Clint Faraday Collection C: Murder in Motion Collector's Edition (29 page)

“
She
spent so much on him, a part of which was bailing him out of
trouble all the time, that I have the hidden account I can live on.
If I sell the place I can pay everybody back. I’m not going to be
in a hurry to sell, though. I do like the area and do like the
people, now that I treat them like people and they treat me like a
person. I can continue the ad business on the net. It won’t be as
much, but it’ll pay the bills with a little for a good restaurant
once in a while.

“
I can’t
believe I was becoming what I was becoming. That bunch came in here
yesterday and never asked how I felt, even. All they wanted to do
was get their money back or they’d sue and ruin me.

“
I told
them to go for it. The contract was for investment and the
investment failed. I could tell them to stick it or they could wait
until I sold the place to get a part of it back. I think Fatty’s
the only one who understands it.”

“
You know
they didn’t go over that cliff, they were sent, don’t you?” Clint
asked.

“
Interesting way of putting it. I was right here. I didn’t
do it.”

“
Grossman
and the Auermonds are gone. The Greenwoods are still
here.”

“
I don’t
think Fatty would do anything like that. If it’s any of them it’s
the Auermonds. They don’t have a line to cross whenever it comes to
getting money. If the Greenwoods are here it was the
Auermonds.”

“
It was a
hired job. It could be any of you.”

“
I guess
I have motive, but I swear I didn’t do it. I was right here and
don’t have a clue when it comes to hired killers.”

“
You all
have motive. They die in an accident, Sarah anyhow, and the double
indemnity pays off all the investment bills.”

“
In that
case I’ll keep the place and tell that bunch in Oklahoma to kiss my
royal rusty ass!”

“
It won’t
pay. It was no accident and they don’t pay anything for
murder.”

“
Then I’m
no better off than I was.”

They chatted awhile, then Clint went home to
ask Judi if there was anymore news.

“
The
Greenwoods are going back to the states tomorrow. Nobody knows
where Grossman is. The Auermonds are in Panamá City. That’s about
it. No other gossip around that’s anything we haven’t already
covered.”

“
I guess
I’ll have to dig to find which of them did it. I’m not the type to
let it pass. Not this. With those mafia types it’s better for the
country that they go and kill each other off somewhere else. These
people are just too disgustingly sordid for me to ever consider
letting it go. The Auermonds and Greenwoods. Grossman – I’m on the
fence about. He isn’t quite as low as the others.”

“
That’s
not saying a lot.”

He nodded. She grinned and shook her head.
They changed the subject and discussed the way the seasons seemed
to be changing in just a few years. Then Clint went home.

Find the Hit
Man

How to
trace this to one specific person was becoming a challenge. It was
coming down to finding the hit man and breaking him down. Clint
wanted to know who was behind it for reasons other than just
catching someone who killed someone else – even if it
could
be shown they deserved
worse.

Next step was finding the hit man. It was a
dead end there if he couldn’t be found and identified. They would
never know for certain which one was really behind it. Clint wanted
to know more because Robert was staying in Panamá than for other
reasons. If he was behind it there was no way Clint wouldn’t insist
on prosecution. If it was one or more of the others he wanted them
permanently barred from coming back to Panamá for any reason or at
any time.

Funny how your ideas changed in another place
with another culture. Clint looked on this kind of thing as a
problem that should be handled by the place they came from, not in
the place they pulled their shit. It involved gringos, not
Panamanians – so why should Panamá have to pay for housing and
feeding them? It was a more pragmatic outlook in a more pragmatic
(in some ways) culture. The Indios were certainly pragmatic people
to the point they seemed more fatalistic, at times.

Quit stalling. Find the assassin.

Clint had ways to find who would be behind
this kind of thing in Bocas more than in David. He would start in
Changuinola and work to Chiriqui Grande or even Mali, though his
hired pro would be from Changuinola or Bocas.

Probably a transplant or regular visitor from
Colón or certain sections of Panamá City.

He went to his car in Almirante and drove to
Changuinola to ask around. He had some friends who were on the
shady side of the law there as well as some Indio friends who would
hear and remember things, even if they never did mention them.

Two days later he had three names, one of
whom was supposed to be good at the automobile accident methods.
This one was from Colón and came to Changuinola for more than half
the year. His name was “Tigre” Taylor. He wasn’t liked or trusted
by anyone not in his immediate family. He was a violence freak and
an arrogant SOB, according to almost everyone who knew him.

Clint finally found him in a dirty little bar
that catered to blacks. The reputation wasn’t among the best places
for genteel folks.

Clint went in and asked who he was. He was
big and wore dredlocks. He was sitting with a pretty girl who
looked like she would rather be someplace else. There was no one
sitting close to them so Clint took a stool next to the girl with
him against the brick wall at the end of the bar. He ordered a
Balboa, they only had Atlas so he took one and sat back to look
around the place in the small mirror behind the bar. It was a place
he might come in the front door, but not a place he would stay,
usually.

“
Give us
a drink here!” Tigre called to the barmaid. “The fucking gringo’s
gonna pay for them.”

“
Like
shit!” Clint returned. “In fact, you’re going to pay for this one,
hotshot.”

“
If I say
you’ll pay, you’ll pay!”

“
Same
here. I guess we’ll have to see how this one turns out, huh? I
guarantee you’ll regret getting in my face!”

“
You know
who I am, gringo?”

“
You’re
some self-important asshole I came across in a cheap beer bar.
You’re probably one of those people from Colón who think they’re
badasses. You’re usually pussy-asses. Somebody stands up to you and
you back down like a rabbit facing a beagle.”

He stood and came toward Clint, who smirked
at him. The barmaid said, “Tigre! No aqui!”

“
I’ll
have to put it off, gringo. You better watch where you go from now
on!” Tigre said.

Clint laughed. “Like a rabbit facing a
beagle!”

Tigre grabbed at him – and came to five
minutes later laying on the floor staring at the ceiling. When he
lunged at Clint, Clint decked him with a hard shot to the jaw. He
wanted this to happen because there was a very definite pecking
order among this type. He was now the “A” male. The barmaid started
to come around at the same time Tigre went for Clint. Clint waved
at her as soon as Tigre hit the floor and said it was all over.
Just a little misunderstanding about who was the real badass here
and who was a big wimp who intimidated people into thinking he was
a man.

She let a grin escape and bought him a beer.
She said Tigre was a pain in the ass and she was glad somebody
finally stood up to show everyone else what he was.

“
He’s
probably a badass among people who’re just like him. All mouth and
bluff and no spine or ass. Anything he does, he sneaks around with.
He’s a carbon copy of half the badasses from Colón. He made the
mistake of challenging someone else without six of his buddies
along – though I wouldn’t have much cared if they were. They’re all
alike.”

“
He’s a
professional killer!” the girl cried. “You better watch your
back!”

“
My back
is the only place he’ll try to attack from,” Clint agreed. “I
think, after living more than fifty five years, I can watch my back
for this kind of crud.”

Tigre was coming around, Clint smirked at him
and said he could use some lessons in matching his actions with his
mouth. That was ‘way out of balance at the moment.

“
Yah-ah!
You’ll wish you’d never been born before long!” Tigre
snarled.

“
Want
another go? I’ll lay a hurting on you that’ll show next round.
Third round you take the long dive. Capich?”

This exchange with Tigre had been in English.
The other patrons didn’t know the words, but knew what was being
said. Tigre didn’t know how to react to anyone who was standing up
to him, depending on his size and reputation to keep anyone from
actually moving against him. He was fidgeting and didn’t know how
to regain his reputation as a badass.

“
Don’t
let your stupid mouth get you in any deeper than you are. Don’t
pull this badass shit on anyone else, particularly gringos. A lot
of us grew up in cities that make Colón look like Pleasantville. If
you live as long as I have you can handle amateur
wannabes.

“
I
suppose most gringos here are retirees from better places. They
came to get away from places like that and people like you. The
problem you’ll have is that, just once in awhile, you’ll get in the
face of someone like me who grew up on the streets. Take a lesson
when it’s offered. You’ll live longer and have a lot less problems
in life.

“
Now that
we’ve broken the ice, you the one who knocked over that fucking
idiot spoiled brat and his lovely mother?”

“
No. That
was from Bocas. You don’t ... you knew who I am and what I do when
you started this?”

“
I didn’t
start it. I finished it. I knew you’d play the badass and would do
exactly what you did.

“
Who in
Bocas?”

“
I don’t
know. One of those brothers who hang around the VIP, I
think.”

“
That
figures!”

Clint bought him a beer, said it was as much
as a set-up to find out if he was the one who should get a reward
for purging the Earth of those two. He accepted the beer and asked
if he could make it look like they had it set up. It was an act.
They did it before.

“
See, if
they think I can take a KO and get up and laugh about it they won’t
start getting in my face all the time.”

Clint shrugged. Tigre slapped him on the back
and laughed. Loud. Clint grinned and shook his head. He looked at
the patrons who didn’t know how to take this turn of events. “El es
loco, pero is Okay. Yo tambien!” Clint announced. “Es mejor el
conoce donde es la fila. No cruce!” (he’s crazy, but that’s Okay. I
am too. It’s better he knows where the line is and that he doesn’t
cross it.)

Clint finished his beer and waved goodbye to
everyone and left. He went back to Almirante, got his boat and went
to Bocas Town. He had plenty of time to clean up and get a good
meal before he would go to the VIP. It didn’t get started until
about 9:30.

Closer

There were about six people at the VIP when
Clint walked in and ordered a Balboa. They were out so he took a
Panama, which was also a good beer.

Clint knew several people there. They were
always around somewhere in Bocas Town. Most of them were fairly
decent people, but a few of them were the worst kinds of thugs.
Almost all of them were blacks and several were from Colón. Colón
is the only dangerous place in Panamá except for one section of
Panamá City. The present president was trying to clean up Panamá
City, but the last five or six presidents have given up on Colón.
They suggest on their international website that tourists (or
anyone else) stay away from Colón. The thugs here depended on the
bad reputation of Colón to intimidate people. Clint knew that they
were the type who had to have several, enough to outnumber the ones
they were molesting or they would be the nicest people you could
meet. The type disgusted him, but that was a common type on all the
Caribbean islands and adjoining mainlands.

He knew
the type he was looking for and knew he wouldn’t get any direct
information
because
they
knew him. They also knew he couldn’t be intimidated. That would
work in his favor.

He chatted with a couple of the girls, then
with Rocko and Streeter. (Their parents picked names from rap music
names), two from Colón who were always together. Clint figured, as
popular as they’d made themselves they’d be dead if they weren’t
together. They said they didn’t have anything to do with knocking
over the gringos. That wasn’t their style and they weren’t about to
tell Clint Faraday whose style it was.

Clint grinned at Streeter, who had just made
the statement. “That’s because you don’t have a clue. You aren’t
ones any of them would trust while they were looking at you.”

They’d been digging at each other for some
time. This was merely looked on as a joke between friends. Clint
had said that “Many a truth is said in jest.” – but that went a
mile over their heads.

Marchsca came in, a local drag queen whose
real name was Nicolo. Clint could probably get more information
from him than from any of the others, but would have to do it very
discreetly.

“
Hi,
Clint! Buy me a rum and Coke?”