Free Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition by CD Moulton

Why would I have some dink hit down there? Shit! I wish I
was there! Weather’s a real stinkeroo here! Damned rain won’t stop
– okay, it rains a lot there, but this is cold and miserable and
you don’t even pay attention to rain there much.
    “ Say,
Clint! Maybe this Hugh character crossed that bunch of would-be
clowns down there and just dropped my name or somethin’?
    “ Like I
give a shit. I decided against Curacao. Got a good deal on a place
in the Med. I gotta get out of here. Economy’s going to hell with
this idiot would-be king of the world who thinks he’s runnin’
things while he’s bein’ run. Be glad you’re down there! If I
thought I could stand more than a week of nothin’ to do and nowhere
to go I’d move down there. It’s really nice, but I can’t hack the
tranquilo bit.
    “ Hey!
Gino! Who’s that?
    “ Got to
run. I ain’t hit nobody down there. Nobody down there is worth it
but you and Judi – and that’d get me in a pile of shit I’d probably
be the next one hit! I’d marry her if she’d have me. Class like I
ain’t never had and looks great!
    “ Ciao!”
He hung up.
    “ That’s
good ol’ Marko! He talks, you listen!” Clint confided. Al grinned a
sick grin.
    “ Now I’m
getting curious. Maybe I’ll see why Hugh was killed. Maybe ... how
was he killed?”
    “ Apparently he opened the door for someone and they stuck
him dead in the heart before he could move. It seemed like a
professional type of thing is why I wondered if that Marko person
had him hit. Maybe it was some husband or boyfriend and a lucky
stab. He tended to be a bit too crude with women and didn’t care if
they were spoken for.”
    “ Typical
gringo type in a lot of these people’s minds,” Clint agreed. “One
like that and everyone has to live it down. He didn’t strike me as
a very likeable sort, anyhow. ‘Crude’ describes what I though of
him. Not too smart in a lot of ways.
    “ Well, I
guess I’ll go to the scene of the crime and see what’s there to
see! Where is it?”
    “ A suite
in the Wantril House Hotel.”
    “ Cripes!”
Clint exclaimed.
    “ What?”
    “ That’s a
mob whorehouse! The local would-be, as Marko calls them, mafia.
Crap!”
    “ I sort
of got that impression. The whorehouse. Too many sexpot women. I
just didn’t connect it with any mob.”
    Clint
sighed. Everyone in Panamá knows about that place, he thought. You’re overdoing the innocent
act.
     
    “ You’re
the fellow who caught that gangster for killing that gringo in
Bocas, right?” the officer at the door asked. “I’m Antonio Valdez.
Tonio. You’re Clint Faraday. Is this connected to that?”
    “ Clint
will do. I don’t know, but it could be and I’m here in David so
I’ll look into it if you don’t object.”
    “ So long
as you don’t act like those TV jerks or the Jamaican movie
detectives, go for it, Mon!” Tonio said with a grin. “Osorio is my
cousin. He said you’re really pretty cool and about ten times as
smart as you try to look like.” His accent was mildly
Jamaican.
    “ You
learn English from those TV shows and Jamaican movies?” Clint
asked, grinning back.
    Tonio laughed and admitted that he had a
Jamaican uncle who raised him part of the time and who taught him
most of the English he knew.
    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