Daybreak: Clint Faraday Mysteries, #2

By C. D. Moulton

Clint wakes up to another day in paradise. Everything is as perfect as it gets – except for that red sky.

"Red sky in morning, sailors take warning"

Well, that doesn't mean much, here in Panama'. There are a lot of colorful sunrises.

Then, again....

Puerto Armuelles, a scam, a mob boss,murders ,,, come on! Gimme a break!

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Feb 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201830175

Book preview

Clint Faraday Mysteries #2

Daybreak

© 2008 & 2011 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 other infor-mation retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons are totally coincidental.

Then again....

Clint wakes up to another day in paradise. Everything is as perfect as it gets – except for that red sky.

Red sky in morning, sailors take warning

Well, that doesn’t mean much here in Panama’. There are a lot of colorful sunrises.

Then, again....

contents

About the author

An E-mail

Puerto Armuelles

Investigating

The Orlando’s Farm Connection

What the Hell Is Going On?

Salty Mines

Be Careful!

Wax Atomic

Leave Me Alone

Relax

About the author

CD was born in Lakeland, Florida. His education is 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 115 books published as of this time in SciFi, murder, orchid culture and various other fields.

He now resides in Bocas del Toro and David, Panama’, where he continues research into epiphytic plants. 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 Panama’ and the people. He plans to spend the rest of his life in the paradise that is Panama’. 

- Estrelita Suarez V.

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 page, Ambrosia peruviana for cancer. CD asks only that all who try it please report on its effectiveness on that group.

Daybreak

An E-mail

Clint Faraday awoke to a light breeze blowing in from the east through the window to the deck. He glanced out to see Julio Guerra going by toward the research institute on the point, but the Caribbean was calm this time of year and the little breeze made only small ripples in patches on the surface of Saigon Bay. It was a perfect day, but the red sky to the east meant probably a bit of rain later. It would be light and warm, so most would ignore it.

William Raspette went by with a boatload of surfers. As dead calm as the Caribbean was at the moment meant they would lay around on the beach at Boca del Drago until the rain got close enough to make some waves. Probably an hour or so.

Clint stretched and went to the bathroom to rinse and such, then went into the kitchen to put on coffee. He decided to whip up a quick batch of cinnamon pancakes.

He quickly sliced into the large guanabana fruit, dropped a couple of cups of the delicious white fruit into the blender, added a bit of sugar and a cup of milk, a cup of ice, and made a delicious chicha. Perfect.

From here, he could see Judi Lum on her deck, working with the vast array of local orchids the people brought her. There were hundreds of natural varieties growing in the area. She planted them on driftwood and always had a few dozen in bloom. The Lady of the Night orchid that was all along the coast was as much as ever-blooming here in its natural habitat. It had a sweet fragrance at night – which was why the name.

Judi saw him and waved, wagging a finger at him. He didn’t bother to wear anything at home until he’d had breakfast or if he had company. She always did the naughty-naughty wag at him. He grinned, waved back and went in to see what e-mail had come during the night. Nothing, for a change.

Dave, the local eccentric author/musician, went to Judi’s deck in a cayuca (local Indio dugout boat) to hand her several orchids and a bromeliad or two. He was doing a study of them to be able to teach some students from the University of Panama’ classification. He saw Clint and waved, then held up an anthurium with a big white and purple flower. He’d found one in the mountains and had gone back to see if there were more. He never took a plant unless it was in danger of dying, anyhow, or if there were a lot of them.

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. 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 Colon en dos 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? she asked, brightening. "I was told we could live very reasonably here, 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. People of distinction automatically 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, Clint returned. The last thing Panama’ 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 Panama’ 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. I have remodeled the kitchen to the more modern look.

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 also 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? she asked.

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