“It’s not like I have access to it. I just might know where he keeps it.”
Oh boy. “What else?”
“That’s it. I swear.”
I spread a map of Trenton out on my dining room table. “Where are his properties?”
“There’s the three dealerships,” Briggs said. “You know about them. Then there’s a parking garage where he keeps his inventory. It’s by the government buildings. He rents part of it out. It’s at the corner of State Street and Norton. So far as I know there aren’t any offices in it. It’s just parking. He has the house in West Trenton. I’m sure you’ve already been there and met Poletti’s soulmate.” Briggs gave an involuntary shiver. “She scares the crap out of me. They had a house at the shore, but it floated out to sea. He owns a slum on Stark Street that operates as a rooming house. And he owns houses in North Trenton that he rents out.”
Briggs used my red Sharpie to put dots on the map, showing the property locations.
“And his friends?” I asked.
“He doesn’t exactly have friends. He has associates. They all played poker together, and they hung out in the back room of the dealership on Route 41. It was like a social club. Bernie Scootch, Ron Siglowski, Buster Poletti, who’s a cousin, Silvio Pepper, and Tommy Ritt. I’m told two of them have disappeared. Bernie Scootch and Ron Siglowski. They could be with Jimmy or they could be dead.”
“Do you think Jimmy’s cleaning house?”
Briggs shrugged. “He tried to get me while I was crossing a street yesterday. Tried to run me over, but I got out of the way in time. He took a shot at me and missed. And then this morning someone sent a firebomb through my window.”
“Are you sure it was Jimmy?”
“It was Jimmy yesterday. I got a good look at him. I guess I don’t know about this morning, but I know he’s got rocket launchers and flamethrowers. He has a place in the Pine Barrens where he goes with the guys to shoot and blow stuff up. I don’t exactly know where it is.”
“What was he driving yesterday?”
“The Mustang. I rode in it once. It’s all tricked out. Black and silver. Real sweet ride.”
“So where do you think I should start looking for Jimmy?”
“If all he wanted to do was hide, I’d say the Pine Barrens until he could get out of the country. Since he seems to want to kill me, I’d have to go more local. Maybe the slum on Stark Street. Or maybe you want to look in the parking garage. See if there’s an RV with the air-conditioning running.”
I folded up the map and tucked it into my messenger bag. “Let’s go.”
“Are you sure you want to take me? I’ve got a big bull’s-eye painted on my back.”
This was true. And it was the only reason I was even talking to him. Still, I didn’t want to hang him out there unless I absolutely had no other choice. No point putting myself in harm’s way of stray bullets, right? On the other hand, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone in my apartment.
“You can stay in the office while I go look for Poletti. I’ll drop you off and pick Lula up.”
“No,” Connie said. “No way. No how. You can’t leave him here.”
“I can’t take him with me,” I told her. “People will shoot at us.”
“Why can’t you leave him in your apartment?”
“He’ll buy pay-per-view porn and go through my underwear drawer.”
We all looked at Briggs.
“He can’t even reach your underwear drawer,” Lula said.
“I can stand on a chair,” Briggs said.
“How about we take my Firebird and lock him in the trunk,” Lula said.
“How about we auction you off by the pound for a pig roast,” Briggs said.
Lula shoved her hand into her purse and started rummaging around. “I got a gun in here somewhere.”
“You can’t shoot him,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I need him to get Poletti. Anyway, you know you can’t just go around shooting people. It isn’t nice.”
“Yeah, but he insulted me.”
“You insulted me first,” Briggs said. “How’d you like to get locked in a trunk?”
“People wouldn’t want to lock me in a trunk on account of I got a pleasing personality,” Lula said.
“Maybe for a rhinoceros,” Briggs said.
I stepped in front of Briggs to keep Lula from hurling herself across the room at him. “I haven’t got time for this. I need to get Poletti. We’ll take Randy with us, and we’ll disguise him somehow. A hat or something, and he can scrunch down in the backseat.”
Ten minutes later Randy was in the backseat of my Explorer. He was wearing a platinum blond wig and large black-rimmed glasses. He looked like Andy Warhol if Andy Warhol was only three feet tall.
Lula, looking like a ’ho all dressed up for Let’s Make a Deal, was riding shotgun. And weird as it might seem, she made it look pretty good. When I’m with Lula, I always feel like she’s chocolate cake with a lot of fancy frosting and I’m more in the ballpark of a bagel.