Clint Faraday Collection C: Murder in Motion Collector's Edition Page 2

  He then laid around his place, fixed a few little things such as a lock that was sticking because of the salt. He later cleaned up and went into town to talk to people. Judi called to say she and Ben were going to Refugio’s. Dave was playing there with Curtis – if he showed up. Clint said he might drop in there later.

  He went to the Nine Degrees for a very good meal, if a bit pricey. Just before he left Sam, Freddie and Larry came in. They glared at him a bit, but didn’t say anything to him.

  He went to Refugio’s and talked awhile with Judi, Ben and some overly-handsome bodybuilder type named Earl who was with Ben. If it was anyone besides Ben, Clint would have avoided the type. This one seemed to be more a regular person without a bloated opinion of himself.

  Manny Mathews, a retired mafia don from the states, came in with his wife to chat a bit. Clint met a girl from Denmark who was vacationing in Bocas for three days. They got along well. She stayed with him for the night – a very pleasant night.

  Clint was laying in his hammock on his deck at five thirty with his second cup of coffee waiting for the sunrise. Most of them were beautiful here. At about a quarter to six the light began to increase and the sky was dotted with rose-pink clouds that slowly turned to salmon, then to slightly reddish, but never turned into real red. It would be a nice morning.

  Judi came onto her deck to water the orchids and waved and wagged a finger at him. He didn’t bother to dress until he decided what he was going to do. He had on a jock strap this morning. Usually nothing.

  Inga came sleepily onto the deck and waved to Judi. She asked Clint if he always came out there dressed like that in the morning.

  “Not usually. I usually don’t wear the jock strap. Only when I have company.”

  They chatted for a few minutes. Inga was going to Bocas del Drago for the surf. Did he want to come along?

  He said he had a few errands and a project or two. She said she was leaving Bocas on the five o’clock water taxi so probably wouldn’t see him before she left. She had a wonderful night.

  Clint spent awhile, until after seven when some stores opened in town, sending e-mails to friends in Florida, California, and Panamá. He went into town, got groceries and supplies for a week or so, then headed back home. Sam, Freddie and Larry were standing on the sidewalk by his gate. Clint sighed heavily and asked the cabbie to wait while he kicked a few asses. He got out.

  “Faraday? We have to talk. No more shit,” Sam said.

  That surprised him. He nodded, paid the taxi and grabbed the groceries. He led the trio inside. They didn’t say much while he put the groceries away, then offered them coffee. Larry had a cup, the other two said they were nervous enough without caffeine.

  “What’s it about? The act on the comarca?” Clint asked.

  “You knew that it was a act?” Sam asked. He seemed to be the spokesman for the trio. “I sort of wondered if you’d tumbled. We overdid it.

  “I mean, we are what you call rednecks. We don’t understand the kind of shit ... well, the shit people put up with. I guess we’re big-time bigots. We like our beer and our trucks and our guns and all that.

  “This is how it came about. It was when we came into that place on the border – Frontera. We stayed for that night in some hotel. Everybody said it was a dump, but it seemed Okay to us. It was a lot better than some places, like in Nicaragua and Costa Rica. They ain’t got much.

  “We got a lot of money from ... a land deal in Georgia and decided to see the world. At least some of it. Where we could go in our truck.

  “The truck was part of our pay. It’s great, but drinks gas like a elephant. It was costing us a lot more than we thought at first. I was sort of hoping the gooks would take the damned thing when we .. on that reservation. It would probably save us a fucking fortune.

  “That’s just talking. You don’t give a fucking shit. I don’t know how to talk to you.

  “Alright. Straight out, like.

  “We were at a place in Frontera, a little restaurant. We were trying to sell the fucking Hummer to get enough money to stay a couple days, then go home. Only the taxes if anyone bought it would take everything because ... you don’t give a fuck. You know how that shit goes.

  “We said we wanted to go to Bocas because some friends went there when they played some music – they have a band that’s going places in Nashville. Local boys who made it, you know.

  “Anyhow, this guy says he knows someone who would maybe give us a stake where we wouldn’t need to sell the fucking thing. We could get it back to Georgia and sell it there if anybody was as stupid as we were and would even look at it.

  “We knew he was right about that! We didn’t get our shorts in a knot because he said we were stupid to buy the fucking thing in the first place. We were!

  “Anyhow, he talked to this bird on his pocket phone and said it would be a day or two. All we had to do was go somewhere that was on the way to fucking Bocas, anyhow. We would make who turned out to be you go away for a afternoon and night. He would pay us ten fucking grand.

  “We said that was about as good as it gets! Who did we have to kill? He said that was the good part. We didn’t have to kill anybody. Maybe kick your ass if that was the only fucking way to keep you there.

  “We had to make it look like natural. You wasn’t to ever know that’s what we were doing.

  “He said you really liked the gooks – sorry, Indios – and that you would be out there in a heartbeat if anybody tried to cause them trouble. He didn’t tell us the part about the goo ... Indios having their own law and that the damn government fuckheads wouldn’t be able to take a hundred or so and forget it. We made him pay us for the guns and stuff when we got here.

  “See, he paid five grand up front and five when we were done. He paid like he said, but those guns cost us more than three grand back in Louisiana. The guy who saw us in Frontera came to Bocas to pay. He said that was fair because he didn’t tell us not to take any guns on the comaria ... whatever they call it.

  “We thought everything was cool. We were going to stay here a week, then go to Colombia – only we couldn’t take the fucking Hummer to Colombia – for a week, then to Brazil for a week, then home. He told us not to spend too much money here so we wouldn’t be noticed, but we sort of got drunk and got in some shit with the cops. Lucky that captain or what-the-fuck-ever just dumped our beer and told us to stop the shit or get the fuck out.

  “Then Danny started the shit about some queer and got knocked on his ass. Some queer kicked his ass and he didn’t even get a lick in. That’s hard to live down! He started running his mouth and some bigshit here heard it and said to be careful because this person we were working for is bad news if anybody causes his name to ever come out. Danny said we didn’t fucking know the shithead’s name yet, but we would.

  “I sort of explained that Danny sometimes has trouble holding his likker. He usually only drinks beer but some asshole got him started on rum or seco or whatever they call it and he was a little wasted. We’d get him to the hotel and he’d sleep it off. Danny said he would go to the fucking hotel and shut his fucking mouth when he was goddamned good and ready and not before. Freddie smacked him and said he was gonna cause us headaches. He always did when he got drunk. He’d go to the hotel now or get his stupid fucking ass kicked royally. Freddie can do it. He’s done it before.

  “Danny was still mouthing off, but we got him to the hotel and Freddie sort of put him to sleep. Not serious, but ‘til the morning.

  “Then he got his throat cut and we think maybe some badass we don’t even know his name will come after us.

  “See, if you know about it there ain’t no reason to come after us no more. If the fucking turkey just came and talked to us like a man ‘stead of having to pay some fucking runner-boy to talk to us we’d make him see we ain’t no problem. We said we’d keep clammed and we would keep fucking clammed, no matter what.

  “That was before they trashed Danny. Now we just want to get out and go back to t
he states.”

  “Do you know who, the name of the person was who contacted you?” Clint asked.

  “We called him Pedro, but I don’t think that’s his name,” Sam answered.

  “I heard some guy call him Nando,” Larry volunteered. “That guy by the big supermarket they call Juli – I mean the guy, not the store – Juli – but I don’t think he’s queer. He don’t act like it.”

  “His name’s Julio. It’s a common name here,” Clint said. “So I can find out what it’s about. You’d be smart to get as far away from here as fast as you can. If it’s the Russian mafia or the Mexican mafia this ain’t the country you want to be in.” (He said that to scare them. There wasn’t much chance they were involved in anything like this.)

  “That cop, the fucking captain who dumped our beer, said we couldn’t go nowhere ‘til he said so,” Freddie said. “I only want to get out of this fucking hole of a country. We don’t fit here. I don’t never know what the fucking hell is going on!”

  “I think I can get them to let you go if you leave the country fast. They don’t want trouble from those people. I work with the police quite a lot. Those mafia types tie up the whole department and the courts are afraid of them and let them go, even when they’re convicted.”

  Larry and Freddie both groaned. Sam looked surprised. “You mean some asshole set us up to keep a fucking cop away from where they were doing...! Fucking goddamned SHIT! You’re a fucking COP?!”

  “Sort of. How fast can you be out? I have to give him so many hours before they pick you up. You would go, but they’d keep everything you have, including money except to pay for your flight home.”

  “I can’t get on no plane! I won’t never get on no fucking plane!” Freddie whined.

  “We can get out in ... is there someplace near here? I heard there is. To Costa Rica,” Sam said.

  “Changuinola to Sixola and cross. I guess they can get that monster across. The roads are bad in Costa Rica, but that thing will take them.”

  “How long?” Larry asked.

  “You left the Hummer in Almirante?” Clint asked. “Water taxi to Almirante, one more hour. Almirante to Changuinola, one hour. It’ll take less, but you have to have some bit of leeway. Changuinola to the border, thirty minutes, two hours of passport and paper handling this side.

  “You can be out by three if you leave in an hour. I’ll get Sergio to allow you until six tonight.

  “Listen! You do NOT tell anyone you’re going. Let them think you’re just going to Changuinola to shop because you heard they have everything there and it’s cheap as all hell. You can be gone before they even suspect anything. They wouldn’t expect you back here before five or six, anyhow.”

  They agreed. Clint went to town separate from them so no one would connect that they were at his place. They would tell people they went to the beach, but it sucks. They wouldn’t cancel the hotel. They’d say they were going shopping and would be back.

  Clint talked to Sergio and told him basically that they were set up. It would be far better to let them go than it would be to have a couple more of them killed in Bocas Town. Sergio agreed. He had an officer contact them, ostensibly to ask some questions, and tell them they had to get out fast and the way Clint Faraday suggested.

  Clint went out to see if he could find Juli.

  Rednecks. Go Home!

  Clint couldn’t find Juli so he went home. Judi called to say he should come over for a snack.

  “I found out a little, but not much,” Judi said over the hojadres and pollo aguisada. “Juli Williams was talking to a man called Fernando about the one who was killed. I said that was interesting. Did he know where anyone had some decent carne?

  “He said the backstreet China and that Nando was connected with some big money man in Panamá City and was here on some kind of deal to do with the one who had his throat cut.

  “I said it wasn’t smart to get tied up with those kind of people and did he see the big tuna Maxi caught?

  “Do you any good?”

  That was Judi’s method. Cause a comment by dropping a name or something, then act like it was only a comment and change the subject. Then the person will try to impress her with what they know. It always seemed to work with her.

  “It confirms some things. I have to know who this Nando is.”

  “Fernando Selamas. Dona was talking with him at the Laguna and I stopped to ask her how her mother’s doing. She’s in the hospital. She sort of had to introduce him.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “He works for some guy who owns a trucking company. Freight haulers. All over Central America. He gave me his card, which was why Dona didn’t really want to introduce us.”

  Judi is very attractive and exotic with her oriental heritage.

  Judi gave Clint a little business card. Eugenio Taylor Transport Systems, S.A.

  Clint shook his head. That would save him a week and a lot of travel. Now he wanted to know exactly what a transport company was transporting that would get his specific attention.

  He waited until he had figured part of it clearly, then called Manny. Manny could get all kinds of information through his contacts. This one he didn’t know much about, but would try to find the information.

  Clint then went back to town. The Larry, Curly and Mo Trio, as he thought of them, were gone. Sergio had them discretely followed and they were between Ojos de Agua and Changuinola. Another car was following them so Sergio had the follower stopped for an insurance and license check when he passed in an illegal zone (which everyone did. It was usually ignored, but was an excuse – seeing the police truck was two cars behind.).

  That would work out well. It would be easier to learn things with them gone. Though it wouldn’t be intentional this time, they would still be a distraction.

  Nando was in the parque with Dona, sitting on a bench. Clint thought of saying something to him, then thought better of it. Wait until the trio were out of the country. He waved to Dona and kept on walking. He went to the dock, thought about it for a few minutes, then went home and got his boat to go to Almirante and to the ferry offices.

  “Did Eugenio Taylor Transport bring in anything or take out anything the past three days?” he asked.

  Jorge checked the manifests and shrugged. “Not for about two weeks, if I remember. They took a load in and a load out. Trucks loaded both ways.”

  Clint thanked him and went to the compound where they kept the trucks, but Taylor didn’t leave anything there.

  Where? What kind of stuff did they generally carry?

  He went to Ojos de Agua. Taylor didn’t handle anything there. That eliminated construction materials. The card didn’t mention anything about a specialty.

  He went to Changuinola. Taylor sometimes brought washers, refrigerators, and such to the bigger stores. Nothing for two weeks or so.

  The other ... Sixola? Contraband through Costa Rica?

  A quick trip. No. They didn’t come to Sixola.

  Chiriqui Grande. They delivered regularly to several places there. They stopped in Mali and points between. They sometimes went to Punta Pena and Rambala.

  Was that a connection?

  Possibly. Probably. That’s why whoever knew he went to the comarca fairly often and that he would move to protect the Indios so fast.

  He had another idea and went back to Chiriqui Grande and to the aduana. Taylor sometimes picked up loads from the docks there. Mostly furniture items from Colombia and the Caribbean islands. They carried loads to be taken to those places.

  Whatever came in was very carefully checked. What went out was sealed and seldom checked. That was the job of wherever the stuff was delivered.

  They were taking something out of Panamá. What?

  It would be a matter of finding where the stuff was picked up. The major transshippers were in David, Santiago and Panamá City. Maybe directly from Colon, but this was going out, so that wasn’t likely.

  So. David was closest. He caught the next b
us.

  Clint booked into the Pension Costa Rica, then, as it was getting late, went to dinner at La Tipica, then to Peter’s place in the Hotel Iris to mingle and chat with people. Not much was new and tomorrow might be long and hard so he went back to the Costa Rica and had a good night’s sleep. In the morning at daybreak he went to four places where the drivers hung out when they were in town for a night to wait for tomorrow’s loads. There were two Taylor trucks near Brother Bar, parked down the street. Chiriqui was playing Herrera at the nearby stadium and the drivers had gone there last night, stayed at the nearby hostel and would be in about seven thirty to get the trucks to be loaded. They were usually loaded at terminal #3 or #4. These would be at #3 or they would have stayed over by the fairgrounds.

  Okay. If this was the pick-up point, it would be stuff brought in from the area of Chiriqui and kept in the warehouses until it was picked up. So far as Clint knew there wasn’t anything worth this mess anywhere in Chiriqui.

  Next stop, Santiago! The bus left on the hour. He could get the 9:00 bus and be in Santiago by 1:00. That would leave him time to come back ... unless he had to go on to Panamá City.

  He sighed, went to a local restaurant for a good breakfast, then to the pension for his bag, then to the bus.

  Santiago is laid back and lazy on the outskirts. Cattle country, though a lot of government business was handled there.

  Trucking permits? It was an idea.

  He checked places Taylor picked up stuff. Only Lopez Storage. They hadn’t picked up anything going toward Bocas in two weeks or so.

  Clint went to the registro to check the permits issued lately. Taylor had nothing from Panamá City for several days. They picked up a load in Santiago that was bound for Bocas Province. Household appliances. That could mean he had to concentrate on David. Back there.

  He went to transhipping terminal #3. Taylor had picked up a load of appliances there in the time frame. The other terminal, #4, they picked up a load of boxes labeled household items. It was left for them from a Taylor truck eight days before.