Caruso 01 - Boom Town (16 page)

Tony backed out and started to drive away, but then farther down the road the house where the basketball player lived caught his attention.

For the first time there were lights on. So he pulled in to athlete’s driveway and parked.

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TREVOR SCOTT

Tony must have rang the door bell twenty times before the large oak door swung open. He was expecting to see some huge man that he’d have to look up to. Instead, there was a young black man, early twenties, who might have gone six-two in his high-top Nikes. He was wearing a pair of baggy black shorts to his knees. That’s all. The Blazers had done a fine job with him in the weight room. But he was also wearing one more thing. A brace on his left ankle. His large round eyes inspected Tony as if he were one of his coaches about to reprimand him for a stupid mistake.

“What’s up?” he said. “I didn’t order no pizza.”

Tony wasn’t sure if that was a cut at his heritage. “That’s good.

Because I don’t have one.”

The basketball player started to close the door and Tony caught it with his foot and hand simultaneously. “Are you Jamal Banks?”

He let out a breath. “Who da fuck are you? You want my auto-graph or something?”

Tony didn’t want to deflate the guy and say he had no idea who he was or how good he could put the round ball through the ten-foot hoop, so he simply smiled and said, “Not exactly. I was hoping we could talk about your neighbors.” Tony nodded his head toward the Humphrey house.

“Never met ‘em,” he said. “Hey, listen...I’m not suppose to
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stand on this ankle. I’m in rehab.”

“I just need a few minutes,” Tony said. “May I come in?”

He considered Tony carefully now and then glanced behind him. “I’m trying to find a little pussy,” he said, showing Tony his perfect teeth. “Are you some cop?”

He got that a lot. “Some kind,” Tony said, hoping it would open the door farther.

“Motherfucker,” he said, drifting away from the door. He hob-bled into the living room area and took a seat.

Tony was somewhat surprised when he got into the room.

There were plants all over the place. All the chairs and sofa were quality leather set onto shiny hardwood floors. The music was Seal, barely loud enough to hear. Tony stood quietly glancing about the room.

Suddenly, a young blonde woman came from a back room. “I can’t find that cat anywhere, Jamal.” She stopped when she saw Tony. “Oh, hi. Is this your agent?” she asked Jamal.

She was wearing jeans too baggy and a sweater that gave her upper body the appearance of a llama. She was the receptionist at Larry Gibson’s office. Small town indeed, Tony thought.

The basketball player swished his head.

“I can’t find that cat,” she said. “She was here yesterday...came right out when I came through the door.” She looked at Tony again. “I know you. Mr. Caruso. You came by our office the other day.”

“Right. How is Larry Gibson?”

She looked confused at the question. “Fine, I’m sure. He doesn’t like you much.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Didn’t say.” She smiled and headed toward another room.

“Here kitty, kitty.”

Tony turned to the basketball player, who was looking somewhat disgusted. “Sorry,” Tony said. “Now, what can you tell me about Dan and Barb Humphrey?”

“Told you I never met ‘em.”

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“Never saw them mow their lawn? Gardening?”

He laughed. “You fuckin’ crazy? These people don’t do their own lawn. They have it done by some wetback.” His glare centered on Tony, his head cocked to one side. Then he said, “You don’t know shit about basketball do you?”

Tony shrugged.

“I was traded to the Blazers this year after spending my rookie season at Golden State. I just bought this place in September.

With training camp and flying around the country for games, I’ve only been here a few times.”

“Why’d you get a place here, so far from Portland?”

He shifted in the chair. “I have a condo in Beaverton. My agent worked a deal for this place as part of my Nike contract. It’s a great investment.”

“So you never met Dan and Barb?”

He hesitated. “Not really. I seen ‘em a few times while golfing.

They sure did like that hot tub.”

The woman came out of the bedroom holding a six-month-old kitten that seemed to blend right in with her sweater. Jamal got up to meet her, and then took the kitten and pressed it against his dark chest, the kitten nuzzling and purring against his bare skin.

“There you are,” Jamal said. “Where da hell you been?”

Tony left the two of them there to play with their pussy.

When he got out to his truck, Panzer was on his feet, his nose pressed against the sliding window of the topper.

“What you want?” he asked his dog.

Panzer whined at him and then licked the screen, leaving a nice white film behind.

“You smell something?” Tony looked across the wide green space between the basketball player’s yard and the old Humphrey place. “I’ll bet you do.”

He got in and drove off toward the north side of town. While doing so, he called Dawn and asked for a rain check on dinner.

Instead, he grabbed a quick chicken sandwich at Wendy’s. Not much of a substitute, he realized.

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There was at least one constant in life that Tony was certain about. If he ever needed any information from a desk clerk at a hotel or motel, or even a condo complex, never go there in the afternoon or early evening. That’s check in time for most places, and if they were doing that, he might as well take a seat in the lobby and watch Fox News for a while. Early evening was nearly as bad. People were looking for replacement towels, since they’d trashed theirs down at the pool.

No. The best time for information was some time between ten and midnight, any later and the desk help would get nervous.

So, after not finding out much from Mrs. Ellison or the basketball player, Tony made his way across town to the Riverfront Hotel complex.

There was a woman in her late twenties at the desk when he walked in. She wore a brown uniform that fit her round body tightly, showing more rolls than she should have. Her long dark hair was one step away from gale force. She had a pleasant smile for him as he leaned on the desk.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Tony said. “I’m looking for my brother. I understand he’s staying here. Or was staying here. I’m really not sure.”

She looked confused.

“Let me explain. I’m from Boise. I get a call from my sister-in-law saying she hasn’t seen my brother Frankie in a while. He travels to Bend on business and sometimes has to stay longer than expected. But it’s been longer than normal.”

Tony had a feeling she was buying into his sob story, so he paused for a few seconds, as if trying to control his emotions.

“I can check the computer,” she said, “see if he’s here. What’s his name?”

“Would you? I’d really appreciate it. Frank Peroni.”

She clicked away at the computer and stopped suddenly, her eyes uncertain. “This is strange.”

Tony leaned forward trying to catch a glimpse of the screen.

“What?”

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“Says here he never checked out, and...” She clicked at the keys a few more times. “His bill wasn’t paid.”

“That must be a mistake,” Tony said. “My brother never leaves without paying.”

Just then a man in his mid-thirties came from a back room. He was a large man with three chins and a gut that hung over his belt.

He was a disgrace to any uniform. The kind of guy the sheriff would hate, Tony thought.

“You talking about Frank Peroni?” he said. He was chewing on a huge wad of gum.

The woman nodded. “Yeah. This is his brother.”

“You’re the second person to ask about him...well, third actually, this evening.”

Tony gazed at him, hopeful.

“There were two guys here about a half an hour ago, maybe less.”

“What they want Frankie for?” Tony asked.

The guy shrugged. “They were from his company. Said they needed a key to the condo.”

“Condo?”

“Yeah, Cascade Lock owns the condo. We just manage it.

Normally there’d be no charges involved with Mr. Peroni’s stay.

But he was here during a black out period, a time set aside for tourists, so he would have had to pay for the time he spent here.

He scheduled the place for a week. When he didn’t check out, I called the company and they told me to hold it for Mr. Peroni.

Didn’t want us to rent it until futher notice.”

“Why didn’t the two men from his company pay for the room charges?” Tony asked.

“I asked if they’d cover the charges,” the big guy said. “They said they’d have to run the charges through their finance office.”

Tony thought about that. “Why don’t you give me a copy of the bill. If the company doesn’t pay Frankie’s bill, I will. I promise.”

The woman looked at the guy, who shrugged. Then she hit print and ran him a copy of the bill.

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“Thank you, sir,” the guy said. “I wish everyone was that con-scientious.”

Tony tucked the paper inside his jacket. “The Peroni’s pay their bills,” he said before turning to leave. When he got to the door he turned and looked the guy directly in the eye. “The guys from his company. Did one of them have long red hair pulled back into a ponytail, and the other guy was a bit taller with droopy eyes?”

“Right!” the guy said. “You know them?”

“Yeah, nice guys. I think they work in human resources.” With that Tony smiled and walked out.

He got into his truck and thought for a moment. Portland Detectives Shabato and Reese were a bit out of their jurisdiction.

He pulled out Frank Peroni’s bill and scanned it for a moment. He wanted it for the dates. But more than that, he wanted a good look at that unit, and the number was right there for him.

He started the truck and headed down the hill toward the condo units.

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TREVOR SCOTT

Private detectives on T.V. approach a door, scan the area for anyone who might be watching, and then within seconds pick their way into some apartment. Tony was sure that could happen. Problem was, he had this terminal respect for privacy. He wouldn’t want someone snooping around in his underwear drawer, so why should he suspect someone else would?

All these things flew through his mind as he wandered along the outside hallway to Frank Peroni’s condo unit. The outside of the building was rough-cut wood, giving the place a rustic look.

The stairs and wooden floor were scuffed from ski boots and golf shoes. He watched the numbers on the doors pass, hoping he wouldn’t succumb to some primal instinct and force his way into Peroni’s place.

He could see the door ahead and he stopped suddenly when he heard a sound coming from within. A rustling sound. Like someone looking for something. Damn! He leaned over the railing, glancing down to the parking lot, and there it was. The same white Pontiac Bonneville that had tailed him from Frank Peroni’s house in Portland. Shabato and Reese.

Tony had to know why those two were so set on finding Peroni.

So he inched closer to the door, trying to hear them inside.

They were talking to each other.

“Damn Blazers blew a twenty point lead last night,” one of them said. “And to the Clippers. What the hell’s that about?”

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Tony got next to the door.

“They didn’t have that young kid shootin’ threes,” the other one said.

“Sprained ankle my ass. Probably out smokin’ pot.”

Tony laughed to himself as he grasped the door knob. He quickly opened the door.

Inside, the two cops, surprised, responded by going for their guns. When they recognized Tony, they shoved their guns back into their holsters.

“Jesus Christ,” Reese said, as he flipped his red ponytail over his shoulder.

“What the hell you doin’ here?” Shabato said. His droopy eyes blinked at Tony as if he’d just stared at a solar eclipse.

Tony closed the door behind him. “Same as you. Looking for Frank Peroni.” He glanced around the room, noticing the two of them had made one hell of a mess for the housekeeping staff.

“Only I wasn’t planning on breaking into a man’s condo and rifling through his shit.”

The two of them glanced at each other.

“This is official police business,” Reese assured him.

Tony laughed as his eyes shifted from the sofa cushions on the floor, their covers taken off exposing their white spongy innards, to the grill hanging off the air conditioning unit under the front window. “So, then...you’d have an official warrant?”

They hesitated long enough for Tony to realize the stupidity of that question.

Shabato patted his jacket. “Damn. Must have left it in Portland.”

“Why don’t we just cut the bullshit,” Tony said. “You tell me why you’re so interested in Frank Peroni, and I’ll tell you everything I know.” Which wasn’t a whole hell of a lot. But they didn’t know that.

The cops looked at each other again, as if neither could speak without first consulting the other through some cosmic mind meld.

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“You first,” Reese said.

Damn. He had a feeling they’d say that. He sat down and explained everything he knew about the man, from him going home with the Humphreys to speculation that he could have been the one fried at their house. He did explain that it was an unlikely supposition on his part, but the possibility did exist. When he was done, the cops simply stared at him.

Reese was the first to speak. “All right. We’ve been investigating Frank Peroni for six months now. We got a tip from his employer that a shitload of their customers had complained about break-ins. Said their locks weren’t worth shit. Blah, blah, blah...