“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.”