Clint Faraday Collection C: Murder in Motion Collector's Edition Read Free Page A

friends in Florida,
California, and Panamá. He went into town, got groceries and
supplies for a week or so, then headed back home. Sam, Freddie and
Larry were standing on the sidewalk by his gate. Clint sighed
heavily and asked the cabbie to wait while he kicked a few asses.
He got out.
    “ Faraday?
We have to talk. No more shit,” Sam said.
    That surprised him. He nodded, paid the taxi
and grabbed the groceries. He led the trio inside. They didn’t say
much while he put the groceries away, then offered them coffee.
Larry had a cup, the other two said they were nervous enough
without caffeine.
    “ What’s
it about? The act on the comarca?” Clint asked.
    “ You knew
that it was a act?” Sam asked. He seemed to be the spokesman for
the trio. “I sort of wondered if you’d tumbled. We overdid
it.
    “ I mean,
we are what you call rednecks. We
don’t understand the kind of shit ... well, the shit people put up
with. I guess we’re big-time bigots. We like our beer and our
trucks and our guns and all that.
    “ This is
how it came about. It was when we came into that place on the
border – Frontera. We stayed for that night in some hotel.
Everybody said it was a dump, but it seemed Okay to us. It was a
lot better than some places, like in Nicaragua and Costa Rica. They
ain’t got much.
    “ We got a
lot of money from ... a land deal in Georgia and decided to see the
world. At least some of it. Where we could go in our
truck.
    “ The
truck was part of our pay. It’s great, but drinks gas like a
elephant. It was costing us a lot more than we thought at first. I
was sort of hoping the gooks would take the damned thing when we ..
on that reservation. It would probably save us a fucking
fortune.
    “ That’s
just talking. You don’t give a fucking shit. I don’t know how to
talk to you.
    “ Alright.
Straight out, like.
    “ We were
at a place in Frontera, a little restaurant. We were trying to sell
the fucking Hummer to get enough money to stay a couple days, then
go home. Only the taxes if anyone bought it would take everything
because ... you don’t give a fuck. You know how that shit
goes.
    “ We said
we wanted to go to Bocas because some friends went there when they
played some music – they have a band that’s going places in
Nashville. Local boys who made it, you know.
    “ Anyhow,
this guy says he knows someone who would maybe give us a stake
where we wouldn’t need to sell the fucking thing. We could get it
back to Georgia and sell it there if anybody was as stupid as we
were and would even look at it.
    “ We knew
he was right about that! We didn’t get our shorts in a knot because
he said we were stupid to buy the fucking thing in the first place.
We were !
    “ Anyhow,
he talked to this bird on his pocket phone and said it would be a
day or two. All we had to do was go somewhere that was on the way
to fucking Bocas, anyhow. We would make who turned out to be you go
away for a afternoon and night. He would pay us ten fucking
grand.
    “ We said
that was about as good as it gets! Who did we have to kill? He said
that was the good part. We didn’t have to kill anybody. Maybe kick
your ass if that was the only fucking way to keep you
there.
    “ We had
to make it look like natural. You wasn’t to ever know that’s what
we were doing.
    “ He said
you really liked the gooks – sorry, Indios – and that you would be
out there in a heartbeat if anybody tried to cause them trouble. He
didn’t tell us the part about the goo ... Indios having their own
law and that the damn government fuckheads wouldn’t be able to take
a hundred or so and forget it. We made him pay us for the guns and
stuff when we got here.
    “ See, he
paid five grand up front and five when we were done. He paid like
he said, but those guns cost us more than three grand back in
Louisiana. The guy who saw us in Frontera came to Bocas to pay. He
said that was fair because he didn’t tell us not to take any guns
on the comaria ...