to it and kind of like it as
it is.”

“
You know
who, but don’t know who? What did you mean by that? You don’t make
any sense a lot of the time. I take it you mean you know who did
it, but not who for or something? Maybe ... oh. Alias?”

“
Yeah.
Either he’s a part of the Barnardino mob or is part of a rival mob
who wants them eliminated from competition or whatever. They’re
going to manipulate me into getting Marko to do the job for
them.”

“
They
are?”

“
Uh-huh,
but maybe the rival mob gets removed at the same time – or maybe
only one or two cruds who think, as Marko says, they can think. I
want to call Marko first thing and get him to find out who Al
really is.”

“
He’s the
one who wants to find where Marko is?”

“
Well....
He’s the one who wants Marko to think the Bernardino mob wants to
know where he is so they can have him hit.” Clint thought for a
minute, then grinned and said he wanted that coffee now. He fixed
the pot, then called Marko.

“
Greetings, Marko! Clint Faraday. This one is
real.

“
Marko,
find out who Al Stewart, the name he’s using here, is and find out
if he’s with Bernardino, independent or something else.

“
He’s
trying to set Bernardino up for you to knock over for some
reason.”

“
Okay.
Why the sudden concern for my welfare and that of some dumb
shitball like Bernardino? I’m getting through to you?” There was a
laugh in his voice.

“
Nah! I
want to set it up so you take each other out, making the world a
better place for the kids I don’t have any of.” “That you know
about,” Marko said quickly. “What’s it about – and are you
serious?”

“
I don’t
know. I don’t like being manipulated so I’m doing the manipulation.
Judi can send you a picture of this Al character. He hit a turkey
called Alvin Myers in a whorehouse here and tried to set it up to
where we’d think you did it because he was working for the
Bernardino mob trying to find you so they could remove you as the
major thorn in their side.”

“
Viny
Myers? He was working for me. Mole in the Bernardino ... so! Both
ends, huh?”

“
Maybe
both ends and the middle? It will depend on who Al Stewart really
is and who, if anyone, he works for.”

“
Or with.
I’ll find out damned fast. Manny will be there with his wife this
weekend and I’ll let him bring you whatever news you need to
know.

“
Thanks,
Clint. I really do plan to go straight there. Swear.”

“
If I
didn’t believe that you wouldn’t come here. It would be easy to
guarantee that!”

“
If you
could see me you’d know you‘re getting the one finger salute!
Caio!”

“
Well?”
Judi asked.

“
Getting
better. Almost.”

“
You’re
making ME sick now!” Judi shot back. “Have you got a clue
yet?”

“
Lots of
them. Trouble is, they tend to point in several
directions.

“
Judi, I
screwed up when I brought you into this. This Al character is
pissing in his pants – and a scared thug is damned dangerous. He
could think you know too much. Like an idiot, I had you call Marko
with him sitting there. I’m NOT that damned STUPID!

“
Usually.

“
Why
don’t you visit your sick aunt somewhere?”

She stared at him a minute. “How about this
Puerto Armuelles you keep talking about?”

“
That
should do.” He looked grim.

Clint watched the people get off the
Aeroperlas flight. “Manny” and his wife, Sylvia, came out on the
tarmack with Sharon and Bill from Bohmfalk’s. Judi was right about
how different he looked. If he hadn’t seen him earlier with the new
look he wouldn’t have recognized him. He waited until he was
through the customs crap and picked him up in the Jeep to head for
the apartment he’d booked for them out near the cemetery. It was
quiet there, reasonably comfortable and the kind of place people on
a medium budget would take. He saw a gringo who was lazing around
the airport entrance check a picture and shake his head, so it
would be reported that “Manny” wasn’t Marko. That would put Judi in
more trouble, but she had gone to, so far as anyone here knew,
Puerto Armuelles. She was actually in Concepcion. She wouldn’t be
found there and would change her appearance enough that she would
pass for a typical China. There were a lot of Chinese in the
area.

Okay. That was covered.

Marko explained that Al was really running
scared, but he couldn’t find out why. All he knew was that he had
made someone a promise that he couldn’t keep because of the time
when he came to the aid of Clint’s Indio friend.

“
Manny –
I’ll call you Manny all the time so I won’t slip up at the wrong
time – it doesn’t make any sense. Is there anything to tie anything
else to ... anything?”

“
Not
really. Maybe it has something to do with that obsequious snob who
was killed awhile ago here in Bocas. Henry Elmore.”

“
Well,
that’s a place to start, I suppose,” Clint replied, sourly. “I’m
running around in circles with this mess. None of it makes any
sense.”

“
Sometimes that happens in life. Got to get somewhere I can
wrap my leg. Airplanes make my left leg swell if I’m on one long
enough. It’s just a kind of sometimes thing, too.”

“
I’ll be
damned!” Clint exclaimed.

“
What?”

“
Friend
Hank Elmore. A sometimes thing. Not connected, really, but someone
used the expression.

“
Manny,
find out about that guy who killed him. Name was Eduardo Guerra.
That has to be behind it and we never did learn who he was working
for. He did a hard clam and there was no lever, seeing he
confessed.”

Marko nodded.

“
Eduardo
Guerra is Elvis Guilernos from Medelin,” Marko announced. “He used
to work some with the Compton bunch from Atlanta. Born in Cuba in
nineteen seventy seven. Went to the states, Miami, from eighty
seven ‘til ninety four, to Atlanta for the Compton thing until
ninety nine when the Compton cruds ceased to be a problem to
anybody. Tried to get into the Doniletti or Greco group, but they
didn’t want anything to do with his type. They’re going straight
pretty much. Went to SanFran early two thousand but nobody wanted
him there, either. Went to LA in late two thousand and got in with
the Bernardino bunch oh oh one. Got in deep shit with them and went
with the Rodriguez Cosa Nostra thing in oh oh four, then
disappeared. Been in Mexico City since, but that’s iffy. Gloria
Bocci had the word out about him.

“
Tell you
anything?”

“
What
kind of shit with Bernardino?”

“
Checking. I’ll have a call about that in an hour or
so.”

“
Thanks,
Manny. I still don’t have a clue, but that Mexico City bit might
tell me something important. The MexMaf were behind the attempt to
kill Ronaldo – with some input from the Colombian mob.”

“
Luck!”
Marko said and hung up.

“
I hope
like holy hell it’s no more than them!” Clint mumbled. He went out
on the porch of the hotel and looked around the bunch on the
corner. There were two new ones that he hadn’t seen there before.
The few who hung there were almost always the same. These were
studiously not looking at him while the others waved when they
looked up to see him.

Were they just watching or did they have
other orders?

He would wait until after dark to stroll
toward Calle 6ta where there wouldn’t be many around – except for a
couple of friends who lived there.

Clint left the hotel and went to the right on
Avenida E toward 6ta. He noted one of the two strolling casually
along half a block behind. He began closing faster as Clint got to
6ta and turned left. If the timing was right he would catch up just
about Avenida C. From C toward B was dark and deserted.

Good timing. The hood caught up to him just
past C and drew a pistol from the belt holster in the center of his
back. Clint grinned and said, “You gonna use it or just
threaten?”

“
You tell
me where Marko is and I don’t havta use it.”

“
Oh? Then
where will you find anyone who knows where Marko is? That’s
assuming I don’t know within one meter where he is right
now!”

“
Yeah?
Where is that?” he snarled (he didn’t seem able to speak in any
other way).

“
One
meter behind your left ear, hijo de puta!” Will Verano, a friend of
Clint’s who looked a lot like Marko used to, said. “The three fifty
seven is only ten centimeters behind your left ear. Give the piece
to Clint VERY slowly and carefully!”

“
Guhnnnnn!“ He replied and slowly reached the pistol out to
Clint, who took it and dropped it in his pocket, then he searched
the hood to find a little .25 on one leg and a knife in a sheath on
the other. Clint took both weapons, then said to deliver a message
to his boss: “If any of you mess with any of my friends here I’ll
see the roots pulled. Get out of Panamá and stay out.

“
No doubt
you’ll be in Panamá City, but stay there or in Colón where your
type belong! Capich?”