Over 21 -- a Stephanie Plum fic
This was written for yuletide, but it's such a zoo over there you can hardly hear yourself think. Meanwhile, my recipient wanted a Stephanie/Morelli/Ranger threesome and how they got there. Here's a look at developments in Stephanie's love life, complete with cake jokes, in the form of excepts from the purely imaginary title "Over 21".
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Over 21
Insistent banging on my apartment door woke me long before I was ready to be conscious. I'd gotten in late the night before---unsuccessfully trying to find Allegra Ritornello---and I fumbled my way to the foyer, blinking. It was Dillon, the super, letting me know that the building's heater had quit and a pipe had burst, so the building was being evacuated because the owners didn't want to get sued if anyone froze into a human popsicle.
Huh, that explained why I could see wisps of breath vapor in my living room.
"I'm sorry, Stephanie," he said, looking as if he expected protest. "It's going to take a few days to fix because they have to order parts, and it's the weekend. Mr. Meyer in 4E says he's going to catch the noon bus to Miami, the Kleins, the Spinellis and Mrs. Bestler are going to the Holiday Inn, Mrs. Kowalski is going to her sister's house---I left telling you 'til last because I know your schedule is pretty rough, but everybody else is gone or going."
At the moment, Miami sounded like a lot more fun than Trenton, but I had Rex to think of. My car would never make it that far and I don’t think Greyhound likes hamsters as passengers. My budget wouldn't stretch to a hotel, and I'd rather be a Plumsicle than stay with my sister’s family---or my parents. That kind of limited my options. I dressed warmly, stuffed a grocery bag full of clothes, and loosely covered Rex's aquarium with a couple bath towels for insulation before taking us both outside.
One good thing, I thought, stamping a path to the car through three inches of new snow, the heater in my Ford Taurus works, so we ought to be okay for the short distance we were going. I rested the Rex’s glass house on the back seat behind me, my spare clothes went in the trunk, and I made sure I had my key to Morelli’s.
Joe Morelli is my on-again, off-again lover. We grew up in the same corner of the Burg---the Chambersburg neighborhood of Trenton, New Jersey. Our history goes back to grade school, when Morelli conned me into some amateur gynecology experiments in his family's garage. These days, he's a Trenton cop, who's worked Vice on and off, and his technique has improved a lot since then. His house is a couple miles from my apartment building, and it’s usually an easy drive.
Bad news: The Taurus didn’t have snow tires. The wheels spun and the rear end shimmied, fighting for traction in the slushy streets. And no matter how hard I stomped on the gas, the odometer still read 30 and the whole car shook. There was a red light ahead, and I thought at that pace, I could coast along until the light changed. Suddenly, the gears caught and the Taurus lurched forward. It stalled as soon as I took my foot off the gas and slid into the intersection like it was trying to steal second base.
Then, it was a grown-up version of bumper cars---a minivan going east hit me on the right rear side and spun me around into the path of an SUV going west. The SUV smacked my passenger door broad-side, which was about the time the Cadillac behind the minivan crunched the rear quarter-panel on my side. The SUV got rear-ended, too, and a couple other distant impacts sent shockwaves through me.
For a moment, I just sat there, stunned, my ears buzzing from adrenalin. Someone’s horn was stuck, or they were pissed about the logjam of cars blocking the intersection.
Then there was a faint scratching from my backseat, and I panicked.
“Rex! Oh my God, Rex, are you okay?” I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned over the back seat. The aquarium was a tangled mess of broken glass and metal and there were wood shavings and newspaper everywhere. I couldn’t see the soup can that he usually lounged in, but his wire wheel was halfway under the passenger seat.
Oh no, why hadn’t I thought to secure the tank? Because it was only a couple of miles, and I’d driven it hundreds of times without incident. And now…now…poor Rex! If he wasn’t dead or dying from the crash, he’d freeze without protection.
I was starting to hyper-ventilate, when something tunneled up the left leg of my jeans. Rex!
I reached in to get him, to make sure he was okay, and he chomped down hard, nailing me right in the webbing between my right thumb and forefinger. I screamed---and managed to override the instinct to throw him across the car. Instead, I pulled off the knit cap I was wearing and swiftly shook him into that.
Somebody was banging on my window. “Hey, lady, are you okay?”
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“All right!” Lula grinned at the sight of Allegra’s subcompact parked in the driveway. “This time, we’re gonna get her good. Jus’ let me find my taser.” She started rummaging in her bag, a metallic Kathy Van Zeeland knock-off the size of a toddler.
“No! She’s on bail for shop-lifting, not armed robbery.”
“She snatched the last suit in my size, that’s like she’s robbin’ from me,” Lula grumbled under her breath as she hauled herself out of the driver’s seat.
I finally realized what her bright green fleece outfit reminded me of---the Jolly Green Giant. Which made me his little friend, Sprout. Except, not so green…more like black and blue that would probably turn green in a few days. I blinked. Maybe I was stoned from the muscle relaxers?
We headed around the back of the house. Stairs led to Allegra’s second-floor apartment over the garage, and Lula marched ahead of me on the way up.
I followed more slowly, wary of ice on the steps. I hurt in about six different places from yesterday’s episode of five-car pinball, and if I didn’t think Allegra would be an easy apprehension, I’d’ve stayed at Morelli’s, soaking in the shower until the hot water ran out.
“Hey!” Lula hollered, banging on the door. “Bond enforcement! Get your ass out here!”
Allegra’s door popped open. We were confronted with a green-faced alien with silver antennae. At least, that was the impression I had in the two heartbeats before Lula jumped back, slipped and flailed. She slammed into me and was right behind me on the way downstairs.
The accident brought our quarry out of the apartment in a hurry. She had on a ratty terry robe over flannel pajama bottoms with monkeys and there was foil in her hair like she was doing some kind of do-it-yourself high-lights. The green face turned out to be a facial mask that made Allegra smell like cucumbers.
“Are you okay? I am so sorry! You startled me banging on the door, I was afraid it was Angela from next door, her youngest has asthma, and---” Allegra Ritornello stopped in mid-sentence, staring at us. “Are you…church ladies?” she asked doubtfully. Her shoulders hunched up under the robe like she expected a scolding “I’m sorry, you caught me at a bad time.”
“Stephanie Plum,” I said, wheezing a little as I sat up. “With Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. You missed your court date.”
“And we’re gonna drag your ass to jail!” Lula finished. She gave me a hand, and we hauled each other up out of the snow. “I was looking at that suit you tried to snitch at Curvy World---now it’s locked up as evidence, and I was gonna get it to wear to dinner with my sweetie’s parents.”
Allegra looked from me to Lula, bewilderment on her face. “What court date? That’s not ‘til next week,” she protested. “I’ll show you, I’ve got it written right on my calendar.”
Lula made a grab for Allegra as she turned back toward the stairs. I intercepted it. Watching her trudge upstairs, our skip looked so frumpy, I wasn’t sure highlights would help. “We can’t take her in like that,” I pointed out. “We should at least let her wash that crap out of her hair.”
“You think I care if all her hair falls out? Huh! That girl is a mess!”
Knowing how careful she was about her car, I tried another tack as I dragged myself up the stairs again. “You wouldn’t want to get dye all over the Firebird, would you? Either we’d have to open the windows and freeze to let the smell out, or turn on the heater and choke on the chemicals.”
“You got a point there,” Lula admitted as we entered Allegra’s place, which seemed positively tropical. Maybe heating was included with her rent? It was the warmest I’d been in days; I could feel my fingers and toes thawing.
The fugitive seemed more like a ditz than a desperate criminal to me. I had to convince her that, despite what date she had circled on her calendar, the 12th of the month was different from the 21st. “Oh,” she said, looking at the glossy page sadly. “I guess I’m in even more trouble, huh?”
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We watched Allegra walk away down the mall, new highlights lively and glinting, the Curvy World bag swinging in her hand.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” Lula said to me. “You got the store to drop the charges, which is nice for Miss Space Case, but that’s no money for us, and you just bought her that suit!”
“It didn’t fit you,” I pointed out. “I got a discount because that button popped off when you tried it on, and it was already marked down, so it was a pretty sweet deal. Now Allegra’s got something good to wear for interviews, so hopefully she’ll get a job and won’t need to steal clothes.”
Lula pouted. “I still need to find something classy to wear for dinner with Tank’s folks,” she said. “I’m goin’ back into Curvy World and look some more.”
“You go ahead. I’ll meet you at the food court in an hour. I need to pick up a few things at Pet Paradise.” It was hard to imagine the hulking RangeMan employee as anyone’s husband…or for that matter, my-friend-the-ex-hooker as daughter-in-law material. Heck, between Tank’s boss, Ranger, and Joe Morelli, I couldn’t manage to settle down. How did Lula do it?
Rex needed a new home. I felt guilty enough about endangering him that I let the salesgirl talk me into a lot of bells and whistles. A bigger tank, because he must be getting claustrophobic in Aunt Rose’s pickle jar. Premium cedar shavings. A new wheel, tunnels, a smaller container for transport…I did major damage on my credit card, and told myself that the insurance would cover it…eventually.
Even if it didn’t, I’d do whatever I had to to get my furry baby back to normal. My hand was still throbbing where he’d bitten me, and then, there was last night in Morelli’s kitchen. I couldn’t get the image of Rex, paws pressed up against the side of the jar, snarling and squeaking at Bob. He’d never behaved like that on any of our other visits---Bob would amble over, sniff the aquarium, wag his tail and go to sleep under the table while Rex ignored him.
He was stressed because of the accident, which meant it was all my fault.
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Morelli plucked the remote from my fingers with one hand, and scooped up my legs with the other so he could seat himself on the couch.
“I was watching that!” I protested as he changed channels.
“No, you weren’t. Your eyes were closed.”
“That’s because the commercials were on.” I swung my legs out of his lap and sat up, wincing. Arguing was pointless, because it was Joe’s TV, and Mr. Tough Cop wasn’t going to spend Sunday afternoon watching ice dancing.
An announcer with no neck was droning on about what this game meant for the season. I departed for the kitchen in search of coffee. I wasn’t interested in spending Sunday afternoon watching grown men pound each other into the mud. Been there, done that. Got the bruises to prove it. Okay, so it was technically Lula, and the pounding was accidental, but still---ow!
Rex’s new habitat dominated two-thirds of the kitchen table. I’d definitely gotten carried away at Pet Paradise. At the first hint of movement, he darted out of the plastic cylinder and stared at me.
When I dropped a piece of raisin bread into the tank, he fled back into the PVC den. Great, my hamster had post-traumatic stress.
I have a perfectly good TV back at my place, I thought. Yes, it would be cold, but I had an electric space heater. If I hunkered down in my bedroom, I could watch the Spectacle on Ice to my heart’s content, and---my heart beat a little quicker---there was birthday cake in my fridge. Okay, so technically it wasn’t birthday cake---the message was “Bon Voyage, Miriam!”---but it was yellow sponge cake with butter cream icing and roses. Same difference.
Yes. Ice dancing and cake. On the other hand, ice storm and black ice. Dumb idea.
Morelli sauntered into the kitchen, opened a cabinet and snagged a bag of Doritos. “We’re down by seven,” he said as he tore the bag open. “Second play, Jacobs fumbled and boom!”
“That’s nice.”
“Nice?” His voice went up and he stared at me in disbelief.
“I mean, that’s too bad.” What is it with men and play-off games? There’s always next year. “Look, right now I don’t really care about the game, Joe. I’m worried about Rex.”
“Don’t worry, Cupcake,” he said, patting me on the shoulder and turning to leave. “He’ll be okay.”
“But he’s not eating!”
“He’s not exactly starving. I came down for a snack at two AM and he was running laps. He’s fine. The Giants, on the other hand--”
I stared at his retreating back. Looked over at the tank, where Rex was hunkered in his bunker. Heard a whoop from the living room. Tried and failed not to think of cake. Added another sweater over the two I was already wearing and threw my leather jacket on top of that. Grabbed my bag and keys. Snuck out the back door to Big Blue.
Bon voyage, Stephanie, I thought as the Buick’s motor caught.
There was no chance of another seven-car pile-up, because I was the only one on the road. Still, I took it slow. The sleet had stopped, but the sky was murky grey and mist swirled . Icy stalactites hung from power wires and streetlights. I was pretty sure Big Blue would be okay if anything broke loose, but I wasn’t too sure I would. Rex wasn’t the only one who was edgy.
The car radio was AM-only, and the only thing I could tune in was, ironically, snow. The powder blue Buick, originally my Uncle Sandor’s, could be the proto-type for an armored assault vehicle, except with a more interesting color scheme and worse gas mileage. I’m convinced that if nuclear winter ever happens, it’ll motor through the post-apocalyptic landscape being driven by six-foot tall mutant cockroaches wearing polyester leisure suits and munching on Twinkies….
As we turned in to the parking lot of my building, Blue fish-tailed. There were a couple of igloos with wheels in the lot, but they were far enough away that I managed to avoid them. It was like wrestling a drunken hippo, but I managed to park the under the drive-up overhang at the front door---by the looks of things, no one was around to complain---and I limped inside, glad there was no ice between the car and the entrance.
The space heater kicked out a surprising amount of warmth, and by the time the ice dancing show was over, I was cozy enough to shed several layers. I didn’t want to go back out into the icky weather; I had half the cake left, and the building was quieter than usual. No one else’s TV was blasting, there was no traffic on the street…the last time I’d stayed anywhere this quiet, it had been Ranger’s penthouse apartment. This was a lot less deluxe, but…I yawned.
There was just one problem, and I tried to decide if it was worth going back to Joe’s for my prescriptions. Getting here had been bad enough, going back would be even dumber, since it was full-dark now. I was sore---birthday cake doesn’t cure that---but I did have six shot-sized bottles of Bacardi rum from the mini-bar of the last hotel I’d stayed at. (Hey, Vinnie was paying.) That and some acetaminophen should do the trick.
In honor of the painkiller, I plugged Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl into my DVD player and stretched out on my bed. I raised a miniature bottle to Jack Sparrow as he stepped from the mast of his sinking boat onto the dock at Port Royal, and swigged it down.
I’m a cheap drunk. The Bacardi collided with the tail-end of the muscle relaxers, and it only took one shot to mellow me out. I was feeling no pain for the first time in more than forty-eight hours. Undead pirates, meet undead Stephanie….
Watching Johnny Depp cavort with a sword made me want to try fencing. “Probably a lot easier than playing the cello,” I mumbled to myself. I could see it---I’d be the bounty hunter with a sword, like…whatsis name…Zorro! I’d carve an “S” on anyone who gave me a hard time. Instead of riding a big black horse, I could drive a shiny black Mustang....
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Cannons boomed. Pirates yelled, swords clashing. My bedroom door creaked as it swung open, but my 98-pound eyelids refused to open.
“Think she OD’ed on birthday cake?” I heard Joe ask. It wasn’t birthday cake, it was bon voyage cake, I wanted to say, but my dry tongue was Velcro’ed to the roof of my mouth
My nose told me who else was there---the rich fragrance of Bulgari Green surrounds Ranger wherever he goes---and I could feel his presence by the side of the bed even before warm fingers wrapped around my wrist to check for a pulse.
Without warning, his lips pressed against mine and his tongue flicked delicately into my mouth. “Rum cake,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. It made me a little nervous, in the part of my brain that hasn’t gotten lost on a cloud…Morelli can be macho Italian at times.
The bed rocked as Morelli settled down on it and took the remote away from me. Again. The soundtrack and battle ceased. “Fruitcake. She makes me crazy when she does shit like this.”
“If it wasn’t for the crazy shit, she wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.” The affection in Ranger’s tone warmed me even more than the rum---but was it going to set Joe off?
“Did I ever tell you about the time she hit me with her dad’s car?”
“Babe? Why would she do a thing like that?”
“A little misunderstanding.”
Little misunderstanding, my ass. He’d taken my virginity behind the counter of the Tasty-Pastry bakery---after hours, fortunately---then promptly skipped town to join the Navy. The next time I saw him, I wanted to say hello again as intensely as I’d experienced his good-bye.
“Good thing she wasn’t driving that Buick.”
They both chuckled. I felt the blanket being pulled down from my chin to somewhere around my knees. Someone was unbuttoning my plaid flannel shirt…at that point, all I had on was that and a pair of blue cotton panties. My nipples hardened as the air hit them. My bedroom was warmer than it had been when I got there, but it wasn’t that warm.
“Sheet cake,” Morelli announced. He bent down and his mouth covered my right nipple, inhaling it between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue.
I took a deep breath---I could manage that much---that double-clutched when Ranger’s mouth descended on my other nipple. I was going to spontaneously combust from the heat ignited in my belly. One hand crawled under the elastic on the right side of my panties, another under my butt. A few seconds later, the other side was likewise invaded.
“On three,” said Joe. “One, two…three!” My rump went up in the air, the panties went south, and my mouth dropped open. Of all the times for them to start working together.
“Signs of life,” Ranger remarked. It was probably his hand that glided down my left shoulder to circle my left boob. Fingertips traced a spiral pattern from the base to the tips of my rigid nipple.
Morelli’s response was to span my right breast with one palm, fingers spidering their way upward from my rib cage. Ranger’s weight shifted on his side of the bed.
Hands stroked from my knees up my inner thighs---my legs parted of my own accord, the first independent motion I’d managed in the last hour or so. I heard Ranger chuckle, and Joe made a sound I couldn’t quite identify.
I managed to crack my eyelids 1/64th of an inch, and hastily let them droop shut again. They were leaning over me, open mouths together, and I had to be hallucinating: I did not just see Morelli and Ranger kissing.
Great. I was losing it. First mutant cockroaches and Zorro, now Brokeback Trenton. No more pills for me, I decided, no matter how much I was hurting.
“Hot cake,” said Ranger, his voice husky.
“Tasty cake,” Joe growled.
Their voices were husky, suggestive, and I felt like an ice cream cake, melting from the sheer heat of what was going on. Despite my assortment of bruises, their caresses were soothing, stimulating. They displayed amazing teamwork---or was it a competition to see who could get the biggest reaction out of me?
Joe won. “Cherry cheesecake,” he said, his index and middle fingers coming together against my doodah.
“Meep!” I sat bolt upright, eyes wide. I was in bed, surrounded by two hot, naked guys who might or might not have something going on independent of me. My mind boggled.
Ranger’s lips tilted up at the corners in a subtle smile and Morelli grinned outright.
“Cupcake,” Joe said, brushing the back of his hand against my cheek. “Welcome back.”
My mouth moved soundlessly for a minute, and I blinked. “Uh, coffee?” I gulped. I was almost sure I was still dreaming, but maybe not---the TV was off, and I was sore enough that maybe the pills were wearing off.
Ranger had a thermos, and the coffee was fantastic. It didn’t come from Shop-Rite, that was for sure. It was probably hand-picked from the slopes of some Hawaiian volcano by maidens wearing nothing but grass skirts and hibiscus blossoms in their hair…oh God, I was doing it again.
“Coffee cake,” Ranger said to Joe as I sipped.
“There’s cake,” I said, pointing. “It looks like birthday cake, but it’s really bon voyage cake.”
“Of course it is.” Ranger agreed, humoring me.
Seeing the two of them stripped down, side by side, was damn scenic. Ranger was a tiger---more muscular, with broad shoulders---while Morelli was leaner, more like a panther.
“You know, you scared the shit out of me,” Morelli said. “What were you thinking?”
Saying, “I wanted to watch ice dancing” would’ve made me sound like a bratty twelve-year old. “I had a buzz from those painkillers,” I said lamely. “Impaired judgment.”
“You left your phone behind, you left your pills---although that’s probably a good thing, since they wouldn’t mix well with the booze---you’re sitting here in a building with no heat---“
“Then why did you take my clothes off?” I shot back defensively.
“She’s got you there,” Ranger pointed out, and Morelli glared at him. “Seriously, Babe,” he said, sobering fast, “Sure, it’s warm in here now, but what if the power went out? In this weather, I’m kinda surprised it hasn’t.”
I hung my head. “I didn’t think of that,” I admitted.
“You didn’t think, period.”
“Give her a break,” Ranger said to Morelli like I wasn’t there. “She’s hurting. And you,” he said to me, his brown eyes serious, “The doctor prescribed that stuff, and there’s nothing wrong with taking it if you need it, but they’ve got those warnings on the bottle for a reason.”
A tear rolled down my cheek. They were right. And they both cared about me in their own unique ways. I tried to pull myself together.
Morelli glared at Ranger, who shrugged. Then they got competitive again. Who could console me better? All I had to do was lie back and enjoy it.
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Clothes, purse, keys, check, check, check. I closed the apartment door behind me, and the lights went out.
“Good thing we weren’t in the elevator,” Ranger commented.
“Good thing we’re only on the second floor,” Joe answered. He pulled out a Maglite---apparently he wasn’t just happy to see me---and Ranger produced a light, too.
Boy scouts, I thought fondly, with merit badges in preparedness and kink. The coffee had cleared my head, and I made it down the stairs without any disasters. I was stiff from my injuries and sore in a good way from being the second tier in a three-layer cake, but I felt safe and protected.
There was a RangeMan Humvee parked on the far side of Big Blue. I got dibs on the backseat, and settled in. “I will never complain about you bugging my car again,” I said.
“Ha!” said Joe. “That’ll last a couple weeks.”
Ranger didn’t respond, but he caught my eye in the rearview mirror and smiled. The traffic light at Hamilton and St. James was down, and we veered around that, the Hummer traveling almost as solidly as Big Blue. The heater worked better and NPR droned from the speakers.
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Morelli grabbed Bob’s collar and kept him from jumping up on me.
“My hero,” I said, and meant it. Much as I loved him, right now I was in no shape to wrestle a furry 90-pound juggernaut.
Rex was running on his wheel as we entered the kitchen. He paused, but he didn’t flee or snarl at the glass, so I approached the table slowly and pulled out a chair. Rex watched as I sat down, then resumed his workout.
Across the room, Morelli busied himself making coffee and toast. “So, I heard the two of you talking,” he said as the coffee dripped. “Why didn’t you take him up on it? Penthouse, room service, all the bells and whistles?”
“Because…” I tried to explain why Joe’s old house was more my comfort zone. “It’s not like a penthouse in a hotel, it’s right there at RangeMan. I know I know everybody there, but it’s too---“ Distracted, I wave my hands, and Rex stops and looks at me. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a kept woman.”
“He cares about you.” His voice could almost pass for neutral as he delivered a cup of coffee and a saucer with a piece of buttered toast. Behind the words, I heard the uncertainty.
“Joe, I love you.” He stared at me, and no wonder. It was the first time I’d ever been able to say it. “I love Ranger, too. Last night was amazing, and as long as you don’t throw it back in my face---” Or God forbid, tell my mother--- “I’m happy. If you guys are on the down-low with each other---“ Morelli gaped like a codfish. “---that’s okay, too.”
Suddenly I was starving. I slathered strawberry jam on the toast and took a crunchy bite. I chewed it and watched Joe process what I’d said.
“You love him, too?”
“He’s been there for me. So have you.”
“But you came home with me.” He stood there beside the chair, looking down at me, dark eyes wanting more of an answer.
I embraced him, my arms going around his waist, burying my face against his flat stomach. He ran his fingers gently through my hair, and I sighed with pleasure.
“Today,” he said in a take-charge tone, “you’re going to stay home, take your meds, and rest on the couch. No sneaking out to chase skips, no running to the mall. I’m going to hide my car keys, and thank God that damn Buick is out of the way.”
Usually, that tone would bug the hell out of me, but now it felt protective. Okay, so he was protecting me from myself. Today, it didn’t bother me. “Sure, Joe. That sounds good.”
“And I Tivo’ed that Icecapade thing you were watching. There’s always that if you get bored.”
“You’re so good to me.”
“And don’t you forget it, Cupcake.” He went back to the toaster to assemble his own breakfast. The chick-flick moment was over.
I dropped a corner of toast into the tank, and Rex hopped off his wheel and scurried over to it, whiskers twitching. He nibbled the edge. When he tasted the strawberry jam, his head came up and I swear, he smiled at me. All was forgiven.
I smiled. “Besides, home is where the hamster is.”
***
First fic post on LJ in 2009. Feedback is shiny!
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Over 21
Insistent banging on my apartment door woke me long before I was ready to be conscious. I'd gotten in late the night before---unsuccessfully trying to find Allegra Ritornello---and I fumbled my way to the foyer, blinking. It was Dillon, the super, letting me know that the building's heater had quit and a pipe had burst, so the building was being evacuated because the owners didn't want to get sued if anyone froze into a human popsicle.
Huh, that explained why I could see wisps of breath vapor in my living room.
"I'm sorry, Stephanie," he said, looking as if he expected protest. "It's going to take a few days to fix because they have to order parts, and it's the weekend. Mr. Meyer in 4E says he's going to catch the noon bus to Miami, the Kleins, the Spinellis and Mrs. Bestler are going to the Holiday Inn, Mrs. Kowalski is going to her sister's house---I left telling you 'til last because I know your schedule is pretty rough, but everybody else is gone or going."
At the moment, Miami sounded like a lot more fun than Trenton, but I had Rex to think of. My car would never make it that far and I don’t think Greyhound likes hamsters as passengers. My budget wouldn't stretch to a hotel, and I'd rather be a Plumsicle than stay with my sister’s family---or my parents. That kind of limited my options. I dressed warmly, stuffed a grocery bag full of clothes, and loosely covered Rex's aquarium with a couple bath towels for insulation before taking us both outside.
One good thing, I thought, stamping a path to the car through three inches of new snow, the heater in my Ford Taurus works, so we ought to be okay for the short distance we were going. I rested the Rex’s glass house on the back seat behind me, my spare clothes went in the trunk, and I made sure I had my key to Morelli’s.
Joe Morelli is my on-again, off-again lover. We grew up in the same corner of the Burg---the Chambersburg neighborhood of Trenton, New Jersey. Our history goes back to grade school, when Morelli conned me into some amateur gynecology experiments in his family's garage. These days, he's a Trenton cop, who's worked Vice on and off, and his technique has improved a lot since then. His house is a couple miles from my apartment building, and it’s usually an easy drive.
Bad news: The Taurus didn’t have snow tires. The wheels spun and the rear end shimmied, fighting for traction in the slushy streets. And no matter how hard I stomped on the gas, the odometer still read 30 and the whole car shook. There was a red light ahead, and I thought at that pace, I could coast along until the light changed. Suddenly, the gears caught and the Taurus lurched forward. It stalled as soon as I took my foot off the gas and slid into the intersection like it was trying to steal second base.
Then, it was a grown-up version of bumper cars---a minivan going east hit me on the right rear side and spun me around into the path of an SUV going west. The SUV smacked my passenger door broad-side, which was about the time the Cadillac behind the minivan crunched the rear quarter-panel on my side. The SUV got rear-ended, too, and a couple other distant impacts sent shockwaves through me.
For a moment, I just sat there, stunned, my ears buzzing from adrenalin. Someone’s horn was stuck, or they were pissed about the logjam of cars blocking the intersection.
Then there was a faint scratching from my backseat, and I panicked.
“Rex! Oh my God, Rex, are you okay?” I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned over the back seat. The aquarium was a tangled mess of broken glass and metal and there were wood shavings and newspaper everywhere. I couldn’t see the soup can that he usually lounged in, but his wire wheel was halfway under the passenger seat.
Oh no, why hadn’t I thought to secure the tank? Because it was only a couple of miles, and I’d driven it hundreds of times without incident. And now…now…poor Rex! If he wasn’t dead or dying from the crash, he’d freeze without protection.
I was starting to hyper-ventilate, when something tunneled up the left leg of my jeans. Rex!
I reached in to get him, to make sure he was okay, and he chomped down hard, nailing me right in the webbing between my right thumb and forefinger. I screamed---and managed to override the instinct to throw him across the car. Instead, I pulled off the knit cap I was wearing and swiftly shook him into that.
Somebody was banging on my window. “Hey, lady, are you okay?”
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“All right!” Lula grinned at the sight of Allegra’s subcompact parked in the driveway. “This time, we’re gonna get her good. Jus’ let me find my taser.” She started rummaging in her bag, a metallic Kathy Van Zeeland knock-off the size of a toddler.
“No! She’s on bail for shop-lifting, not armed robbery.”
“She snatched the last suit in my size, that’s like she’s robbin’ from me,” Lula grumbled under her breath as she hauled herself out of the driver’s seat.
I finally realized what her bright green fleece outfit reminded me of---the Jolly Green Giant. Which made me his little friend, Sprout. Except, not so green…more like black and blue that would probably turn green in a few days. I blinked. Maybe I was stoned from the muscle relaxers?
We headed around the back of the house. Stairs led to Allegra’s second-floor apartment over the garage, and Lula marched ahead of me on the way up.
I followed more slowly, wary of ice on the steps. I hurt in about six different places from yesterday’s episode of five-car pinball, and if I didn’t think Allegra would be an easy apprehension, I’d’ve stayed at Morelli’s, soaking in the shower until the hot water ran out.
“Hey!” Lula hollered, banging on the door. “Bond enforcement! Get your ass out here!”
Allegra’s door popped open. We were confronted with a green-faced alien with silver antennae. At least, that was the impression I had in the two heartbeats before Lula jumped back, slipped and flailed. She slammed into me and was right behind me on the way downstairs.
The accident brought our quarry out of the apartment in a hurry. She had on a ratty terry robe over flannel pajama bottoms with monkeys and there was foil in her hair like she was doing some kind of do-it-yourself high-lights. The green face turned out to be a facial mask that made Allegra smell like cucumbers.
“Are you okay? I am so sorry! You startled me banging on the door, I was afraid it was Angela from next door, her youngest has asthma, and---” Allegra Ritornello stopped in mid-sentence, staring at us. “Are you…church ladies?” she asked doubtfully. Her shoulders hunched up under the robe like she expected a scolding “I’m sorry, you caught me at a bad time.”
“Stephanie Plum,” I said, wheezing a little as I sat up. “With Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. You missed your court date.”
“And we’re gonna drag your ass to jail!” Lula finished. She gave me a hand, and we hauled each other up out of the snow. “I was looking at that suit you tried to snitch at Curvy World---now it’s locked up as evidence, and I was gonna get it to wear to dinner with my sweetie’s parents.”
Allegra looked from me to Lula, bewilderment on her face. “What court date? That’s not ‘til next week,” she protested. “I’ll show you, I’ve got it written right on my calendar.”
Lula made a grab for Allegra as she turned back toward the stairs. I intercepted it. Watching her trudge upstairs, our skip looked so frumpy, I wasn’t sure highlights would help. “We can’t take her in like that,” I pointed out. “We should at least let her wash that crap out of her hair.”
“You think I care if all her hair falls out? Huh! That girl is a mess!”
Knowing how careful she was about her car, I tried another tack as I dragged myself up the stairs again. “You wouldn’t want to get dye all over the Firebird, would you? Either we’d have to open the windows and freeze to let the smell out, or turn on the heater and choke on the chemicals.”
“You got a point there,” Lula admitted as we entered Allegra’s place, which seemed positively tropical. Maybe heating was included with her rent? It was the warmest I’d been in days; I could feel my fingers and toes thawing.
The fugitive seemed more like a ditz than a desperate criminal to me. I had to convince her that, despite what date she had circled on her calendar, the 12th of the month was different from the 21st. “Oh,” she said, looking at the glossy page sadly. “I guess I’m in even more trouble, huh?”
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We watched Allegra walk away down the mall, new highlights lively and glinting, the Curvy World bag swinging in her hand.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” Lula said to me. “You got the store to drop the charges, which is nice for Miss Space Case, but that’s no money for us, and you just bought her that suit!”
“It didn’t fit you,” I pointed out. “I got a discount because that button popped off when you tried it on, and it was already marked down, so it was a pretty sweet deal. Now Allegra’s got something good to wear for interviews, so hopefully she’ll get a job and won’t need to steal clothes.”
Lula pouted. “I still need to find something classy to wear for dinner with Tank’s folks,” she said. “I’m goin’ back into Curvy World and look some more.”
“You go ahead. I’ll meet you at the food court in an hour. I need to pick up a few things at Pet Paradise.” It was hard to imagine the hulking RangeMan employee as anyone’s husband…or for that matter, my-friend-the-ex-hooker as daughter-in-law material. Heck, between Tank’s boss, Ranger, and Joe Morelli, I couldn’t manage to settle down. How did Lula do it?
Rex needed a new home. I felt guilty enough about endangering him that I let the salesgirl talk me into a lot of bells and whistles. A bigger tank, because he must be getting claustrophobic in Aunt Rose’s pickle jar. Premium cedar shavings. A new wheel, tunnels, a smaller container for transport…I did major damage on my credit card, and told myself that the insurance would cover it…eventually.
Even if it didn’t, I’d do whatever I had to to get my furry baby back to normal. My hand was still throbbing where he’d bitten me, and then, there was last night in Morelli’s kitchen. I couldn’t get the image of Rex, paws pressed up against the side of the jar, snarling and squeaking at Bob. He’d never behaved like that on any of our other visits---Bob would amble over, sniff the aquarium, wag his tail and go to sleep under the table while Rex ignored him.
He was stressed because of the accident, which meant it was all my fault.
________________________________________
Morelli plucked the remote from my fingers with one hand, and scooped up my legs with the other so he could seat himself on the couch.
“I was watching that!” I protested as he changed channels.
“No, you weren’t. Your eyes were closed.”
“That’s because the commercials were on.” I swung my legs out of his lap and sat up, wincing. Arguing was pointless, because it was Joe’s TV, and Mr. Tough Cop wasn’t going to spend Sunday afternoon watching ice dancing.
An announcer with no neck was droning on about what this game meant for the season. I departed for the kitchen in search of coffee. I wasn’t interested in spending Sunday afternoon watching grown men pound each other into the mud. Been there, done that. Got the bruises to prove it. Okay, so it was technically Lula, and the pounding was accidental, but still---ow!
Rex’s new habitat dominated two-thirds of the kitchen table. I’d definitely gotten carried away at Pet Paradise. At the first hint of movement, he darted out of the plastic cylinder and stared at me.
When I dropped a piece of raisin bread into the tank, he fled back into the PVC den. Great, my hamster had post-traumatic stress.
I have a perfectly good TV back at my place, I thought. Yes, it would be cold, but I had an electric space heater. If I hunkered down in my bedroom, I could watch the Spectacle on Ice to my heart’s content, and---my heart beat a little quicker---there was birthday cake in my fridge. Okay, so technically it wasn’t birthday cake---the message was “Bon Voyage, Miriam!”---but it was yellow sponge cake with butter cream icing and roses. Same difference.
Yes. Ice dancing and cake. On the other hand, ice storm and black ice. Dumb idea.
Morelli sauntered into the kitchen, opened a cabinet and snagged a bag of Doritos. “We’re down by seven,” he said as he tore the bag open. “Second play, Jacobs fumbled and boom!”
“That’s nice.”
“Nice?” His voice went up and he stared at me in disbelief.
“I mean, that’s too bad.” What is it with men and play-off games? There’s always next year. “Look, right now I don’t really care about the game, Joe. I’m worried about Rex.”
“Don’t worry, Cupcake,” he said, patting me on the shoulder and turning to leave. “He’ll be okay.”
“But he’s not eating!”
“He’s not exactly starving. I came down for a snack at two AM and he was running laps. He’s fine. The Giants, on the other hand--”
I stared at his retreating back. Looked over at the tank, where Rex was hunkered in his bunker. Heard a whoop from the living room. Tried and failed not to think of cake. Added another sweater over the two I was already wearing and threw my leather jacket on top of that. Grabbed my bag and keys. Snuck out the back door to Big Blue.
Bon voyage, Stephanie, I thought as the Buick’s motor caught.
There was no chance of another seven-car pile-up, because I was the only one on the road. Still, I took it slow. The sleet had stopped, but the sky was murky grey and mist swirled . Icy stalactites hung from power wires and streetlights. I was pretty sure Big Blue would be okay if anything broke loose, but I wasn’t too sure I would. Rex wasn’t the only one who was edgy.
The car radio was AM-only, and the only thing I could tune in was, ironically, snow. The powder blue Buick, originally my Uncle Sandor’s, could be the proto-type for an armored assault vehicle, except with a more interesting color scheme and worse gas mileage. I’m convinced that if nuclear winter ever happens, it’ll motor through the post-apocalyptic landscape being driven by six-foot tall mutant cockroaches wearing polyester leisure suits and munching on Twinkies….
As we turned in to the parking lot of my building, Blue fish-tailed. There were a couple of igloos with wheels in the lot, but they were far enough away that I managed to avoid them. It was like wrestling a drunken hippo, but I managed to park the under the drive-up overhang at the front door---by the looks of things, no one was around to complain---and I limped inside, glad there was no ice between the car and the entrance.
The space heater kicked out a surprising amount of warmth, and by the time the ice dancing show was over, I was cozy enough to shed several layers. I didn’t want to go back out into the icky weather; I had half the cake left, and the building was quieter than usual. No one else’s TV was blasting, there was no traffic on the street…the last time I’d stayed anywhere this quiet, it had been Ranger’s penthouse apartment. This was a lot less deluxe, but…I yawned.
There was just one problem, and I tried to decide if it was worth going back to Joe’s for my prescriptions. Getting here had been bad enough, going back would be even dumber, since it was full-dark now. I was sore---birthday cake doesn’t cure that---but I did have six shot-sized bottles of Bacardi rum from the mini-bar of the last hotel I’d stayed at. (Hey, Vinnie was paying.) That and some acetaminophen should do the trick.
In honor of the painkiller, I plugged Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl into my DVD player and stretched out on my bed. I raised a miniature bottle to Jack Sparrow as he stepped from the mast of his sinking boat onto the dock at Port Royal, and swigged it down.
I’m a cheap drunk. The Bacardi collided with the tail-end of the muscle relaxers, and it only took one shot to mellow me out. I was feeling no pain for the first time in more than forty-eight hours. Undead pirates, meet undead Stephanie….
Watching Johnny Depp cavort with a sword made me want to try fencing. “Probably a lot easier than playing the cello,” I mumbled to myself. I could see it---I’d be the bounty hunter with a sword, like…whatsis name…Zorro! I’d carve an “S” on anyone who gave me a hard time. Instead of riding a big black horse, I could drive a shiny black Mustang....
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Cannons boomed. Pirates yelled, swords clashing. My bedroom door creaked as it swung open, but my 98-pound eyelids refused to open.
“Think she OD’ed on birthday cake?” I heard Joe ask. It wasn’t birthday cake, it was bon voyage cake, I wanted to say, but my dry tongue was Velcro’ed to the roof of my mouth
My nose told me who else was there---the rich fragrance of Bulgari Green surrounds Ranger wherever he goes---and I could feel his presence by the side of the bed even before warm fingers wrapped around my wrist to check for a pulse.
Without warning, his lips pressed against mine and his tongue flicked delicately into my mouth. “Rum cake,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. It made me a little nervous, in the part of my brain that hasn’t gotten lost on a cloud…Morelli can be macho Italian at times.
The bed rocked as Morelli settled down on it and took the remote away from me. Again. The soundtrack and battle ceased. “Fruitcake. She makes me crazy when she does shit like this.”
“If it wasn’t for the crazy shit, she wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.” The affection in Ranger’s tone warmed me even more than the rum---but was it going to set Joe off?
“Did I ever tell you about the time she hit me with her dad’s car?”
“Babe? Why would she do a thing like that?”
“A little misunderstanding.”
Little misunderstanding, my ass. He’d taken my virginity behind the counter of the Tasty-Pastry bakery---after hours, fortunately---then promptly skipped town to join the Navy. The next time I saw him, I wanted to say hello again as intensely as I’d experienced his good-bye.
“Good thing she wasn’t driving that Buick.”
They both chuckled. I felt the blanket being pulled down from my chin to somewhere around my knees. Someone was unbuttoning my plaid flannel shirt…at that point, all I had on was that and a pair of blue cotton panties. My nipples hardened as the air hit them. My bedroom was warmer than it had been when I got there, but it wasn’t that warm.
“Sheet cake,” Morelli announced. He bent down and his mouth covered my right nipple, inhaling it between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue.
I took a deep breath---I could manage that much---that double-clutched when Ranger’s mouth descended on my other nipple. I was going to spontaneously combust from the heat ignited in my belly. One hand crawled under the elastic on the right side of my panties, another under my butt. A few seconds later, the other side was likewise invaded.
“On three,” said Joe. “One, two…three!” My rump went up in the air, the panties went south, and my mouth dropped open. Of all the times for them to start working together.
“Signs of life,” Ranger remarked. It was probably his hand that glided down my left shoulder to circle my left boob. Fingertips traced a spiral pattern from the base to the tips of my rigid nipple.
Morelli’s response was to span my right breast with one palm, fingers spidering their way upward from my rib cage. Ranger’s weight shifted on his side of the bed.
Hands stroked from my knees up my inner thighs---my legs parted of my own accord, the first independent motion I’d managed in the last hour or so. I heard Ranger chuckle, and Joe made a sound I couldn’t quite identify.
I managed to crack my eyelids 1/64th of an inch, and hastily let them droop shut again. They were leaning over me, open mouths together, and I had to be hallucinating: I did not just see Morelli and Ranger kissing.
Great. I was losing it. First mutant cockroaches and Zorro, now Brokeback Trenton. No more pills for me, I decided, no matter how much I was hurting.
“Hot cake,” said Ranger, his voice husky.
“Tasty cake,” Joe growled.
Their voices were husky, suggestive, and I felt like an ice cream cake, melting from the sheer heat of what was going on. Despite my assortment of bruises, their caresses were soothing, stimulating. They displayed amazing teamwork---or was it a competition to see who could get the biggest reaction out of me?
Joe won. “Cherry cheesecake,” he said, his index and middle fingers coming together against my doodah.
“Meep!” I sat bolt upright, eyes wide. I was in bed, surrounded by two hot, naked guys who might or might not have something going on independent of me. My mind boggled.
Ranger’s lips tilted up at the corners in a subtle smile and Morelli grinned outright.
“Cupcake,” Joe said, brushing the back of his hand against my cheek. “Welcome back.”
My mouth moved soundlessly for a minute, and I blinked. “Uh, coffee?” I gulped. I was almost sure I was still dreaming, but maybe not---the TV was off, and I was sore enough that maybe the pills were wearing off.
Ranger had a thermos, and the coffee was fantastic. It didn’t come from Shop-Rite, that was for sure. It was probably hand-picked from the slopes of some Hawaiian volcano by maidens wearing nothing but grass skirts and hibiscus blossoms in their hair…oh God, I was doing it again.
“Coffee cake,” Ranger said to Joe as I sipped.
“There’s cake,” I said, pointing. “It looks like birthday cake, but it’s really bon voyage cake.”
“Of course it is.” Ranger agreed, humoring me.
Seeing the two of them stripped down, side by side, was damn scenic. Ranger was a tiger---more muscular, with broad shoulders---while Morelli was leaner, more like a panther.
“You know, you scared the shit out of me,” Morelli said. “What were you thinking?”
Saying, “I wanted to watch ice dancing” would’ve made me sound like a bratty twelve-year old. “I had a buzz from those painkillers,” I said lamely. “Impaired judgment.”
“You left your phone behind, you left your pills---although that’s probably a good thing, since they wouldn’t mix well with the booze---you’re sitting here in a building with no heat---“
“Then why did you take my clothes off?” I shot back defensively.
“She’s got you there,” Ranger pointed out, and Morelli glared at him. “Seriously, Babe,” he said, sobering fast, “Sure, it’s warm in here now, but what if the power went out? In this weather, I’m kinda surprised it hasn’t.”
I hung my head. “I didn’t think of that,” I admitted.
“You didn’t think, period.”
“Give her a break,” Ranger said to Morelli like I wasn’t there. “She’s hurting. And you,” he said to me, his brown eyes serious, “The doctor prescribed that stuff, and there’s nothing wrong with taking it if you need it, but they’ve got those warnings on the bottle for a reason.”
A tear rolled down my cheek. They were right. And they both cared about me in their own unique ways. I tried to pull myself together.
Morelli glared at Ranger, who shrugged. Then they got competitive again. Who could console me better? All I had to do was lie back and enjoy it.
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Clothes, purse, keys, check, check, check. I closed the apartment door behind me, and the lights went out.
“Good thing we weren’t in the elevator,” Ranger commented.
“Good thing we’re only on the second floor,” Joe answered. He pulled out a Maglite---apparently he wasn’t just happy to see me---and Ranger produced a light, too.
Boy scouts, I thought fondly, with merit badges in preparedness and kink. The coffee had cleared my head, and I made it down the stairs without any disasters. I was stiff from my injuries and sore in a good way from being the second tier in a three-layer cake, but I felt safe and protected.
There was a RangeMan Humvee parked on the far side of Big Blue. I got dibs on the backseat, and settled in. “I will never complain about you bugging my car again,” I said.
“Ha!” said Joe. “That’ll last a couple weeks.”
Ranger didn’t respond, but he caught my eye in the rearview mirror and smiled. The traffic light at Hamilton and St. James was down, and we veered around that, the Hummer traveling almost as solidly as Big Blue. The heater worked better and NPR droned from the speakers.
----------------------------------------
Morelli grabbed Bob’s collar and kept him from jumping up on me.
“My hero,” I said, and meant it. Much as I loved him, right now I was in no shape to wrestle a furry 90-pound juggernaut.
Rex was running on his wheel as we entered the kitchen. He paused, but he didn’t flee or snarl at the glass, so I approached the table slowly and pulled out a chair. Rex watched as I sat down, then resumed his workout.
Across the room, Morelli busied himself making coffee and toast. “So, I heard the two of you talking,” he said as the coffee dripped. “Why didn’t you take him up on it? Penthouse, room service, all the bells and whistles?”
“Because…” I tried to explain why Joe’s old house was more my comfort zone. “It’s not like a penthouse in a hotel, it’s right there at RangeMan. I know I know everybody there, but it’s too---“ Distracted, I wave my hands, and Rex stops and looks at me. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a kept woman.”
“He cares about you.” His voice could almost pass for neutral as he delivered a cup of coffee and a saucer with a piece of buttered toast. Behind the words, I heard the uncertainty.
“Joe, I love you.” He stared at me, and no wonder. It was the first time I’d ever been able to say it. “I love Ranger, too. Last night was amazing, and as long as you don’t throw it back in my face---” Or God forbid, tell my mother--- “I’m happy. If you guys are on the down-low with each other---“ Morelli gaped like a codfish. “---that’s okay, too.”
Suddenly I was starving. I slathered strawberry jam on the toast and took a crunchy bite. I chewed it and watched Joe process what I’d said.
“You love him, too?”
“He’s been there for me. So have you.”
“But you came home with me.” He stood there beside the chair, looking down at me, dark eyes wanting more of an answer.
I embraced him, my arms going around his waist, burying my face against his flat stomach. He ran his fingers gently through my hair, and I sighed with pleasure.
“Today,” he said in a take-charge tone, “you’re going to stay home, take your meds, and rest on the couch. No sneaking out to chase skips, no running to the mall. I’m going to hide my car keys, and thank God that damn Buick is out of the way.”
Usually, that tone would bug the hell out of me, but now it felt protective. Okay, so he was protecting me from myself. Today, it didn’t bother me. “Sure, Joe. That sounds good.”
“And I Tivo’ed that Icecapade thing you were watching. There’s always that if you get bored.”
“You’re so good to me.”
“And don’t you forget it, Cupcake.” He went back to the toaster to assemble his own breakfast. The chick-flick moment was over.
I dropped a corner of toast into the tank, and Rex hopped off his wheel and scurried over to it, whiskers twitching. He nibbled the edge. When he tasted the strawberry jam, his head came up and I swear, he smiled at me. All was forgiven.
I smiled. “Besides, home is where the hamster is.”
***
First fic post on LJ in 2009. Feedback is shiny!