Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum #23)(49)

“Cripes,” he said, “where were you? I’ve been here forever. You gotta help me.”

I had my keys in my hand, but I wasn’t opening my door. If I opened my door he would follow me in.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Aren’t you gonna open your door?”

“No.”

“I swear, sometimes I think you don’t like me.”

“Sometimes?”

“I’m a nice guy.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe ‘nice’ is a stretch,” he said. “I’m definitely okay. Most of the time.”

I raised the second eyebrow.

“Some of the time,” Briggs said. “Anyway, you might as well let me in because I’m not leaving.”

I unlocked my door, and Briggs followed me into the kitchen. I dumped my messenger bag on the counter and said hello to Rex.

“What’s the problem?” I asked Briggs.

“I have this thing about heights. I get panic attacks. I get all sweaty and my heart goes nuts and I pass out.”

“And?”

“And Lula’s all set to do this bungee jumping show. I wasn’t worried about it in the beginning because I figured we’d get the Naked and Afraid gig. Now Naked and Afraid fell through, and I’m looking at bungee jumping.”

“Don’t do it.”

“She’ll find someone else, and I won’t get a television show. I’m not the only little person in town. Ronald Brickett would jump at the chance to do this. He’s fearless. He used to get shot out of a cannon. He was making good money until those PC idiots told him it was demeaning and he had to quit.”

“What’s he do now?”

“He runs a meth lab. It’s a small operation, but the money’s tax free and he gets food stamps.”

“So what is it that you want from me?”

“I have a dilemma. The naked bungee jumping isn’t a bad idea. I’m motivated to do it. Problem is, I’m gonna need help getting myself up to wherever we’re going to jump from.”

“Not going to be me.”

“You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing.”

“It was worth a try,” Briggs said. “What’ll it take? I’m desperate. I don’t want to do this, but I don’t want to miss out on it. This could be my big chance. Think about it . . . if you help me do this and we get a show I’ll be out of Trenton. I’ll be all over the place. You might never see me again except on television. And some of those places we go to could be dangerous. I could get shot or blown up or eaten by a crocodile.”

So helping Briggs had some appeal.

“I got a call from Lula about an hour ago,” Briggs said. “She’s got a location for the filming, and it’s set up for tonight.” His upper lip was sweating, and he was doubled over, holding his stomach. “I might have to use your bathroom.”

“No way. Not going to happen.”

His eyes rolled back into his head, and he crashed to the floor.

I soaked a kitchen towel in cold water and draped it across his forehead. His eyes opened, and he stared up at me.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I feel better now. Good thing I’m short, and I don’t have far to fall.”

“If you faint at the thought of bungee jumping, how are you going to get through a whole season of TV shows?”

“I’ll be able to afford drugs. Right now all I have is you. You’re free, right?”

“What do I have to do?”

“We’re shooting this at the junkyard at the end of Stark Street. Nine o’clock. I thought you could blindfold me and get me up to the catwalk. They’ll get me hooked up, you can put me into position, and then they’ll take the blindfold away, and I’ll jump.”

“And you think that will work?”

“Yeah. You can lie to me the whole time. You can tell me it’s not real high.”

“And if I do this you’ll never ask me for another favor?”

“Swear to God.”

I got to the junkyard a little before nine o’clock. The chain-link gate was open, so I drove in and parked in visitor parking next to the trailer that served as an office. A bunch of people were milling around a short distance away. Lula, Howie with his camera, the makeup ’ho, and a woman I didn’t know who was holding the clacker. Briggs was off by himself, pacing. I joined the group, and two men came out of the trailer and walked over to us.

Both men were in their fifties. They were wearing hard hats and work boots. They looked like they ate a lot of pasta and didn’t have a gym membership.

“Who’s Lula?” one of the men asked.

“That’s me,” Lula said.

“And you’re running this clusterfuck?”

“Yep. Me and Howie.”

Howie raised his hand. “I’m Howie.”

“I’m Joey,” the guy said. “And the ugly guy next to me is Boomer. We’re gonna help you get the job done, and then we’re gonna expect a big tip.”

The makeup ’ho and the clacker ’ho licked their lips.

“Not that kind of tip,” Joey said. “Obamacare don’t cover that kind of damage.”