by Moulton, CD
Apparently, he found a lot of them if he brought one back.
Oh, well!
Clint laid on the lounge chair and sipped chicha until it was gone, then went in to fry the pancakes and start on the coffee. The comp dinged and he leaned over to see there was e-mail. He reached over and clicked on it.
Clint – it’s getting a bit hairy here. I know it’s early and an imposition, but can you come to Puerto Armuelles and help me sort this mess out?
I think I was threatened by a mafia hood type. You’d call him the quintessential godfather. All hints with hard looks while trying to sound like your doting uncle.
– Batty
Batty? Who the hell was ... oh. Don Bathner. Another gringo who knows so much more than the locals about everything that he’s going to make a few million in the next month or so and go back to the states to enjoy it. He’d go back to the states in a month or so, but not with any millions. Dead broke. Clint had seen that too many times already. Start telling them how they do it in the states and what the law is in the states and how very efficient everything is in the states.
The economy in the states has collapsed, idiot! How damned efficient is that? They do not do things here like in the states. Until you learn that you’re going to always have your tail caught in a wringer. If you treat people anywhere the way you treat the natives here you have to expect them to resent you, obstruct you and try to teach you a lesson about assumptions.
Clint sent back that he could probably get to Puerto Armuelles later, but he considered this to be a job. He wasn’t in a position to run all over the country as favors to people he didn’t know and wasn’t in business with. He sort of hoped “Batty” would refuse and he would be able to wash his hands of him.
The comp dinged and Batty sent that he would give him a $1,000 retainer as soon as he got there.
Well, Puerto Armuelles is a beautiful spot on the Pacific. There are some good people there. He sighed and got dressed, went to the water taxi and headed for David. He would go to Puerto Armuelles from David.
The rain was coming in a little faster than usual today. The trip to Almirante on the water taxi was a bit rough.
Puerto Armuelles
The trip was Okay. Clint talked with several people along the way, none of whom knew anyone in Puerto Armuelles until he was on that bus from David. The one he knew on the bus was a woman, Anita Sanchez, who ran a small restaurant on the outskirts of town and taught science at the local colegio. She didn’t know who Batty was talking about, but there were a lot of gringos and hood types coming now that the refinery was going to be built there. She’d met Batty one time and didn’t like him. He thought he was better and smarter than anyone else.
Clint groaned and said all gringos had to live with what one or two were like. She agreed that was the way of the world. People were put into stereotypes.
That was pointed. Batty put all Panamanians into the role of ignorant third-world savages who were lazy and stupid. Clint agreed with her about the Batty type and said he was trying to keep as many of the type out as he could, but Puerto Armuelles was doomed if that refinery didn’t change a few of its policies about how its employees treated the natives.
“Es mismo Colón en dós o tres anos mas,” she agreed, sadly.
Several more people got on the bus at Frontera, including a couple of gringos coming from Costa Rica to try to find a place to stay if Gerald could find a good enough place that wasn’t just a bit too – picturesque, if you saw what she meant.
“Yeah, you want to come from the states and get a five bedroom three bath house overlooking the Pacific for fifty bucks a month with maid service thrown in,” Clint said innocently. “There are a lot of people coming looking for that kind of good deal. I guess that’s just ‘progress’ in the modern world.”
“Are there still places like that available? I was told we could live very reasonably here and that there were enough Americans to where we wouldn’t be forced to hire an interpreter anytime we want anything.
“I’m Sylvia Cartworthy and he’s my husband, Gerald. He’s from Northampton, England.
“I mean, we are coming here to spend our American dollars! You’d think they’d have sense enough to learn English if they want us here!”
“They don’t want you here, they just can’t find a way to keep you out. I’m Clint Faraday.
“They are Americans. Central Americans. This is their country and they speak Spanish here. You’d think anyone coming here to try to exploit them and their culture would have the sense to learn the language of this country. After all, they almost always learn English if they’re going to the US or Europe because people of distinction do that.”
“Hmpf! I resent your attitude!” Gerald huffed. “We’re coming here to put this backwater banana republic on the map! Need industry to stimulate the economy and bring in progress.”
“And I resent you and your type, totally. The last thing Panamá needs is a bunch of money-oriented assholes coming here to bring what they call ‘progress’ to a place that’s doing very well without your sordidity. You won’t be here very long. Maybe you could go to Panamá City. There are enough of your type there.”
He turned his back on them. He had a small camera he carried to take pictures of everyone he felt might be involved in a case. These people seemed – odd. Sylvia was looking shocked, Gerald was beet red and fuming and Anita winked and gave him a big grin. She spoke with a strong accent (she actually spoke more than passable English). “I have that second house just down the coast I’d like to rent,” she said. “It’s small. Two bedrooms and two full baths, but it is air-conditioned and has cable TV and internet. The sala’s very large, with the glass doors toward the ocean – you’ve seen it. Ten meters by ten meters with the dining area on the left.”
Sylvia couldn’t decide if she had been insulted enough not to ask, swallowed her pride and asked, “Oh? What kind of construction – I mean what is it made of? I can live with wood, but do prefer concrete block.”
“Oh, it’s concrete and steel,” Anita replied. “Personally, I prefer wood. Nispero, but that’s too expensive.
“Oh, we have a large water tank, but the water here is dependable and known as the best in the world. Chiriqui, you know.”
“Is it far from town?”
“About five minutes walking,” Anita replied.
“Oh, Gerry! Let’s look at it! Is it on the water?”
“On the water? A houseboat?” Anita asked, looking at her like she thought she was an idiot. “It’s back above the high tide line. About seventy meters from the beach.”
“Oh? Does the beach come with it?” Gerald asked.
“Beachfront here is the same as the rest of the world. Public property from the high tide line to the water,” Clint answered. “It’s beachfront.”
“Beach back,” Anita corrected. “The front is toward the road.” Clint almost burst out laughing at Sylvia’s expression.
“Oh? Gravel road?” Gerald asked.
“Just like this one,” Anita replied. “Asphalt, I think they call it.”
“Well, we might take it!” Sylvia gushed, looking almost comically cagey. “How much are you asking? I heard such places were usually about a hundred a month. I guess we could afford that.”
“It’s two thousand five hundred a month, first and last with a two thousand surety. You pay electric, but that’s only around fifteen dollars per month.”
“Good lord almighty!” Gerald exploded. “I can get a two bedroom flat in downtown London for that!”
“Oh? Then why don’t you?” Anita asked. “You might not like the beach much in London, I think.”
“This is intolerable!” Gerald spluttered. “Who do you think you’re talking to?! I’m a respected engineer, not some backwater farmer!”
“I think I’m talking to a totally arrogant self-important international jerk,” Clint answered. “I’m sure Anita – Doctora Sanchez to you – won’t have anywhere nearly as high a
n opinion, but she’s a professor of sciences at the school so is exposed to all types.
“You won’t last a week here. Your type was figured out by the natives here before you were born.
“Well, here’s Puerto Armuelles. Enjoy your stay.”
He got off with Anita at the ministro. Gerald and Sylvia were trying to get a local character, Tom (actually from Houston, Texas, but looked like a native), to tell them where the best hotel was. “Djokel? Que? Djokel?”
“Hotel! HO-tel! Damn it, you know exactly what I’m saying!” Gerald whined.
“There’s no “H” is Spanish. Oh-tel, sir,” Clint said, winking at Tom.
“Hotel Central esta mas o menos,” Tom replied. “No muy caro. Las pensiones estas mas barratos aqui.”
“Hotel Central is okay, but he thinks you want a cheap place, like most gringos, so you can stay at a hospedaje for about six bucks apiece. Backpacker digs,” Clint suggested.
“I’m not looking for anything CHEAP! I want some place that’s comfortable where I can get out of this bloody HEAT! It’s going to rain any minute! Is it always like this here? We made a big mistake coming here!”
“You sure did!” Clint agreed. “This is a tropical ocean front area and you complain because it’s tropical and because it rains? You are an idiot!”
“There’s always a seabreeze. It’s not often hot here,” Anita said. “You’re standing beside a wall in the full sun and it will feel hot. Step three steps past the wall and there’s a nice breeze.
“I’ll talk with you later, Clint.” She went on toward her restaurant. Clint pointed across the park to the Hotel Central and said it wasn’t a bad place. There weren’t any Hiltons in Puerto Armuelles.
“Thank you,” Sylvia mumbled. Gerald glared and stalked off toward the hotel. Sylvia called to him to not forget the bags. He looked at an Indio (Obilio) Clint knew and demanded, “Bring our bags!”
“Fuck you, turdhead,” Obilio replied. He put an arm across Clint’s shoulder and said he’d buy him a beer. He wanted to talk. They went toward the cantina. Sylvia was totally shocked, Gerald was about to have a heart attack. As soon as they were out of sight Clint and Obilio got a case of the giggles. Obilio had been close enough to hear the exchange with Tom and the Cartworthys and went along. That sordid type were more and more coming and were more and more resented.
“Do you know what’s going on with Batty?” Clint asked.
“He’s not very much better than those two, but he’s a little smarter. He would be alright if he was as stupid as them, but he thinks he can think. He’s gotten tied up with that Mexican oil bunch.”
“Lariez and Compania?”
Obilio nodded and sighed. Clint rolled his eyes and groaned.
Carlos Vermont, a small man from Colombia who was now a Panamanian citizen and who Clint knew from David came into the cantina and greeted them. He sat and asked why Clint was gracing the lovely little town. Clint said Batty wanted him to straighten out something or other.
“Batty?” Carlos asked.
“Don Bathner.”
“Madre de dios! No flako stupido Almirante Donaldo del ciudad grande de Canton, Ohio?
“Hay cuidado! Hay mucho cuidado!”
(“Mother of god! Not skinny stupid Admiral Donald from the big city of Canton, Ohio?
“Take care! Be very careful!”)
“Admiral? No. He never made it past staff sergeant. I guess he would act like an admiral if he thought he could pull it off.”
“Attitude. Big shot.” Carlos agreed. Obilio nodded.
They finished the beers and walked around a bit, then Clint said he would talk with Batty and find a room. Obilio said he always had a room at his place, but he said he’d stay in a hotel, seeing he might be getting into a dangerous spot with that Mexican group. He went to the little office where Batty was wheeling and dealing (Actually, he thought he was wheeling and dealing. He was being jerked around four different ways at a time and didn’t have sense enough to know it).
Batty was thin and about 5'10" with wavy brownish hair and almost colorless brown eyes. He was in his early forties and wore a lot of too flashy jewelry. He was dressed just a bit more formally than anyone ever dressed in Puerto Armuelles. Clint chatted a few minutes, then asked what it was about. Batty said he wasn’t sure, but a couple of his friends said the character who talked to him, Paulo Lariez, seemed too much like those old Godfather movies to him. He wasn’t at all sure he hadn’t been threatened and wanted Clint to find out what was happening and warn them he was a very important businessman here so they’d better not bother him.
“Paulo Lariez is here?”
“He said that was his name, but the bunch with him call him Don Paulo. I don’t know which it is.”
“Jeez! Don Paulo ... Don, like a mafia don. He’s a powerful mafia character all over Central America! What in HELL is he doing here? He’s not going to insert himself into the refinery. That can’t happen!
“Kee-RIST!
“Okay. Tell me exactly what’s been going down since the first time you ... since you got here. Everything. Don’t leave out even the least detail.”
“Well, I guess it really started in Panamá City. I was in the Hotel California for a few days while Yvon was setting up the office here for me. I was talking with that guy who hangs around the restaurant – the manager, I guess. Lariez came in and as much as ordered that his people get those tables in back. They actually made four people move! I said something about it and was told that he was greatly respected in Panamá and that they tried to always get him what he wanted because he did so much for so many people or something.
“I said something about the definition of respect and that it was something earned, not given. If the people had offered their table to him, that was respect. They were told to move, which was NOT respect, and that no one earned respect by such actions, they earned contempt.
“Anyhow, nothing else was said until they were leaving and Lariez came over to say he’d overheard my little oration about respect and maybe I didn’t know how things were done here.
“I was a little nervous and explained that I’d just come to Panamá and maybe he was right. Things were certainly not the same in Panamá and the states, in a lot of ways.
“He was scary. I was about to say there’s a difference in fear and respect, but had enough sense to not push the issue in some country where I definitely wouldn’t have the protection I have back home. Call the police here and he slips them fifty dollars and his friends beat hell out of me. I know how that works!
“Anyhow, I stewed a bit, then forgot it.
“I came here two weeks later and have been here for five months now. You met me in Bocas just before then and later here.
“Well, just two days ago I was eating at that restaurant over toward the west if town. The fancy place that’s so popular. Lots of women and transvestites – it’s a fancy high-class whorehouse, but the important people do go there and I make some contacts there. Most of my crowd go there every week or so. I’ll have to introduce you to some of my friends here. Very important business people. Most are working in real estate and supplies and such.
“Well, this Lariez character came in with his entourage and pulled the same act as at the Hotel California. I told Sam Downy and Frank Abel about it and they said he was a typical syndicate lord here. They’d seen him, but didn’t know him – and didn’t want to. Sally and Vern Wallace came in and Vern said he was a bigshot mafia chief or something who wanted to get into the delivery end of the refinery they’re building. Monica Standing, another of our little clique, said she saw him with some women who were obviously terrified of him, but no one would say or do anything.
“He saw me and I waved – try to be amiable, you know. He waved back and I forgot it.
“Well, yesterday morning some people from the Frente de Corruption Board or something such came and asked me all kinds of questions about him. I just told them I saw him in Panamá City and only spoke a fe
w words, then I saw him here and waved. They said they had a record of me speaking with him in Panamá City and that was why they were asking here. He’s suspected of something vague or they’re trying to not make it sound important.
“I was in the Hotel Central restaurant last night and he came in and sat across from me. He was very ... charming and calm, but I didn’t at all like what seemed to be the real conversation, if you know what I mean.
“He said he was doing a lot of charity work and that it was going to hurt a lot of poor people if anyone tried to stop him. He supplies employment for many hundreds of local people and for thousands of others in a lot of places and he’s greatly respected. It was just a conversation if you read the words. The way he was looking at me and stressing words made the meaning very clear. He was demanding respect from me. He’d heard what I said about respect being earned, not given, and he was demanding that I respect him. I was going to get a lesson in respect if I didn’t kiss his ass – figuratively, of course.
“I said if he was doing so much for so many people I most surely did greatly respect him. Not many people do anything in life except for themselves and one has to respect a person who does things for others. THAT is what I meant about respect being earned, not given. It seemed to satisfy him for that part, but he seems to think, just from the tone and hints, that I’m going to interfere with what he calls his work. He’s a very scary person.”
Clint nodded. “You’d better watch your back and don’t go anywhere alone. I’ll have to find what he’s into here and why he thinks you might interfere.
“What are you into?”
“Er, just some real estate over toward Las Olivas, and trying to set up some ocean transport – import stuff. I’m also trying to get a lot of that land just inland that’s not being used for anything important. Growing bananas and that kind of thing. It would be a great place for a sort of housing project for the people who’ll work at the refinery. Regular jobs, not the exec stuff. Tract house sort of thing. I should be able to get that land pretty cheap and can either build or flip it. It’s no good for much and the locals won’t figure what it’ll be worth in a few years, what with the cash influx and new industry the refinery will bring. There’s one man I think I saw with Lariez who seems interested in that place that’s part in the mountains and part flat toward the east a bit. The owner is a local Indio and won’t sell, but he’ll come around when the price is high enough. Count on it! You want to invest, it’s an opportunity that won’t be around long. As soon as it gets started prices will triple or more in a year.”