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“You gotta help me,” Briggs said. “I’m a dead man without you. You know what’s left of my apartme
nt? It’s in that duffel bag. Good thing I was in the basement doing laundry when he rocketed the firebomb through my living room window. The guy’s nuts!”
And he wanted Randy Briggs. And I had Randy Briggs. So maybe I could somehow use Briggs as bait to capture Jimmy Poletti.
“What?” Briggs said. “You’ve got that look. The scary look that means you’re thinking.”
“I might let you stay if you’ll help me find Poletti.”
“Anything.” He released my leg. “What do you want to know?”
I took my hands off the duffel bag and stood. “Do you have any idea where he’s hiding?”
“Not exactly,” Briggs said, “but I know where he owns property, and I know some of his mob friends.”
“Would his mob friends hide him?”
“Depends if they thought they could get their hands on his money. He’s got a load of money stashed away.”
“Do you know where the money is stashed?”
“Who, me? No.”
“You do! That’s why he wants to kill you.”
“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.”
