Murders and Pragmatism: Clint Faraday Mysteries, #81

By C. D. Moulton

A collection of 4 books. Rest in Pieces . You can run your mouth too much . and end up machete practice

Blood and Gold a long-time resident on Isla Colón is murdered. There are millions of dollars in gold bars in an old safe.

Die Trying. It can be a real statement, but was the right one murdered?

Bored to Death. Coud this be a true statement about the murder of the wrong person?

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Sep 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215696774

Book preview

Murders and Pragmatism

A collection

4 Novellas

© 2018 by C. D. Moulton

all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

These are works of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons or events are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated.

Rest In Pieces

Clint is talking with friends in a little bar in Puerto Armuelles when an obnoxious tourist  makes a pass at Tyna. He removes him from the bar, not gently.

Julio, an Indio friend, says that one will end up with R.I.P. on his headstone – for rest in pieces.

Two days later the man is found in his boat –  chopped to pieces.

Blood and Gold

Clint receives a call from Sergio Sanchez, head of violent crimes for Isla Colón and the Bocas archipelago. An elderly woman living near The Bluffs was found with her throat cut when the maid came to work. Her throat was cut. She was in front of a large safe that was unopened.

Clint goes to investigate. He quickly locates the combination to the old safe and opens it to find stacks of gold bars.

Sergio had said it was a lot of blood. Clint said there was also a lot of gold!

The woman always lived frugally. Where did the money come from? Who knew about it and killed her?

Die Trying

Clint and family are in their place near Tula on the comarca. He meets and Englishman in the cantina who has a few flakes of gold he found in the river toward the coast. He says he’s going to go upriver to find where it came from.

Clint says that area is impenetrable. Only a few of the Indios could survive long in the higher mountains in the area.

The man says he’ll find it or die trying.

He dies trying – but from a shot through the heart.

Bored to Death

Clint and family are in Cusapín watching the fantastic colorful sunrise over the Caribbean. A tourist comes along the beach to chat, saying she couldn’t sleep. She didn’t do anything all day yesterday and couldn’t sleep. She was bored to death.

Was that one that could be taken literally? When she died, no one could find a cause.

Of course, it might be that one of the people who she came to get away from who were there to make her life miserable did something.

Contents

About the author

Rest in Pieces

The Obnoxious Tourist

Bloody Mess

Conflicting Stories

Check!

Queen’s Gambit

Who’s the Goat?

The Real Deal

Blood and Gold

Golden Sunrise

Safe Enough

Hidden Pasts

Stateside Evidence

The Old College Try

Trickery Can Work Both Ways

Die Trying

An Easy Life

English Dan Disappears

C’est la Vie et Mort

Plots and Plans

Eureka! And Like That

An E-mail

Bored to Death

Sunrise Chat

Some Unwelcome Visitors

Whatever Happened to Bibi Janes?

Schemers and Dreamers

Too Many Heirs

Who Is Tony Mendino?

Sounds Like a Plan!

About the author

CD was born in Lakeland, Florida, in 1938. He is educated in genetics and botany. He has traveled over much of the world, particularly when he was in music as a rock rhythm guitarist with some well-known bands in the late sixties and early seventies. He has worked as a high steel worker and as a longshoreman, clerk, orchidist, bar owner, salvage yard manager and landscaper – among other things.

CD began writing fiction in 1984 and has more than 300 books published as of 3/15/16 in SciFi, murder, orchid culture and various other fields.

He now resides in Puerto Armuelles, David, and Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá, where he continues research into epiphytic plants and plays music with friends. He loves the culture of the indigenous people and counts a majority of his closer friends among that group. Several have adopted him as their father. He funds those he can afford through the universities where they have all excelled. The Indios are very intelligent people, they are simply too poor (in material things and money. Culturally, they are very wealthy) to pursue higher education.

CD loves Panamá and the people, despite horrendous experiences (Free e-book; Fading Paradise). He plans to spend the rest of his life in the paradise that is Panamá

- Estrelita Suarez V. de Jaramillo – 3/15/2016

CD is involved in research of natural cancer cure at this time. It has proven effective in all cases, so far. It is based on a plant that has been in use for thousands of years, is safe, available, and cheap. He has studied botany, and was cured of a serious lymphoma with use of the plant, Ambrosia peruviana.

Information about this cure is free on the FaceBook group, Natural medicine research. CD asks only that all who try it please report on its effectiveness on that group.

Rest in Pieces

Clint Faraday book 31

© 2012 & 2018 by C. D. Moulton

The Obnoxious Tourist

Clint Faraday, retired PI from Florida, laughed at the story Julio Santos had told about a gringo who used Spanish to say something that came out very differently from what the speaker had intended. Tyna, Clint’s beautiful young wife, said they should hear what some tourists, even Panameños, said when they tried to speak the Indio dialect.

The gringo tangle, Clint agreed. When I was first learning Spanish, in Bocas, I was living in a two story house with a long balcony over the street. I was there, watching people pass, one morning. It was drizzling rain, and I would call, ‘Poco mojada!’ I kept getting weird looks, and didn’t know why.

Julio and Tyna laughed. George E. Harris, a somewhat crude tourist from Missouri, in the states, asked what the hell that was supposed to mean.

Mojado means wet or damp, mojada is a short woman, Julio explained. He was saying ‘Little short woman!’ to short women. They thought he was insulting them.

Why do you people always make sick jokes about us people from the US? After all, we come here and spend our money! Why make fun of us because we don’t speak Spanish? That’s what’s insulting! He was getting red in the face.

In case it slipped by your acute mind, I was a gringo, so why would I insult myself? It’s just something that happens when you’re learning any language. Don’t get your shorts in a knot, Clint said.

Harris stared and shrugged. He yelled, Girlie! Bring me another rum and Coke!

Lisa came to the table. Que?

Un otro ron con Coca Cola, Julio said.

Why the hell don’t you people learn English if you want us to come spend our money here? Harris spat.

Because the language here is Spanish. If I go to the US I will learn English, Julio said.

You’re already speaking pretty good English, Harris replied. I wasn’t talking about you!

Let’s see. They should learn English if they want you to come spend your money here, Clint said. "The fact that they don’t see ten people who speak English here in a month, eight of whom speak enough Spanish to order a rum and Coke, doesn’t figure into it.

Tell me something. If any of these people go to wherever you’re from and into a bar, should the bartender and waitress there speak Spanish, because they’re spending money there? Clint asked.

You’re an asshole! Harris said.

"Me? Right! Then why don’t you answer? Is it because you’re such a big bad important hotshit everyone everywhere should change their life to accommodate you?

There’s definitely an asshole here. Why don’t we take a vote to see who it is? The whole bar can vote!

Harris got up and stomped over to the bar, mumbling. The two standing at the bar moved away when he came. He didn’t seem to notice.

People would come in and come to the table to chat a bit with Clint and his wife. A couple of them went to the bar to order. Harris tried to talk to them, but they didn’t speak English. Harris said, a bit loudly, You go talk to that Clint guy, but you don’t speak any English whenever I say something! You’re assholes!

Julio went to say, "Clint was speaking English to you because he is a considerate and polite kind of person. He speaks better Spanish than I do. He speaks the dialect as well as I do.

Maybe we should take the vote, like Clint suggested, about who’s the asshole, asshole!

"You better get out of my face before I get you out of it!"

Give it your best shot, bigshit!

Tranquilo! the bartender demanded sternly. Calmarse o salir! (Calm down. Calm down or leave.)

Julio apologized and went back to the table.

They talked awhile, and Tyna went to the baño. She was coming back and walked past Harris, who suddenly grabbed her arm and said something. Clint was on his feet and half-way there when she used the knee to the crotch Clint taught her. Harris squealed and doubled over. Clint caught him by the back of his shirt and his belt and threw him out into the street.

You ever put a hand on my wife again and I’m going to beat you to death! Got it?!

Harris groaned and mumbled something about his Colombian friends. Clint grabbed him by the hair and snarled, What did you say?

Nothing! I had too much to drink! I didn’t say nothing!

Clint bounced his head off the pavement and went back inside. He was so mad he could bite through a twenty penny nail. He had to stop himself from beating the asshole to death right then.

He took a few deep breaths and sat at the table.

I almost went over the edge on that one, he said.

That one is going to end up with a headstone that says R.I.P. – for rest in pieces, Julio said. How in hell has he managed to live this long? I wonder!

He’s so big he intimidates people, Lisa said. He grabbed at me and I told him he was ten seconds from getting his balls cut off!

They chatted awhile, then Clint said it was time to get back to the house where his friends were watching his three months old child. It had been a very good night, except for the one unpleasant incident.

Clint, Tyna, and Nito stayed at Rafaela’s place for two more days before anything else untoward happened. Several gringos asked him why he was staying in the poorer section of town with the Indios instead of at the hotel. He explained that he was an Indio (he was honored to be the second white person to ever be declared a Ngobe by the councils on the comarcas) and his wife was an India. He was going to raise his son in the Indio tradition. His son was not going to turn out to be like far too many of the non-Indio children.

They would return to David the following day, then to Soloy and into the comarca to Tula. This afternoon was to be spent with their friends.

Clint’s celular buzzed and he looked at the caller ID. Esteban, from the Policía Nacionál?

Clint Faraday here. Hi, Esteban. Que paso?

Hello, Clint. I have been transferred to Puerto Armuelles to head the violent crimes department. I understand that you had a serious confrontation with a George Evan Harris three nights ago?

Harris? Oh, the asshole gringo from Missouri. Yeah.

He has been found dead in his boat by the river. I need any information you may have.

"I don’t know anything about him. I met him in the bar and did not like him.

Dead? How?

It is as bloody a mess as I have ever seen. He was chopped up with a machete, I think. His arms are cut off and one leg – and his head is barely still attached.

Rest in pieces. It fits.

What?

Something a friend said about him. His headstone would read R.I.P. For rest in pieces.

It’s quite accurate a description, anyhow. Will you help with this one? I have only been here two days and don’t know the people. You do.

We were going back to Tula, but I can spend a few days on it. Rafaela’s going with us, so she and Tyna can go on. I’ll see if I can dig anything up.

A Bloody Mess

Clint looked at the pictures. The boat was a bloody mess of arms and a leg in the left side rear and the rest of the body in the front, ahead of the console. There were cuts all over the body, but Doc had said he wasn’t tortured, as such. Someone started cutting him and had gone into a frenzy. There was a lot of emotion behind this one.

Clint thought for a minute. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get involved on a case where some idiot asshole who constantly asked for it finally got it. Harris had probably come across a native Panamanian out there and felt his big fancy boat meant he had the right to swamp the smaller craft or cayucas (though it would be next to impossible to swamp a cayuca without coming very close to hitting it). He probably stopped to be insulting and obnoxious to someone who answered the challenge in exactly the way he could expect if he wasn’t such an idiot.

He remembered something, and Esteban was a friend.

"I’ll see what I can find. I’ll get in touch if there’s anything beyond the fact he was an obnoxious asshole idiot bastard who thought we Panamanians should bow and scrape to his royal rusty ass.

"You may gather I don’t care if someone cut him up, and couldn’t care less if it was a torture killing.

You say his boat? He came in it or bought it here? What kind was it?

A two thousand ten Harborcraft twenty two footer he bought in Nicaragua, went to Costa Rica, where he was not welcomed past the first ten minutes after arrival, then came around to Puerto Armuelles, where you noted the reception he was enjoying. He arrived the day before your meeting with him and was staying at a place owned by Samuél Costas. You possibly know the place. Between the wharf and Punta Piedra. Costas says he didn’t know him well, that a cousin in Costa Rica arranged for him to stay there.

I think I know Sam Costas. I can get Tyna, Rafael, and Nito on their way and go out to see him. He lives just out of town? That place with the long dock that sits fifteen feet above the water at low tide?

Yes. Thanks, Clint.

Clint rang off and thought for a minute or two, then went to tell Tyna the news. She shook her head and asked him if it was worth the trouble to find the killer of someone who should have been cut to pieces twenty years ago.

It’s for Esteban. Harris? Big deal! Unsolvable! No evidence!

We agree on everything, Love. Don’t be away too long.

Clint went into town and to the Costas house. Sam was sitting on the rear porch with a cup of coffee. He offered Clint some. It was a special coffee he got in a place he wouldn’t tell anyone else about. Clint agreed that he was also a coffee addict, and took a cup. He tasted it.

"Ah! The Enel Fortuna dam! I already get my coffee at home there,