Caruso 01 - Boom Town (20 page)

Tony had been at the condo for about an hour when the snow started falling. It was late afternoon, heading into early evening.

He had been locked onto the computer, searching the net for some clue on how to find Peroni. Having pulled out a map of the county and circling the locations where Frank Peroni had taken out cash advances against his Visa, he had a reasonable idea where he was. Frank had made a few errors. He had thought it was safe to go to resorts to draw the cash. Rightfully so. But by doing so, he had given up his relative location. He wouldn’t want to drive very far, thinking the cops might be looking for his car.

So, how to narrow down his hiding place? Make a bunch of phone calls and computer checks.

A few hours later, through periods of frustration and uncertainty, Tony thought he might have actually gotten a solid lead. He
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had talked with Frank’s wife, talked with resort personnel, talked with grocery store clerks, talked with damn near anyone who would talk. In the end, he found a telephone number that might have been helpful. The address where the phone was located was probably even more significant, since it was owned by one James Burton, the marketing director he had talked with at Cascade Lock in Beaverton. Frank’s boss.

Tony gathered up a few things before heading out. Put on his hiking boots, winter coat and gloves, and his ski hat.

By the time he got to the truck, darkness had settled across Central Oregon, and six inches of fresh powder had fallen already. He switched on the radio after clearing the windows of snow, and an overly enthusiastic woman informed him the entire area was under a winter storm advisory. Great. On the bright side, the radio lady had said, skiing in the morning would be excellent.

The silver lining.

He considered leaving Panzer in the condo, but he had no idea how long this would take. Besides, the dog had shown a great fondness to snow.

Placing the dog behind the seat in the cab with him, Tony dropped the truck into four-wheel-drive and pulled out into the blowing sheet of white. He had no idea if his hunch would turn up anything more than a winter driving lesson. But he had to try.

He was running out of options.

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The road toward Black Butte was treacherous. Tony’s only consolation was that not many people were out and about.

Only other crazy bastards like him, he thought, with four wheel drive and the brains of the village idiot.

He passed Black Butte Ranch, an expansive resort and golf community, and one of the places Frank Peroni had gotten cash.

Farther on down the road, he slowed the truck to watch for signs.

Having memorized the map before leaving, he knew he needed to take a right toward Camp Sherman.

He almost missed the sign, sliding around the corner and fish-tailing a few times before straightening it out. He didn’t have much information about James Burton’s second home. He imagined it was a summer cabin, but he wasn’t about to call the guy and ask him. He wanted to see the look on Frank Peroni’s face when he saw him, before someone had a chance to say he had called. Who knows? Frank would have probably bolted.

Fifteen minutes later he passed through Camp Sherman, which wasn’t really a town, but a quick stop for people who owned second homes in the area. There was a gas station, a volunteer fire-house, and a small general store. He had contacted the store hoping to find information about Frank Peroni. Bingo. The clerk had told him about a man fitting Peroni’s description. They were used to strangers in the area. Hunters. Fishermen. But most of them came through in the summer or fall, not December. And this guy
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had been there a few times in the past two weeks. Always nervous, she had said.

Tony continued on along the road until it crossed the Metolius River. Melanie Chadwick had told him that there were million dollar homes along the river. She had listed a number of the places. Decadent opulence is how she had described some of the places there. But he saw none of that in the snowstorm. He was having a rough enough time keeping the truck on the road.

After he crossed the river, the road narrowed even more, and he knew that Burton’s place was supposed to be the second road on the left and would probably angle back toward the river.

There it was. He slowed and turned onto a dirt lane that was covered now with almost a foot of new snow, his headlights glistening off the pine boughs weighted to the breaking point.

He had no idea how far the private drive went from the main road to the house. Nor did he even know for sure if he’d find Frank Peroni there. He did know that if he was there, and Tony parked the truck in the middle of the driveway, there was no way he would be able to get his Ford Taurus past him. In fact, Peroni would have been lucky to move the car a few feet in that thick, wet snow.

Which gave him an idea. Figuring he was getting closer, he turned the F250 at an angle across the lane where it narrowed between two trees. Then he shut down the engine and got out.

Panzer tried to jump out with him. “
Nein
!
Sitzen
.”

Closing the door on Panzer, Tony flicked on a small penlight briefly to make sure it worked, and then shoved into his jacket pocket. He zipped up his jacket, pulled his hat over his ears, and trudged off through the snow.

Tony always found something serene about walking through fresh snow in the darkness, the fluffy flakes settling lightly on his head and shoulders. One flake would catch an eyelash and he would blink it away. As a kid growing up in northern Minnesota, Tony would get bundled up during a good evening snowstorm, lay on his back, and let the snow cover him. Strange how the
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mind worked, he thought. He should have been thinking about Frank Peroni and how he related to Dan and Barb Humphrey getting killed, but he was feeling the snow against his face as he trudged forward.

The road curved a few times and he could hear the Metolius River rippling in the distance, the sloshing of water clearer and clearer as he made his way down the road.

Then Tony saw it. A faint light in the distance, the snow falling in blankets in front of it. He stepped softly toward the light.

Seconds later he could see a car. The Ford Taurus? Maybe his guess had been right. He came up to the rear of the car and swiped his hand across the trunk, knocking a thick patch of snow away. Yep. Ford Taurus. Then he thought about what Peroni’s wife had told him, so he went to the front of the car and brushed away some of the snow from the windshield. There was a long crack.

When he turned toward the house, a figure appeared in the window. Just as quickly, the man was gone.

The house was built of logs, resembling a mountain cabin that could have been made to look like a settler’s home, but was actually quite new, Tony could tell. The construction was too perfect.

The logs too precisely cut, they looked like Lincoln Logs.

As Tony made his way toward the front porch, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. What if Peroni had killed Dan and Barb and was hiding out before skipping the country? He could have been dangerous, not thinking twice about killing Tony as well. He felt the flashlight in his pocket and thought about carrying a gun next time. But first he’d have to buy one.

He stepped lightly up the wooden stairs, trying not to make any noise. When he reached the door, which was wooden half way up and then glass panes the rest of the way, he could see more lights inside. A T.V. shone in the large open space, and a fire flashed its flames in a huge stone fireplace. Sitting in a leather chair, flipping through channels much like his wife had done in Portland, was a man in sweats and a sweater; one foot housed in a Nike
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basketball shoe hung over the chair’s arm dangling back and forth. The man took a swig of beer from a long neck bottle before flipping the channel again.

Tony checked the door knob. It was locked. Then he noticed that there was an electronic lock as well as a mechanical dead bolt. Both said Cascade Lock on them. Figured.

Looking back along the driveway at Peroni’s car, Tony realized there wasn’t anyplace the guy could go. Just knock and talk. So he did just that.

He thought that Frank Peroni would piss his pants when he heard the first knock. He nearly jumped out of the chair. Then, gathering courage, he rose to his feet and strut across the wooden floor. He stopped and flicked the light on Tony to get a closer look.

Then he said, “Who the fuck are you?”

And he thought Peroni’s wife had given him the cold shoulder.

“I’m Tony Caruso.”

The man’s brows rose unexpectedly. “What do you want with me?” he yelled through the glass.

“Are you Frank Peroni?” he asked, even though he recognized him from the picture at his house in Portland.

“What’s it to you?”

This was going great. “Could I come in and talk with you for a minute? It’s kind of nasty out here.” Tony shivered for effect.

He looked Tony over, probably figured he was harmless, much like the two rent-a-cops had, and then opened the door for him.

Tony stomped and wiped the snow from his boots and pants and then followed Peroni into the living room. Stopping next to the fire, Tony turned toward Peroni, who was back in his chair.

Peroni put on a music station and then set the remote on the end table.

“Let me guess,” he said. “My wife hired you to find me?”

He couldn’t have been serious. “What?”

He stared at Tony with a stupid expression, like he just stepped on a pile of dog crap and he was wondering how to get it off his
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shoe. “My wife didn’t hire you?”

Tony assured him she had not. Then he said, “What have you been doing the last two weeks?”

“What are you, my mother?” He killed off the last of his beer and then got up and went to the refrigerator for another. He took a seat again and downed a third of the bottle.

Tony had to get right to the point. See how he reacted. “You went home with Dan and Barb Humphrey the night they were killed.”

He narrowed his eyebrows at Tony. He was a worse actor than his boss, James Burton. “I don’t know these people.”

“I’ve got your finger prints at the scene, along with your DNA from pubic hair.” Tony let that sink in for a few seconds. Hey, what the hell, he was a better actor than Peroni. A better liar, too.

He shook his head side to side. “No frickin’ way. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You are one pathetic liar. I’ve got witnesses saying you left the Riverfront with Dan and Barb. The next day you drop off the face of the earth. Either you killed them or you know who did. Which is it?”

He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a heavy sigh.

“Motherfucker. I just try to get a little pussy...” He trailed off, taking another swig of beer.

“What happened, Frank?”

Peroni thought about it for a second or two. Tony had a feeling the guy wasn’t involved with their death, but he knew who was.

He also knew that he probably hadn’t talked with anyone about what had happened in the past two weeks, and that was driving him crazy. He was scared, Tony could tell.

“I was at the Riverfront that night,” he started. “Minding my own business, I’ll have you know. Then this beautiful woman comes up and sits next to me, offers to buy me a drink. I’m gonna refuse that? Hell no! In no time she’s all over me like a politician on a girl scout. She’s got her hand on my crotch. You name it.”

Peroni thought for a moment, drank his beer, but kept his eyes
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on Tony. He continued. “So after a while she asks if I want to go back to her place to party. I don’t refuse.”

“What about her husband?” Tony asked.

“Hold onto your dick. I’m getting to that. Just before we get up to go, this guy shows up. I figure it’s just someone she knows.

But she comes right out and says it’s her husband. I’m ready to bolt, until the guy asks if I’d like to fuck his wife. Let me tell you something, she was something to look at. It was kinda kinky, but under the circumstances, I wasn’t about to refuse. He assured me he didn’t want to suck my dick or anything like that. Just wanted to watch. Got off on that shit, I guess. I never had an audience before, but I’m an open kinda guy. So we left.”

Tony was feeling the warmth from the fireplace and thinking about his last encounter with Melanie Chadwick. “Then you went back to their house at Cascade Peaks Estates?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if I could perform under those conditions.”

He smiled broadly, obviously remembering his moment of glory.

“So you and Barb do it while Dan watches? Then what?”

“She was beautiful. I never had a woman like her. Tremendous body. We did it a few times while her old man tries to beat the meat in the corner. Then she tells me to go outside to the hot tub.

I figured she was gonna give her husband a shot at that pussy. So I go.”

Suddenly, Tony saw a flash of light coming from outside. At least he thought that’s what it was.

“What you looking at?” Peroni said, gazing off toward the front door.

“I thought I saw something out there. A light.”

Frank Peroni got up quickly. “Someone followed you here.”

The next couple of flashes weren’t from flashlights. They were from guns going off. In their direction.

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They didn’t have time for anything. Bullets had crashed through the glass on the front door, sending shards onto the wooden floor. Tony grabbed Frank Peroni by the arm and then the two of them raced through the kitchen, snatching his winter coat on the way out the back door.