by Moulton, CD
“We must agree to speak in all things here frankly and honestly. I am assured that you will cooperate.
“What can you tell me of these two people?”
“Manolo is an acquaintance who has helped me in some serious matters. I understand he arranges, shall we say, the distribution of some things that, as we say in the states, fell off a truck somewhere. I don’t make judgements about that kind of thing. So long as no one gets hurt, we ... well, I can use help at times. I simply agree not to see or hear some things in return for him finding people who do hear and see things where murder is concerned. He is nonviolent.
“I will not say anymore about him. I believe he is not hurting anyone or arranging for anyone to be hurt.
“He had Esteban Castillo looking for a person for me. That person has committed a number of extremely sadistic and cruel murders. You might want to check with Gonzalo Gonzalez in Celinas, Peru, about that. I know nothing about him except that he reminds me of a TV pimp and hood. This is homicide. You are asking about him.
“I told him not to be conned by the woman I’m after. She would use him and kill him without thought.
“She did?”
“It would seem. He was found dead in his home an hour ago. He was stabbed seventeen times. It was as, as you said, sadistic a murder as I’ve seen. He was tied to a chair, his mouth taped shut and his arms and legs to the chair. He was castrated, then slowly cut until he bled to death. He had cigarette burns all over his body.
“Who is this woman? WHAT is this woman?”
“Gonzalo calls her ‘El Diablo’ because of what she did to a man in Peru. He’s still alive, but deeply and sincerely wishes he wasn’t. She castrated him with acid. Ask Gonzalo about that!”
“It is reputed that he kept very large sums of cash in that house. There is none now. I can assume the lady has need of cash?”
“Yes, but she should have more than she needs. I think she’s just a homicidal maniac. She’s still in Caracas.”
“That is a very frightening statement! Can we find her?”
“I really don’t know. I found her last night and she gave me the slip. I really want to find that one!”
“And quickly!”
Now what? She most certainly couldn’t stay in Caracas and she probably couldn’t leave.
Two days later he hadn’t learned anything new. She had disappeared off the face of the Earth. No one had seen her.
Then he got a break. Gordon found the house where she was renting a room. She was gone when they got there, but they went in.
“I just want to see how she got away from us this time,” Clint said.
They did. She had a lot of men’s clothes. She’d dressed as a man and gotten out of the area, but did she get out of Caracas altogether?
She had more than twenty thousand in cash so could probably move around without a lot of trouble within South America and into as far as Honduras with a phony ID of some type. Surely she wouldn’t try to use another phony passport. Manolo had already put out an alert with her fingerprints that would catch her within minutes if she tried that dodge again.
She could go anywhere on buses. Where would she go?
To Rio. That would logically be a place she wouldn’t go and she was being clever. Clint and Gordon would first check all the bus stations. It would be a matter of talking to the drivers and door attendants (there is almost always a boy at the door to take suitcases, maletas and other packages and to see the passengers had a seat – if any were available. On long trips no one would want to stand. They would be looking for a gringo man of her size and description. She had rather large breasts so would most probably ... Clint looked over the list of suit and clothes sizes. She would be disguised as a somewhat fat man. Most of the clothes were L and XL. He found several receipts from local stores in the trash can. She bought some shaving supplies so she would be sporting a beard. She had sunglasses.
“Okay. We’re looking for a man about five seven, overweight, beard, sunglasses. She went for the more obvious look because we would think she wouldn’t do that if we found out she was posing as a man.”
“I agree, but she’ll still do something clever,” Gordon warned. Clint nodded agreement.
They looked around the rooms once more and found nothing new except some magazines and, behind the nightstand, a pass to Clubo Diferente.
“What the Sam hell is Clubo Diferente?” Clint asked. Gordon shrugged and took out his cell phone to make a call to a taxi driver friend who told him it was a lesbian hangout just off Centro. Clint picked up the magazines. They would be the type that would probably appeal to lesbians. He smirked at Gordon.
“What?”
“She probably made both of us at Gigi’s. She planted the shaving and sunglasses receipts so we’d look for exactly what that get-up would suggest. She did something to be sure you would find this place. It’s become a game with her now. She’s completely over the edge – but we knew that.
“She’s wearing a suit, very little make-up, has her hair cut in a mannish way and is going as a lesbian in those suits. A woman wearing a man’s suit, if she’s got boobs, always looks top-heavy and slightly odd.
“She bought suits. A man would probably not wear a suit on a bus trip. They’re casual here and suits are hot and uncomfortable.”
“Just the way a lesbian playing the male role would look. She really is damned clever!”
“Cunning. Let’s go find which bus a lesbian of her description took. She’ll be traveling with a companion to throw us off.”
Gordon nodded and grinned.
Isabel Leeds and her dear friend, Gloria Sorento, had taken a bus to Frontera just that morning. Clint could see enough from the surveillance shots that he could make a very good picture of what she looked like. Gloria was a small dark woman in her early thirties, very attractive.
Bus CO-1472. It wouldn’t arrive in Frontera until 8:30 PM. Clint would be there, but he knew damned well she would get off the bus a bit before then. Maybe he could find where and be waiting for her to arrive at another checkpoint.
Clint booked a flight to Campanero, the closest town to Frontera with an airport. It was a small Cessna and cost a lot more than it should. He got there in plenty of time to take a bus to Frontera with an hour and a half to spare. He got a good meal and had a beer, then went to the station when the bus came in.
She got a call on her cell phone and got off the bus in Pedrigal, a town about an hour away from Frontera by bus. Her companion came on. Clint watched her get off the bus and look around. He managed to stay out of sight. She went through the station and out the front to look everywhere. She was very obviously looking for someone specific.
Him and/or Gordon.
After wandering around for twenty minutes or so she made a call on her cell phone, then went back inside and got a ticket for another bus. Clint waited until she went to the ladies room and found that she had a ticket for the late bus to La Navidad, fifteen or twenty kilometers back.
He went back to his spot and watched as she went to the cantina and ate a small meal, chatted with a woman for a few minutes, then went to the port to get on her bus.
Clint waited, then went to the closest fleabag hotel. He’d wait. She was being clever. It was fairly certain they would come back to get on with the trip.
But when?
In the morning Clint had a large if not very tasty breakfast and four cups of excellent coffee. He read over the local Prensa, then strolled around town for an hour or so. A large bus went by toward the checkpoint. A direct bus. It suddenly occurred to him that she could probably get the direct bus from anywhere along the route and go on into Brazil.
“Oh FUCK! She’s outsmarted me again!” he muttered under his breath and headed for the checkpoint. She and her companion had gone through on the 2:00 bus. There was one every two hours. She had used a temporary visa and a tourist card.
“No way! She’s a foreigner!” Clint exclaimed. “She’s not from the Americas, she’
s from France and Switzerland! She can’t get a tourist card with a visa!”
Armando looked up the record and showed Clint she got a legal lost passport document from the French embassy – which meant she could be issued a visa on a tourist card.
“But her passport that she supposedly lost was a fake!” Clint snarled. “How in HELL did she convince the French Embassy to renew a fake passport?!”
Armando shrugged and said, “It costs two thousand US dollars, I understand. My part was legitimate.” He put his palms up and shrugged again.
“Well, Venezuela should be damned glad to be rid of her. She killed at least two people here.”
That shook Armando. A little. Clint handed Armando his passport and said he would have to follow her. Armando shrugged and stamped him out of Venezuela, he walked through the security room and got his stamp to be in Brazil. Lucky for him he had everything in his backpack and didn’t have to go back to the hotel for it.
Not that he would have left anything in that hotel.
He found she had taken a bus to Colónia. She could get a bus there for anywhere in Brazil. It took him an hour to discover she had already taken a bus to Cacao. Her companion went on to Rio. She carried a Brazilian passport and was from Rio.
“Hah-ah!” he muttered. “This time I won’t fall for that.”
He got a map and traced where she would most likely go from Cacao (So he would know where she would NOT go!).
Nowhere. It was a little town north near the Colombian border.
Now it was, I thought that she thought that I thought that she thought she’d fool me into going to a specific place. I therefore stopped the “I thoughts” one back.
Which was as good a guess as any. It was fifty-fifty.
Clint went to the station and talked with several Indios from Cacao. They said you could get a bus on the main road that took you into Escondido, Colombia. The roads weren’t good for the first hundred kilometers or so, but you met the main road on to Bogota then and it wasn’t so bad.
Bogota would be the one place she had to go from there. She couldn’t stop anywhere in those jungles where she could change her route. When Gloria didn’t see him at the Frontera station she figured she had time to work it so he wouldn’t know where she went.
Well, that was true! Clint went back to the station and booked a private flight to Bogota. She would think she had him outfoxed on this one because she had gotten away with the night bus bit. She would still get off the bus before Bogota. All he had to do was figure out where.
She had said something about Colombia once. The same time she told him about the pink house in Ecuador. Near ... Cali. In the mountains.
He got his evil smirk again and changed the flight to Bogota to Cali. He would find her place there and be able to yell, “Surprise!” to her when she came in.
He called Manny while he was waiting to catch him up to date. He would tell the others what was going down. He then called Trudy to ask if she knew about the place in Colombia. She’d heard there was a small cabin in the mountains there, but didn’t know where. George was there so she asked if he knew about it. He and Wanda had gone there once ten or so years ago. It was maybe sixty or eighty kilometers west by southwest of Cali. They flew in in a helicopter. He didn’t remember any towns or anything close – which might have changed in ten years. That was a help.
His plane was ready so he went through the checkpoint and boarded. The plane stopped in Bogota to refuel, then they headed on to Cali. He checked into the Royal, had a good meal, bought an area map, then went to a bar to relax. He met a woman from Denmark, they got along well. It was, finally on this trip, a good night.
In the morning he took out his map and drew a triangle with the tip in Cali and arms extended for eighty-five kilometers. It was from SW to a bit more than WSW. There weren’t any towns in the covered area big enough to be on the map. A relief map showed that there were a number of places in the mountains that could well hold a house. There was a river, which made it one of three places.
She would take two days or more to arrive. He had time to find the place. He would go to the farthest spot first. He could rent a helicopter. Trudy had given him access to whatever funds he needed. She wanted Amanda caught.
The helicopter pilot was an older gringo named Sam. He knew the entire area like the back of his hand and knew it had to be one of the places in two spots. One, the one he thought it would be because no one ever went there except the Indio family taking care of the place, would almost certainly be what he was looking for.
They landed on a flat grassy spot two hundred meters from the picturesque cabin. An Indio with his little son and daughter came to ask what they wanted. Clint asked if this was the Lesley house.
Yes. Lawrence Lesley. He was the one who said they could live in the house when he wasn’t there if they would see that everything was safe and the place was kept clean and in good repair.
It was that! It looked like it was brand new!
“Is Mr. Lesley coming? Should we move?”
“I think Amanda is coming, but she won’t stay. Mr. Lesley died and his daughter-in-law owns the place now. I believe she’ll keep the agreement you have with Mr. Lesley.”
“This Amanda is the daughter-in-law?”
“No. She’s the daughter who killed him.”
Didn’t phase him. He nodded and said, “It had to happen. He treated them horribly.”
“He was not a very nice man. Trouble is, she killed some other people in a very cruel and inhuman way. She’s a homicidal maniac.”
He nodded again. He’d seen that in two of the children. One girl and the boy. The girl would be the one with the guts to do it. The boy was a bit too easy.
Clint liked this man. He didn’t play the silly games most people played. He knew Lawrence was doomed by his sordid personality and spotted the insanity in Amanda long before there was any noticeable symptom.
“I’ll stay here to capture her and take her back to the police in Panamá.” Clint said.
“I think you won’t want us to move. I think you are a good man I will like.”
“And I already like you,” Clint agreed, then to Sam, “Do NOT, under any circumstances, let her know I’m here.”
“She ‘Killed some people in a very cruel and inhuman way,’ huh? I don’t think I want to know her.”
“You the only one who comes out here?”
“In the chopper, yes. I’ll be booked for a week and can’t take any others on. She can come on the river from the camp a couple kilometers down that way.” He pointed his chin SE.
“Call me when she gets here?” He nodded and took the card with Clint’s number. He warned that there was no signal much of the time out this far. Clint thanked him and paid him. He left.
“Well! Let’s see the house!”
The Indio, Julio Juarez, showed him the bedroom they weren’t using and said he could have whichever one he wanted. Clint said it was perfect.
Julio introduced his wife as Estrelita and his daughter, Sylvia, and his son, Juan. He was immediately accepted as almost a part of the family and they became fast friends immediately. Juan was curious about this strange gringo person and followed him everywhere. The house had water from higher on the mountain run through PVC pipe to give a good pressure in the shower and kitchen. Estrelita made a very tasty stew with things grown on the place. Clint didn’t ask what the meat was, but thought it was probably pork.
The shower was cold, but he was used to that. These Indios were as clean as his Indio friends in Panamá and as communal (or more) in lifestyle. When he went to the shower Juan and Julio joined him. They sat on the verandah overlooking the river to watch the sunset. There were no clouds to the east of the mountains so nightfall was rather sudden. It went into twilight and to night in no more than two or three minutes. Julio explained that when there were white clouds to the east the reflection would make the light fade slowly.
They chatted for awhile, then Clint sacked out. Jua
n came to sleep with him. Clint felt very protective of him.
It was three days in paradise. Clint could have stayed there the rest of his life and never regretted a moment. Sam called him (well, text message) and reported she was there. Getting a boat before noon. Be there about one or two.
A minute later he got another message: rented a boat. Alone.
That might work!
He warned Julio and family to stay away from the river when she got there. She was dangerous. They agreed. Julio said he had a machete, but Clint showed him his pistol and said arm’s length was too close with her. He would stay out of sight in the house. Don’t let the children go outside unless he or Estrelita were with them and never very far.
They waited. She didn’t come and it was getting dark. Clint called Sam.
“She still has the boat out there somewhere. Headed off that way and never came back. Might have landed somewhere around the bend and walked in to take a look, you know?”
Clint said she would do that. It was why he didn’t go anywhere she could see him.
“She will when the lights are on.”
“Only firelight and candles.”
“And shadows.”
“Yes. Handled.”
“She saw something. She’d be in there already if she hadn’t. Maybe she’ll stay back in the trees tonight to see who’s around tomorrow,” Sam warned. “If she’s half as nuts as you said she’ll be paranoid at the same time.”
Clint thought. There was nothing she would be overly-suspicious about he could think of. It was going to be one hell of a tense night. Clint wasn’t about to leave his pistol out of reach. He again warned Julio to keep his family together. Don’t let the children go outside. She might grab them.
They doused the lights and waited in the dark. Clint was very careful of sounds.
The jungles are filled with sound at night. That was going to be the hard part.
The Slip One More Time
She didn’t show by morning. Clint waited until after ten o’clock in the house out of sight.
“Julio, where could she be? I can’t figure her at all. I had fooled myself into thinking I could.”