Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel(19)

“Only once,” I said. “But it was never blown up.”

“Yeah, there’s something about getting your shit blown up that takes it to a whole new level.”

“I’ve pretty much gone through my bag of tricks for tracking down Poletti,” I said. “I think it’s time to hang you out there as bait.”

“What? Are you nuts? He wants to kill me.”

“I’ll take precautions.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll be watching.”

“And?”

“And I’ll catch him before he kills you.”

“How are you going to catch him?”

“I’ll rush him,” I said. “And give him a faceful of pepper spray.”

“I’m not completely comfortable with that.”

“I’ll use my stun gun.”

“What if you can’t get close enough to him?”

“Okay, how about if I put bullets in my .45, and then I can shoot him?”

Briggs nodded. “Bullets are good. That’s a good start. How’s your aim?”

“I’m a crack shot at ten feet.”

“You’re making me nervous. I might be getting diarrhea. I’m not well. I got IBS.”

“This won’t be a big deal. All you have to do is walk up and down Stark Street in front of Buster’s building.”

“What if I get diarrhea? I can feel it coming on just thinking about it.”

“Go into the pizza place and use their bathroom.”

“They might not have a public bathroom,” Briggs said.

“Then go out the back door and hide behind the dumpster.”

“Boy, that’s cold,” Briggs said.

“It’s Stark Street. People probably go behind the dumpster all the time.”

“All right. I guess I could try it, but I want to see your gun.”

“I don’t actually have my gun with me,” I said.

Briggs crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not doing it unless you have a gun.”

“Okay, great, fine, whatever. I’ll go get Lula. She always has a gun.”



“Damn right I got a gun,” Lula said, taking the front passenger seat. “I don’t mind using it either if it’s for a good cause. Or in this case to get Poletti before he rids the world of Mr. Poopie Pants.”

“It’s a legitimate medical condition,” Briggs said.

“So where are we gonna show him off?” Lula asked.

I put the Buick in gear and pulled into traffic. “I thought we’d start on Stark Street. We can stand him in front of Buster’s building.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Lula said. “Buster could look out his window, and see Briggs, and call Poletti to come off him.”

“Cripes,” Briggs said. “Could you phrase it some other way?”

“Your problem is you don’t know how to relax,” Lula said to Briggs. “You take everything so serious.”

“You’re talking about people killing me,” Briggs said. “That’s serious!”

“Do you have your cellphone?” I asked Briggs.

“Yeah. I got my cellphone.”

“When we get to Stark Street I’m going to drop you off in front of the pizza place, and then I’m going to park, and Lula and I will take up surveillance somewhere. Keep your cellphone handy, because I’ll call you if I think you’re in danger.”

“You’re going to be close, right? I mean, you’re only accurate to ten feet.”

“No problem,” I said. “We’ll make sure you’re covered.”

“And if you have to poop,” Lula said, “you tell us so we know we can take a break. I might need a piece of pizza or a donut or something.”

“Sure. How long do I have to do this?”

“I’m thinking until someone shoots at you, or runs you over with a car,” Lula said.

I stopped in front of the pizza place, and Briggs got out. He had his cellphone in his hand, and his face was white.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll be fine.”

He nodded and shuffled around a little.

“There’s a parking place on the other side of the street,” Lula said. “Go around the block and come back the other way.”

I drove around the block and parked two doors down and across the street from Briggs. He was still clutching his cellphone, and he was pacing the length of Buster’s building. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“He don’t look natural,” Lula said. “Nobody’s gonna shoot him with him looking like that.”

“We don’t want him shot,” I said. “We just want to drag Poletti out into the open.”

“I guess that’s one way to go.”

A half hour later a black SUV cruised down the street and stopped in front of Briggs and the pizza place.

“I can’t see Briggs anymore,” Lula said. “That big-ass black car is in my way.”

“Give me your gun.”

“What?”

“Your gun!”

Lula stuck her hand into her purse and rooted around. “It’s in here somewhere.”