Turbo Twenty-Three

  “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.”

  The chain link enclosed about five acres that were lit up like daylight from banks of overhead halogens. Not good for Lula’s ass dimples, but it kept us from stepping on rats and assorted rusted junk. Most of the acreage was filled with cars waiting to go into the crusher. Two four-story elevators with a long connecting catwalk sat in the middle of the jumble of cars. A control room that looked like a freight container was attached to one of the elevator towers. The guy in the control room operated the electromagnet, the crusher, and the crane.

  We followed Joey and Boomer to an elevator, and Lula, Howie, the makeup ’ho, and the clacker ’ho went up with Boomer. I waited with Briggs and Joey for the second trip.

  Briggs was wearing a robe and sneakers. He pulled a scarf out of his pocket and handed it to me.

  “Do it,” he said.

  He was in a cold sweat, and his face had no color to it.

  “It’s going to be great,” I told him. “We’re not going up very far. I’m going to hang on to you all the way.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Hang on to me. Promise you won’t let go.”

  I wrapped the scarf around his head and made sure he couldn’t see past it.

  “Is he okay?” Joey asked. “He doesn’t look good. And what’s with the scarf?”

  “He’s fine,” I said. “He’s in the role. He’s pretending to be scared. The scarf is part of the thing.”

  “That’s good,” Briggs said. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  The elevator door opened, and I guided Briggs in. It started to rise and I felt his knees buckle.

  “Steady,” I said. “You don’t want to get too much into the role too soon.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I gotta keep that in mind.”

  We reached the top, the door opened, and I looked out at the catwalk. It was about four feet wide. There were railings on the catwalk, but it looked like a piece had been removed from the middle. Everyone was in place on either side of the removed railing. A young guy with dreads motioned us forward.

  “I’m the jump wrangler,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. I’ve done hundreds of these jumps. Haven’t lost anyone yet.”

  I shuffled Briggs along up to the jump wrangler.

  The wrangler looked Briggs over. “Why’s he blindfolded?”

  “He likes to be surprised,” I said. “As soon as you get him hooked up and ready we’ll take the blindfold off.”

  “I’m not up very high, right?” Briggs said.

  I looked down and wanted to throw up. We were at least forty feet above the crusher.

  “We’re practically still on the ground,” I said.

  We got Briggs out of his bathrobe, and the wrangler strapped him into an ankle harness.

  “I’m getting cold,” Briggs said. “Are we almost done?”

  “We just have to raise you up a little more,” the wrangler said.

  He gave a signal to the control room and I saw the giant crane slowly swing around. There was a cage attached to the skyhook. The crane operator brought the cage to the opening in the railing, and the wrangler stepped in and pulled Briggs in with him.

  “What’s happening?” Briggs said. “Where’s Stephanie? Are we going down?”

  “We’re going up,” the wrangler said. “Ordinarily we’d start from the ground, but the salvage crane only lowers so far.”

  “And anyways this is a better angle for Howie,” Lula said. “He’ll get to film you coming and going.”

  The crane swung out a little, the cage rose, and the rest of us stood on the catwalk gobsmacked at the height of the jump.

  “Holy frijoles!” Lula said, head tipped back, watching the cage swinging high above us. “You gotta be nuts to do this.”

  The scarf floated down, the cage door opened, and I could see Briggs look out. Next thing he was in the air.

  “Eeeeee­eeeee­eee!”

  Briggs fell like a rock past us, the cord stretched to its limit, and for a nanosecond Briggs stopped in midair. The cord recoiled, and Briggs shot up past us.

  “Arrrrr­rrrrr­rrrrr­!”

  “Did he look like he was having fun?” Lula a
sked.

  “He looked like he was peeing hisself,” the clacker ’ho said.

  He dropped past us again and bounced around for a while until he was just hanging there by his ankles.

  “This here’s not a complimentary angle for a naked man,” Lula said, looking down at him.

  Joey waved at the crane operator. “Swing it around here!” he yelled. He turned to Lula. “You’re up next. As soon as we get him onto the catwalk we’ll bring the basket down and you can get in.”

  “What are you, crazy? I’m not doing that,” Lula said. “I’ll rupture something. You’d have to be an idiot to do that. Out of my way. I’m going down. Which way’s the elevator?”

  The crane was slowly bringing Briggs up, and he was full-blown rabid dog. His eyes were bugged out, and he was clawing at the air with his hands. He was making wild animal sounds, and I think he might have been foaming at the mouth.

  “I’ll go down with you,” I said to Lula.

  We left Joey on the catwalk to reel Briggs in, and the rest of us crammed into the elevator. We got to ground level and looked up as Briggs was hauled off the platform.

  “He looks okay,” Lula said. “That had to be some experience. I bet it was exhilarating.”

  “He don’t look exhilarated,” the make-up ’ho said. “He’s a ways up there, but he looks gonzo nuts.”

  We stepped a safe distance from the elevator and waited for Briggs to come down. We heard the car descend. The door opened. Briggs walked out. He didn’t have the benefit of his robe, and his winkie was stiff as a stick. His eyes were totally dilated. He looked around at us and licked his lips. His attention focused on Howie.

  “Did you get it?” he asked Howie, his voice unnaturally shrill. “Was it good?”

  “It was epic,” Howie said, “but it happened so fast I didn’t catch it. Could you do it again?”

  Briggs launched himself at Howie and took him down to the ground. It was like a wild animal attacking prey. We all rushed over and pried Briggs off Howie.

  “He bit me,” Howie said. “I need a shot or something.”

  “This was a dumb idea,” Lula said. “Who’s idea was this anyway?”

  We all stared at her.

  “Well, it looked good on the Travel Channel,” Lula said. “Fortunately I still got my zip-lining idea.”

  Briggs’s eyes got squinty, and he growled at Lula.

  “He’s unstable,” Lula said. “Someone needs to take charge of him.”

  I supposed that would be me.

  “Come on, Randy,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

  I walked him to his car and watched him get in.

  “Do you have clothes?” I asked him.

  “I had a bathrobe. I guess it’s still on the catwalk. Maybe someone will mail it to me.”

  “You can’t drive home like this.”

  He looked down at himself. “I’ve still got a stiffie.”

  “So it’s not all bad,” I said.

  “I’d sort of like it to go away.”

  “Not my rodeo,” I said.

  “You want to go to a bar? Get a drink?”

  “You’re naked.”

  “There must be a bar where nobody would care,” Briggs said.

  “We could try Kranski’s in north Trenton. I know the bartender.”

  • • •

  Briggs followed me to Kranski’s, and we walked in like there was nothing unusual and climbed onto barstools. A couple guys were watching Monday Night Football, and an older woman was nursing a drink at one of the high tops.

  Bertie sauntered over and looked at Briggs.

  “Short Stuff hasn’t got any clothes on,” Bertie said.

  “He’s had a hard day,” I said. “He went bungee jumping and it sort of went downhill from there.”

  “I don’t mind, but I’m going to have to Lysol that stool when he leaves,” Bertie said.

  “Vodka rocks with a bourbon chaser,” Briggs said. He cut his eyes to me. “No pockets. No wallet.”

  “Run a tab,” I told Bertie. “I’ll have a beer. Surprise me. And we could use some nachos.”

  “I know this is one of those pity things, but it’s still nice,” Briggs said. “It’s like we’re friends.”

  “It’s not a pity thing. You got dropped a hundred feet. You deserve a drink.”

  “It was sort of a rush.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” Briggs said. “It was heart attack scary. I thought I was going to die. For all I know I did die. Just not forever.”

  “Are you going to do the zip-lining film?”

  “Maybe. I’m getting to like being naked.”

  Bertie brought our drinks and the nachos, and I asked him about Kenny Morris.

  “I haven’t seen him today,” Bertie said. “He doesn’t usually come in on Mondays.”

  “Do you still think he should be high on the list of suspects?” I asked.

  “He has motivation and anger,” Bertie said. “I don’t know if he could pull the trigger.”

  I nodded agreement. That was my assessment too.

  “Don’t fool yourself,” Briggs said. “Under the right circumstances anyone could pull the trigger.”

  We finished the nachos, and Briggs was looking more mellow. His stiffie had deflated, and his teeth had stopped chattering.

  “You’ve had a lot to drink,” I said. “Do you need a ride home?”

  “Yeah, that would be great. I’m only about a mile away. I can walk back for my car tomorrow.”

  “I thought you lived by the DMV.”

  “That didn’t work out. I live on Poplar Street now.”

  “Here’s the thing—I really don’t want you in my car naked.”

  “I feel your pain,” Bertie said to me, handing over a big black garbage bag and some scissors. “See if you can dress him up in this.”

  I cut holes in the bag for Briggs’s head and arms and dropped the bag over him. It came to below his knees. It was perfect.

  Bertie looked down at Briggs. “The dude’s stylin’.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  IT WASN’T A sleepover night for Morelli so I went to bed in my most comfy, washed-out, ratty sleep shirt. I fell asleep when my head hit the pillow, and I wasn’t ready to wake up when the alarm went off. I fumbled for the clock, and as the fog of sleep cleared, I realized I wasn’t hearing the alarm. The phone was ringing.

  I found my phone in the dark room and saw that it was my parents’ number. This jolted me wide awake because it had to be an emergency.

  “What?” I said.

  “Stephanie? It’s your mother.”

  “I know! What’s wrong?”

  “It’s your grandmother.”

  Omigod. Grandma was dead.

  “What about Grandma?” I asked, barely breathing.

  “I think she has a man in her bedroom.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I got up to go to the bathroom, and I heard talking. At first I thought she had her radio on, but then I realized it was your grandmother I was hearing. And a man.”

  “What were they saying?”

  “He was calling her his little honey bunny. It sounded like Bertie.”

  I looked at my clock. It was two o’clock. Bertie was off work.

  “What do you think I should do?” my mother asked. “I don’t want to wake your father. I don’t know what his reaction would be. It might not be good. How do you suppose a man even got into our house?”

  “I imagine Grandma let him in.”

  “Should I knock on her door to see if she’s okay?”

  “Is she calling for help?”

  “No.”

  “Then we can assume she’s okay.”

  “It’s not right,” my mother said. “It’s…icky. And we don’t really even know this man. We don’t know his intentions. He’s a bartender with tattoos and a motorcycle.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m in the kitchen.”

  “Are you going
to sit in the living room and wait for him to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  I knew she would. When I was in high school and came home from a date, my mom would be in the living room, waiting. Sometimes my dad would be there too.

  “Don’t you think it will be awkward to see Bertie leaving?” I asked her.

  “Your grandmother should have thought of that before she decided to entertain a man in her bedroom.”

  “Maybe you should ground her.”

  “I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. She does whatever she wants. She doesn’t listen to me.”

  “I’m going back to sleep. You should too.”

  “Suppose they’re doing things?”

  “Eewwww!”

  “Exactly,” my mother said. And she hung up.

  It was hard to fall asleep with the thought of Grandma doing things. I thrashed around for a half hour and finally got up and had some cereal. I went back to bed, and the next time I woke up Ranger was in my bedroom, looking down at me. He was hard to see in the dark room, with his dark skin and black clothes. I knew it was Ranger because he said “Babe.” I glanced at my clock. It was four o’clock.

  “I have a problem you are uniquely qualified to solve,” Ranger said.

  Last time he said that it turned out to be the best night of my life.

  I propped myself up on one elbow. “Oh boy.”

  “Not that problem,” Ranger said. “Someone broke into the Bogart plant, and I want you to take a look.”

  “Now?”

  “We need to do this before the plant opens.”

  “I’m tired. It’s too early.”

  “It’s four o’clock.”

  “People are supposed to be asleep at four o’clock.”

  Ranger flipped the light on and went to my dresser. Panties, bra, T-shirt, jeans got thrown onto the bed.

  “Get dressed, and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

  “This is weird. Usually when you’re in my bedroom you’re telling me to take my clothes off.”

  “Yeah, I’m having a hard time with it too. Don’t expect it to happen again.”

  I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Give me five minutes. And it would be great if you could make coffee.”

  He took in my bare legs and the clingy washed-out sleep shirt. “Babe,” he said so soft it was barely a whisper.