Part 1 (1/2)

Stephanie Plum 07 - Seven Up.

by Janet Evanovich.

Semi-retired mob guy, Eddie DeChooch, is caught trafficking contraband cigarettes through Trenton, New Jersey. When DeChooch fails to show for a court appearance, bond enforcement agent Stephanie Plum is a.s.signed the task of finding DeChooch and dragging his decrepit a.s.s back to jail. Not such an easy job, it turns out, since DeChooch has learned a lot of tricks over the years and isn't afraid to use his gun. He's already shot Loretta Ricci and left her for worm food in his shed. He wouldn't mind shooting Stephanie next.

Especially since Steph has discovered that likeable losers (and former high school cla.s.smates) Mooner and Dougie have inadvertently become involved with DeChooch. They've gotten sucked into an operation which is much more than simple cigarette smuggling and holds risks far greater than anyone could have imagined.

When Dougie disappears, Steph goes into search mode. When Mooner disappears, she calls in the heavy artillery and asks master bounty hunter Ranger for help. His price for the job? One night with Stephanie, dusk to dawn. Not information she'd want to share with her some-time live in roommate, vice cop Joe Morelli.

A typical dilemma in the world of Plum.

And on the homefront, Stephanie's ”perfect” sister Valerie has decided to move back to Trenton, bringing her two kids from h.e.l.l. Grandma Mazur is asking questions about being a lesbian, and Bob, the bulimic dog, is eating everything in sight-including the furniture.

Mud wrestling, motorcycles, fast cars, fast food, and fast men. It's SEVEN UP SEVEN UP. Absolutely Janet Evanovich at her very best.

FOR THE BETTER part of my childhood, my professional aspirations were simple-I wanted to be an intergalactic princess. I didn't care much about ruling hordes of s.p.a.ce people. Mostly I wanted to wear the cape and the s.e.xy boots and carry a cool weapon.

As it happens, the princess thing didn't work out for me, so I went to college and when I graduated I went to work as a lingerie buyer for a chain store. Then that that didn't work out, so I blackmailed my bail bondsman cousin into giving me a job as a bounty hunter. Funny how fate steps in. I never did get the cape or the s.e.xy boots, but I didn't work out, so I blackmailed my bail bondsman cousin into giving me a job as a bounty hunter. Funny how fate steps in. I never did get the cape or the s.e.xy boots, but I do do finally have a sort of cool weapon. Well okay, it's a little .38 and I keep it in my cookie jar, but it's still a weapon, right:? finally have a sort of cool weapon. Well okay, it's a little .38 and I keep it in my cookie jar, but it's still a weapon, right:?

Back in the days when I was auditioning for princess I had the occasional run-in with the bad kid in the neighborhood. He was two years older than me. His name was Joe Morelli. And he was trouble.

I'm still having those run-ins with Morelli. And he's still trouble . . . but now he's the kind of trouble a woman likes.

He's a cop and his gun is bigger than mine and he doesn't keep it in a cookie jar.

He proposed to me a couple weeks ago during a libido attack. He unsnapped my jeans, hooked a finger into the waistband, and pulled me to him. ”About that proposal, Cupcake . . .” he said.

”Which proposal are we talking about?”

”The marriage proposal.”

”Are you serious?”

”I'm a desperate man.”

That was obvious.

Truth is, I was desperate, too. I was starting to have romantic thoughts about my electric toothbrush. Problem was, I just didn't know if I was ready for marriage marriage. Marriage is scary stuff. You have to share a bathroom. What's with that? And what about fantasies? Suppose the intergalactic princess resurfaces and I need to set off on a mission?

Morelli shook his head. ”You're thinking again.”

”There's a lot to consider.”

”Let me hit the high points for you . . . wedding cake, oral s.e.x, plus you can have my credit card.”

”I like the wedding cake part.”

”You like the other parts, too,” Morelli said.

”I need time to think.”

”Sure,” Morelli said, ”take all the time you need. How about thinking upstairs in the bedroom.”

His finger was still hooked into my jeans and it was getting warm down there. I inadvertently glanced at the stairs.

Morelli grinned and pulled me closer. ”Thinking about the wedding cake?”

”No,” I said. ”And I'm not thinking about the credit card, either.”

I KNEW SOMETHING bad was going to happen when Vinnie called me into his private office. Vinnie is my boss and my cousin. I read on a bathroom stall door once that Vinnie humps like a ferret. I'm not sure what that means, but it seems reasonable since Vinnie looks like a ferret ferret. His ruby pinky ring reminded me of treasures found in Seaside Park arcade claw-machines. He was wearing a black s.h.i.+rt and black tie, his receding black hair was slicked back, casino pit boss-style. His facial expression was tuned to not happy not happy.

I looked across the desk at him and tried not to grimace. ”Now what?”

”I got a job for you,” Vinnie said. ”I want you to find that rat fink Eddie DeChooch, and I want you to drag his boney a.s.s back here. He got tagged smuggling a truckload of bootleg cigarettes up from Virginia and he missed his court date.”

I rolled my eyes so far into the top of my bead I could see hair growing. ”I'm not going after Eddie DeChooch. He's old, and he kills people, and he's dating my grandmother.”

”He hardly ever kills people anymore,” Vinnie said. ”He has cataracts. Last time he tried to shoot someone he emptied a clip into an ironing board.”

Vinnie owns and operates Vincent Plum Bail Bonds in Trenton, New Jersey. When someone is accused of a crime, Vinnie gives the court a cash bond, the court releases the accused until trial, and Vinnie hopes to G.o.d the accused shows up for court. If the accused decides to forgo the pleasure of his court date, Vinnie is out a lot of money unless I can find the accused and bring him back into the system. My name is Stephanie Plum and I'm a bond enforcement officer . . . aka bounty hunter. I took the job when times were lean and not even the fact that I graduated in the top ninety-eight percent of my college cla.s.s could get me a better position. The economy has since improved, and there's no good reason why I'm still tracking down bad guys, except that it annoys my mother and I don't have to wear panty hose to work.

”I'd give this to Ranger, but he's out of the country,” Vinnie said. ”So that leaves you.”

Ranger is a soldier-of-fortune kind of guy who sometimes works as a bounty hunter. He's very good . . . at everything. And he's scary as h.e.l.l. ”What's Ranger doing out of the country? And what do you mean by out of the country? Asia? South America? Miami?”

”He's making a pickup for me in Puerto Rico.” Vinnie shoved a file folder across his desk. ”Here's the bond agreement on DeChooch and your authorization to capture. He's worth fifty thousand to me . . . five thousand to you. Go over to DeChooch's house and find out why he pulled a no-show on his hearing yesterday. Connie called and there was no answer. Christ, he could be dead on his kitchen floor. Going out with your grandma's enough to kill anyone.”

Vinnie's office is on Hamilton, which at first glance might not seem like the best location for a bail bonds office. Most bail bonds offices are across from the jail. The difference with Vinnie is that many of the people he bonds out are either relatives or neighbors and live just off Hamilton in the Burg. I grew up in the Burg and my parents still live there. It's really a very safe neighborhood, since Burg criminals are always careful to do their crimes elsewhere. Well, okay, Jimmy Curtains once walked Two Toes Garibaldi out of his house in his pajamas and drove him to the landfill . . . but still, the actual whacking didn't take place in the Burg. And the guys they found buried in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the candy store on Ferris Street weren't from the Burg, so you can't really count them as a statistic.

Connie Rosolli looked up when I came out of Vinnie's office. Connie is the office manager. Connie keeps things running while Vinnie is off springing miscreants and/or fornicating with barnyard animals.

Connie had her hair teased up to about three times the size of her head. She was wearing a pink V-neck sweater that molded to b.o.o.bs that belonged on a much larger woman and a short black knit skirt that would have fit a much smaller woman.

Connie's been with Vinnie since he first started the business. She's stuck it out this long because she puts up with nothing and on exceptionally bad days she helps herself to combat pay from the petty cash.

She did a face scrunch when she saw I had a file in my hand. ”You aren't actually going out after Eddie DeChooch, are you?”

”I'm hoping he's dead.”

Lula was slouched on the faux leather couch that had been shoved against a wall and served as the holding pen for bondees and their unfortunate relatives. Lula and the couch were almost identical shades of brown, with the exception of Lula's hair, which happened to be cherry red today.

I always feel sort of anemic when I stand next to Lula. I'm a third-generation American of Italian-Hungarian heritage. I have my mother's pale skin and blue eyes and good metabolism, which allows me to eat birthday cake and still (almost always) b.u.t.ton the top snap on my Levi's. From my father's side of the family I've inherited a lot of unmanageable brown hair and a penchant for Italian hand gestures. On my own, on a good day with a ton of mascara and four-inch heels, I can attract some attention. Next to Lula I'm wallpaper.