bullshit.”
Humphrey turned and made his way back to the driver’s door, opened it, and hesitated before getting in. “One way or another, you’ll come to your senses. You’ll deal with me.” With that, he got into his car and started the engine. As he started to back out of the driveway, he shook his head as he noticed the man in his yard. He had turned around, bent over, and his pants were down at his ankles. His right index finger pointed at his hairy white cheeks.
♦
50
TREVOR SCOTT
Tony had a feeling Dumb and Dumber would find a way to finish what they had started, but his concern was why they would bother. Had Beaver Jackson told them to keep track of him? If so, why?
After talking with Dawn Sanders, and letting her make a pin cushion out of him, Tony drove to a downtown park along the Deschutes River to let Panzer run and take care of business, and then he proceeded to a frame shop to pick up a bunch of photos he was having matted and framed for his gallery opening. While there, he dropped off the roll of film he had taken at the fried Humphrey house. He didn’t expect to find anything in those shots, but he did hope the shot of the security guards turned out.
He needed something for his website. Something that praised retroactive abortions.
The photo shop had done a great job on his photos. He worked in black and white, mostly landscapes, but this showing was made up almost entirely of people. Faces from around the world.
There was something magical about the human face and what it can tell the informed observer at that vital moment of shutter release. Maybe his skill with a camera gave him a better understanding of human nature. His sister Maria, a professor of psy-chology at the University of Oregon, had disagreed with Tony’s self assessment, and had diagnosed his understanding of others as a direct result of his encounters with thousands of people from all walks of life in more than 30 countries—in and out of the Navy.
Okay. . .maybe.
He dropped off the last of the framed photos at the Cascade Gallery a block away. The owner, June Van Hoover, looked them over critically. She was in her early sixties, and if she was five feet then Tony was ready to play in the NBA. So thin was she, he imagined a good breeze would blow her halfway across the high desert to Idaho.
She adjusted her bifocals on a particularly stark photo of a Malaysian woman on the streets of Singapore. One of Tony’s favorites.
BOOM TOWN 51
“I want this one,” she said.
That was more words than he’d heard her say in two previous meetings in person. He had called from Eugene prior to coming to Central Oregon, setting up the showing with June’s assistant.
In person, June had rarely said a thing, preferring instead to grunt and clear her throat.
He left her to admire number two of twenty, Malaysian Woman, while Tony headed back to the condo to regroup.
Playing an insurance investigator had taken its toll on him. He needed a shower.
As he was toweling off, his cell phone rang.
“Yeah.”
There was nobody on the line. Then he heard breathing.
“Mr. Caruso?”
It was Cliff Humphrey.
“Yes. What can I do for you, Mr. Humphrey?”
“I just wanted to know how the day went,” he said. “What you found out.”
When Tony took on cases like this, he tried to assess the type of person he would be working for, and if the person seemed like high maintenance, he would usually pass. Life was too short to put up with assholes. Humphrey had intrigued him, though. Tony was usually open to anything after that. Now he was questioning his own judgment.
“I made a few inquiries,” Tony said. “Talked with his business partner, neighbors, friends.”
“What do you think?”
What he thought and what he knew for a fact were two separate things. “Do you know of anything going on with Dan’s work that would have made him...less than happy?”
Cliff Humphrey thought for a while, his breathing uneasy.
Finally, he said,
Humphrey turned and made his way back to the driver’s door, opened it, and hesitated before getting in. “One way or another, you’ll come to your senses. You’ll deal with me.” With that, he got into his car and started the engine. As he started to back out of the driveway, he shook his head as he noticed the man in his yard. He had turned around, bent over, and his pants were down at his ankles. His right index finger pointed at his hairy white cheeks.
♦
50
TREVOR SCOTT
Tony had a feeling Dumb and Dumber would find a way to finish what they had started, but his concern was why they would bother. Had Beaver Jackson told them to keep track of him? If so, why?
After talking with Dawn Sanders, and letting her make a pin cushion out of him, Tony drove to a downtown park along the Deschutes River to let Panzer run and take care of business, and then he proceeded to a frame shop to pick up a bunch of photos he was having matted and framed for his gallery opening. While there, he dropped off the roll of film he had taken at the fried Humphrey house. He didn’t expect to find anything in those shots, but he did hope the shot of the security guards turned out.
He needed something for his website. Something that praised retroactive abortions.
The photo shop had done a great job on his photos. He worked in black and white, mostly landscapes, but this showing was made up almost entirely of people. Faces from around the world.
There was something magical about the human face and what it can tell the informed observer at that vital moment of shutter release. Maybe his skill with a camera gave him a better understanding of human nature. His sister Maria, a professor of psy-chology at the University of Oregon, had disagreed with Tony’s self assessment, and had diagnosed his understanding of others as a direct result of his encounters with thousands of people from all walks of life in more than 30 countries—in and out of the Navy.
Okay. . .maybe.
He dropped off the last of the framed photos at the Cascade Gallery a block away. The owner, June Van Hoover, looked them over critically. She was in her early sixties, and if she was five feet then Tony was ready to play in the NBA. So thin was she, he imagined a good breeze would blow her halfway across the high desert to Idaho.
She adjusted her bifocals on a particularly stark photo of a Malaysian woman on the streets of Singapore. One of Tony’s favorites.
BOOM TOWN 51
“I want this one,” she said.
That was more words than he’d heard her say in two previous meetings in person. He had called from Eugene prior to coming to Central Oregon, setting up the showing with June’s assistant.
In person, June had rarely said a thing, preferring instead to grunt and clear her throat.
He left her to admire number two of twenty, Malaysian Woman, while Tony headed back to the condo to regroup.
Playing an insurance investigator had taken its toll on him. He needed a shower.
As he was toweling off, his cell phone rang.
“Yeah.”
There was nobody on the line. Then he heard breathing.
“Mr. Caruso?”
It was Cliff Humphrey.
“Yes. What can I do for you, Mr. Humphrey?”
“I just wanted to know how the day went,” he said. “What you found out.”
When Tony took on cases like this, he tried to assess the type of person he would be working for, and if the person seemed like high maintenance, he would usually pass. Life was too short to put up with assholes. Humphrey had intrigued him, though. Tony was usually open to anything after that. Now he was questioning his own judgment.
“I made a few inquiries,” Tony said. “Talked with his business partner, neighbors, friends.”
“What do you think?”
What he thought and what he knew for a fact were two separate things. “Do you know of anything going on with Dan’s work that would have made him...less than happy?”
Cliff Humphrey thought for a while, his breathing uneasy.
Finally, he said,
Similar Books
