A Spark in the Darkness
Category—Stephanie Plum Fanfic
Disclaimer: If you recognize the name then clearly the character is not mine. :)
Rated: M
Authors Notes: So this is my latest Stephanie Plum story and it is in no way connected to any of my previous SP fictions. I don't think this has been done before and the idea wouldn't leave me alone. I don't like songfics (as I've stated before) I think it's tricky to incorporate lyrics into a song without it feeling choppy or taking the reader out of the story. There will be song lyrics and hints of songs in this fiction and I'm very interested to see how it flows and how it's received. I also tried to make all the characters believable, and not 'over the top'. Don't get me wrong I love a good 'Mrs. Plum and Morelli as the villainous scums of the world' fictions but I think they are simply flawed characters, and very human. I've tried to portray them here in a realistic fashion.
As always, Reviews are greatly appreciated and only improve my craft!
This story is without a Beta/Editor so any and all mistakes are mine.
Chapter One
They say when life gives you lemons you should make lemonade and I've got to tell you I've tried, and trust me; nobody wants that. I did that when I was eight years old. It seemed like a great idea at the time. I made a sign on poster board left over from one of Valerie's school projects and dragged my playschool table onto the sidewalk in front of my parent's two story duplex house in the Burg and set up shop.
A young budding entrepreneur; Fresh squeezed Lemonade for 10 cents.
It didn't go so well because it turns out, despite what that saying will have you believe; it takes a lot more than just a bag of lemons to make lemonade. You need a whole lot of sugar to make the truly bitter turn sweet.
My name is Stephanie Plum, and now twenty or more years later life is still handing me a lot of lemons. I'd like to say I've prefect the old saying, or at least come to terms with it and somehow cobbled together the ability to sweeten what life gives me to the point it's half way palatable and doesn't leave a bad taste in my mouth. I'd like to tell you there's a metaphor in here somewhere...but there's not.
Sometimes life just plain sucks.
Truth is when life hands me lemons now a days I'm much more likely to slice those suckers up and stick them down the longneck of a bottle of Corona. Which is sorta how I got into the lemon suckiness that is this morning. Corona, lemons—well, limes actually, Lula and a whole lot of blurry memories that may have involved dirty dancing and possibly some puking.
I'm not proud to say that I'm not really sure it's all a bit…fuzzy.
I let out a groan at the ice picks stabbing at my eyeballs even though my eyes were still closed. I felt like I had the brass section and possibly some drums to a really terrible band in my head; and someone obviously let a wet dog sleep in my mouth overnight. ugh.
I pried my tongue off the roof of my mouth with only moderate success since it felt like it took up the entire space behind my teeth at the moment and cracked one eyelid at the room then pressed my palms to my face and waited for the world to stop it's lazy spin.
How shit-faced did I have to be last night that I still felt drunk at...I cracked one eye blearily at my bedside clock again waiting for the numeric to slide into focus. Shit, 1:02 pm. Yikes.
I rolled out of bed with less coordination then a slug that had just been salted feeling like I might turn inside out myself and crawled into my bathroom on wobbly hands and knees.
I left the light off since I was on the floor anyway, and standing up seemed like a lot of effort today...and honestly it wasn't like it was worth seeing since the bathroom was pretty much hideous. It was yellow and brown outdated tile and there may or may not be a ring of soap scum around the tub that pre-dates the dinosaurs. I propped my back against the bathroom counter, bent my knees and did some slow breathing with my eyes closed wondering if I was going to puke again since I had a few vague memories of puking the night before.
I'd have to check the sidewalk outside my apartment complex to be sure but I sorta remembered hurling into the bushes when we got home and stumbled out of Lula's Firebird and I wondered if I'd managed to clear my shoes.
After a few minutes I determined my stomach wasn't interested in offering me any relief and I started up the shower setting the temperature at luke warm and since I was naked—not sure how that happened since I'm at least certain I was alone when I came home last night; I climbed in and leaned against the cold tile wall in the dark just waiting to wake up. Thirty minutes later, according to the clock, I felt sorta human-by the loosest definition of mankind that is. And I'd exited the shower, dried myself, managed to get dressed, pony tailed my hair (go me!) and I was searching the living room for my purse and my phone.
All this seemed like such a monumental effort that I was tempted to just crawl back into bed, but unfortunately that wasn't going to happen. It was the sixteenth of the month, and rent on my tiny second floor apartment is traditionally due on the tenth. To say my check was late was a serious understatement. If I didn't get some skips in soon I was going to find myself evicted. I was starting to feel a little desperate, which lead to feeling depressed, naturally—which is how I ended up in a bar last night with Lula and Sally Sweet getting truly shit faced.
I guess that's the one good thing about being a sorta leggy decent looking brunet. Broke or not you can always get drunk in a night club or bar because somebody is always willing to buy you a drink. Too bad the same couldn't be said for my rent.
Well, I had little doubt if I asked that a certain Cuban who was kinda missing in action at the moment would do just that if I asked—but he wasn't around for one, and I wasn't about to ask Tank. Yikes. And two that was just plain embarrassing, I feel bad enough when he makes up jobs for me to do when I need money the last thing I needed was to have him simply start forking out money for my rent. The embarrassment of that venture might simply outright kill me.
Nope. I wasn't asking Ranger, that's for damn sure. And I wasn't asking Morelli either, he'd probably just start in about how if I'd just give up my apartment and move in with him I wouldn't have to worry about paying rent—or keeping my job, yada yada yada. Yeah. Obviously not talking to him about this. I managed to find my keys and my phone which had only a bar of battery left and stuffed them both in my purse so I could try to do something productive with the rest of my day, and hopefully about my rent.
I opted for the elevator over the stairs and made it to the parking lot in one piece. So far so good, then my latest POS car started on the second try. Also a good sign. I made it over to the bonds office hitting minimal traffic and lights and had just pulled into the parking lot out front when my phone rang.
I must have had the ringer on blasting last night to have even a hope of hearing it at the club—and the result now was a piercing ringtone that even through my purse had me jumping so hard I plowed headlong into the curb with my bumper. I cursed up a blue streak scrambling frantically in my bag to shut it up. Where the Hell wa…there! I winced while furiously jabbing at the screen trying to shut it up before my head exploded—unfortunately that meant I inadvertently answered it without seeing the caller ID.
Crap. I had two choices now; answer or hang up and pretend it was a dropped call. Hanging up on one's mother, even by accident was paramount to murder in our family. I raised the phone to my ear in resignation praying it wasn't my credit card company or some other bill collector and offered a feeble, "Hello?"
"Stephanie Plum," Oh, Great.
"This is your Mother—"
"—Hi Mom," we said in unison. Ugh. My head was still pounding too much for this.
"What's wrong with you, are you sick?" My Mother asked.
"Um, No." Just hungover as Hell. "Just a headache Mom, what's up?"
"I'm making a pot roast for dinner," My mother started.
"Ugh, God no." My stomach twisted at just the thought of beef and gravy. I briefly considered rolling down the window, then I remembered it was broken.
"What do you mean no?" My Mother returned, clearly affronted.
"Um, I'm not actually feeling that great Mom. That just sounds too…" I paused searching for the right descriptive word while my phone beeped low battery in my ear. I didn't think the words vomit would win me any daughter of the year awards. "…heavy."
"Well, I'll make something lighter then, God knows your Father's last cholesterol at the Doctors was through the roof."
"What?" People in the burg didn't believe in cholesterol, it was skeptically regarded as a myth. Like Bigfoot, and free city parking. Trans-fat was practically a religion.
"His Cholesterol Stephanie. You should get yours checked too, all those tasty cakes and Fried chicken. It's not healthy."
It was like a pod person had taken my Mother's place. "What?" I croaked.
"Dinner's at Six, and please don't bring Joe."
I nearly choked on my own spit and started coughing.
"Goodness," my Mother chimed in. "I'll make you some soup."
"Why am I not bringing Joe?" Not that I wanted to, but what was this; some kind of weird reverse psychology?!
"Are you back together again?" She asked conversationally.
"Um, no?"
My mother sighed heavily in my ear. "Well, anyways I had something to discuss with you and I'd like to do it in private."
Cholesterol and Privacy. Definitely pod people. My phone started chirping in my ear again. "Okay," I returned feeling kinda dazed by this whole conversation. "My phone is gonna die Mom."
"Six O'clock Stephanie, take it easy today." Yeah, I wish. If only that were even possible. We said our goodbyes and I hung up and watched as my phone furiously blinked the battery sign across the screen and then it went dead. Great. I climbed out of the car to see Connie the office manager staring at the front of my car.
"Is it that bad?"
"Nah, You can hardly tell what with all the other scratches on it."
Fabulous. I followed her back inside the office and found a mass of bright yellow and poison green spandex ith electric blue leggings underneath that could only be Lula sawing logs on the couch.
"She's been like that since she got here this morning," Connie offered.
"This morning?"
"Well, you know." Connie waved a dismissive hand through the air over her desk letting me know the term was relative. "You girls have fun last night?" I think so, I couldn't actually remember.
Connie snorted a laugh so I must have said some of that out loud at least. "Well, you both look a little worse for wear, here—I know you said yesterday you were short on rent. These two just came in this morning it's not really something you normally handle but it's all I got if your desperate."
I was. I took the pro-offered files and chose to stand considering most of Lula was taking up the office couch, the rest of her was hanging off rather limply. Yikes, neither of these characters were in my usual hat bag of tricks—but I was in danger of eviction and even if someone in my wheel house jumped bail today it would have to be more like 5 or 10 jumpers for me to gather the money I needed to keep me off the streets. Chances of that happening—and of me successfully bringing that many skips in within 24 hours was minimal at best. Hell it was a pipe dream. But just one of these guys would cover rent, the minimum payment on my Victoria Secret and Macy's card and I might possibly have some left over for groceries. It was a risk I was willing to take, even after perusing their rap sheets.
I nodded to Connie and then took the twenty she offered me over the desk just slightly confused. "What's this for?"
"Lunch," Connie informed me then barked, "Lula! Wake up! Stephanie's here and she's gonna take you to lunch."
Lula jerked awake and started putting herself together so we wouldn't get arrested while I hiked my eyebrows at Connie. "Thanks…?"
Connie smiled, "I figured your fridge must be empty and besides it's not like I can get a thing done with her snoring; can't even hear the phone ring!" I rolled my eyes when Lula stood up shaking her massive boobs down into her shirt top and interjected, "Who's snoring? I know it wasn't me…. I was just resting my eyes on account of all the partying we did last night. Gotta get my beauty sleep."
Neither me or Connie wanted to delve into that topic so I waved Connie goodbye and me and Lula headed out the door to my car files in hand. We climbed in and the car started on the first try, so maybe whacking it on the curb had done some good after all. We motored two blocks over to McDonalds and hit the drive through before finding a parking spot to stuff our faces.
"So you get a call from that tall glass of water yet?" Lula started between a mouthful of fries.
"What? Who?"
"Don't you Who me, you're just lucky you saw him first! The blonde guy with the eyes," Lula interjected. "and the ass."
I was drawing a blank.
"I mean it wasn't Batman level hot, but then who is?"
We paused for a few bites to contemplate the awesomeness that was that man's heavenly rear before I spoke again. "I don't actually remember that much about last night…"
"Well, I aint surprised, you can't hold your liquor for shit." Lula informed me. "Don't you worry though I made sure I gave him your number, and address on account of you was too far gone to remember it yourself."
Oh boy. I guess if some random guy with a nice ass showed up at my apartment I'd at least have some idea of what he was doing there.
"I mean it's not like you're seeing Supercop right now right?" Lula continued while I used a paper napkin to do little more than smear around the bright yellow mustard blob on my right thigh. Great. Now I needed to do laundry, and Lula was still waiting for an answer.
"No,"
"See, that there makes you one of those free-agents."
Uh huh. We finished our grease choked lunch and washed down the last of the fries' salt with our extra-large cokes before I wiped my hands on my jeans, it wasn't like the could look any worse; and grabbed the top file from between the seats. "Who's up first?" Lula asked rattling the ice cubes around in the bottom of her cup.
"This guy," I held up the mug shot and Lula's lip curled in disdain. "Damn that man's ugly, he looks like a pit bull got hit by a lead pipe; not like Mr. McDreamy last night, nope that man was fiiiiiiine." I was alternating between being disappointed that I couldn't remember Mr. McDreamy from last night, and wondering if he could really be that fine or whether Lula or I—or both of us had been suffering from too much alcohol last night to see straight. I still hadn't decided which was more likely when we pulled up in front of the first skips apartment complex in Newark.
"So, how you wanna play this?" Lula asked me as we climbed out of my car. "You knock on the door and I could shoot him through the window, then when he opens the door for help we cuff him!"
"No, no shooting!"
"You never let me shoot anyone, you ever think if we shot more people we'd have more success in this here occupation? Ranger shoots people."
"Ranger does not shoot people!" I stopped to argue with her on the front walk. Lula propped her hands on her plus size electric blue hips.
"He does so!"
"Only the bad guys!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I must be confused, here I thought we was after a bond jumper, but your right, he's just a nice man, probably all those robbery and assault charges weren't his fault. Probably he's been framed!"
Ugh. I dropped my head into my hands and took a few deep breaths. "Okay, so he's a bad guy! But you can't just go around shooting people without provocation! That's illegal too!"
"Were bounty hunters. If we can't shoot people who can?"
Sometimes Lula's reasoning scared me. "No shooting people."
"It's not like it do that much damage, this here's a baby Glock see? It's got Baby in the name, can't do that much damage or they wouldn't call it that. Not like my Big Daddy I usually carry. Now that's a gun. Skip's just lucky I had to leave that one home on account of it makes my purse too heavy,"
"Give me your gun!" We argued back and forth for a few minutes but in the end I tucked Lula's gun into the waist band of my Jeans at the small of my back, just like I'd seen Ranger do and pulled my shirt down over the handle. "No shooting people," I reiterated.
"Huhn. You act like I was going to shoot him in the head," Lula complained as we trumped up the stairs. "What's one little bullet in the leg? I bet he'd respect us then, he'd know we was serious."
We reached the skips door and I banged on it announcing myself. "Tyrone Johnson? Open Up!"
The door flung open and we both recoiled from the stench of tobacco and unwashed human wafting through the doorway. "Who the Hell are you?" Tyrone spat, leering at us both. His eyes stuck to Lula's chest. "I don't remember ordering no hookers. 'specially plus size ones."
"Excuse you?!" Lula shot back.
"My name is Stephanie Plum and I represent your bond enforcement agency, you missed your court date and we need you to reschedule."
Tyrone eyed me again. "Is that so?"
Uh oh.
I pulled my hand forward attempting to clap one side of my handcuffs over his wrist as his arm came up and shoved me so hard I almost toppled over the wrought iron railing. Then he sprinted past Lula shoving her into the wall and hot footed it down the stairs. "Damnit!" I started after him. Lula huffing behind me, "Shoulda let me shoot him!" She wheezed, "Fucker couldn't run if I shot him in the ass!"
Which was a rather compelling argument as Lula gave up and I continued chasing my only hope of a rent payment down the block and up an alley. We cut over two streets, and up Jubilee before he turned on Broad and that's when I stumbled in a pothole right in the middle of the street and Lula's gun which had been safely tucked into the back of my pants, and digging into my butt the whole damn time went flying.
"Fuck!" That hurt.
Tires chirped on the pavement and I heard a car door open and slam shut as I tried to pick myself up off the road brushing bloody gravel and dirt from my palms with a sharp hiss.
"You alright?" A deep male voice asked.
I looked up to see a Newark City Patrol car and an officer I didn't recognize. Great, just what I needed; another precinct getting in on the betting pool that was my life. "Chasing a skip,"
"Is that your dog?"
"Um, No. Bond Jumper." I clarified.
The officer was standing over the top of Lula's gun hands on his hips. "You're a bond enforcement agent." He was eyeing my t-shirt and the ripped knee of my jeans skeptically. Probably the mustard stain from lunch on my thigh wasn't helping.
"Yes, I work for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds," Though I was starting to question my occupation, and my sanity.
"And this is your gun?"
Crap. Where was Lula? I tried to figure out what to say. It wasn't my gun, I wasn't even sure it was legally Lula's. But did I say that?
"Well?"
"It's not mine."
"So it was tucked into your pants, because…?"
"I was holding it for someone?"
"Uh, huh." He bent over to pick up the gun and crooked a finger at me in a come hither gesture that had my stomach plummeting back onto the pavement. "You got a permit to carry?"
"Uh…"
"No?"
I shook my head.
"You better come have a seat," the officer pointed me toward the now open rear door of his car. Shit. It was a good thing he had the gun and Lula had made herself scarce.
Otherwise I'd probably shoot her.
To be Continued...