Stakeout notes: entry 44: the subject has grown a beard over the past few weeks perhaps thinking the facial hair will suffice as a disguise. He is displaying signs of stress standing on his balcony with a can of Bud in one hand and a Nixon’s the One sign in the other. He wants everyone to vote for Nixon. He wants everyone to drink Bud.
From my Studebaker I can observe most of Horatio Street from the playground to Ninth Avenue. As reported in Entry 27 the lady from Weehawken continues to visit Doctor Mudd on his ground floor practice two doors away. Her immediate problem is her son Nikko who fled New Jersey following the theft of one thousand four hundred Toyotas in Port Elizabeth. Nikko is considered dangerous especially if you’re a Toyota. Dr. Mudd cannot explain the Toyota fixation. “It’s odd, though,” he admits.
With my subject in plain sight I allow myself a mad dash over to Jane Street on foot. The yelling about Nixon is stirring some of the disenfranchised from the alleys off Abbingdon Square. They want to vote and they want to vote now; I tell one of them that Nixon is dead and he thinks I’m being metaphysical. “God is dead,” he says. I give the V for Victory sign, followed by that half karate chop Nixon salute.
Back in the Studebaker I wish I hadn’t ordered a baked potato because this sucker is hot and my subject is doing one armed pushups on his balcony, a sure sign of trouble. No sour cream. I was clear about the sour cream. Dr. Mudd is emerging from his basement with a snow shovel. It’s July. He’s looking furtive. I wonder if my plastic fork will break inside the baked potato. A kind of low fog is rushing upwards from potato central and I wonder again if this was the best possible choice for a stakeout meal.
Dr. Mudd is shoveling imaginary snow. I like this guy and wonder what he told the lady from Weehawken. I would listen to what he says and then do the opposite. But that’s just me. I’m Arthur Murray, Private Investigator. Report ends.