Plums of the Caribbean
By MsBrooklyn
A bizarre c/o between Stephanie Plum and PotC.
A/N - Stephanie Plum belongs to Janet Evanovich and PotC belongs to the Mouse. This drabble is like a Reese's peanut butter cup – two tastes that go great together (or not).
Being unconscious has its advantages. It prevents you from thinking about things like the fact that your shiny new yellow Ford Escape is now charred bits of metal littering the mall parking lot. Or that your insurance company is probably not going to give you a new one. Or that the sexy new pink sandals that you bought from Macy's but couldn't really afford were in your truck when it blew up.
Okay, so these were really selfish thoughts I wasn't having because I was unconscious. I could have been not having thoughts about the guy that blew up my truck, one Dwayne Cieslak. Dwayne was a skip I was working for my cousin, Vinny Plum, proprietor of Plum Bail Bonds. Cieslak missed his court appearance for a weapons possession charge. This is where I came in – Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter. It should have been easy. Just about everybody in the Burg carries a gun. Cieslak just made the mistake of having it on his front seat when he got pulled over for not wearing a seat belt. All I wanted to do was explain to Cieslak that he needed to come with me to reschedule his court date. Who knew the guy carried grenades with him?
Given all these thoughts I shouldn't have been having, it was pretty obvious I didn't want to wake up and have to have them for real.
The cold water in my face said that somebody really didn't care.
"Hey!" Great, now my hair was going to be a soggy mess on top of everything else. I cracked open an eye and was greeted by a man standing over me. He had dreadlocks with all sorts of beads and knick-knacks woven in and he was wearing an out of style puffy pirate shirt. "You must be one of Sally's friends."
The man shook his head and flashed me a grin. Gold teeth glittered down at me.
Sally Sweet was a transvestite rocker that sometimes helped me. I turned my head and saw a vertically challenged man who was similarly dressed. I knew better than to call them midgets. Not after last Christmas. "You don't know Randy Briggs, do you?"
He shook his head.
I saw up with a groan and ran a hand through my soggy hair. As my eyes focused, one thing became very clear. "This isn't the Macy's parking lot!"
Dreadlocks crouched down beside me and I realized he was wearing eyeliner. Lots of it. And his was probably in better shape than mine at the moment. "Easy, love, you've had a rough time of it."
As I looked around it became obvious I was on a boat. Great. Not only had my Escape and my sandals been blown to bits, but I'd been shanghaied. And I was going to be late for dinner. On pot roast night. Worse, I was going to miss that upside down cake my mother was making. My cell phone, naturally, was in my bag, which, of course, was in my truck.
"I don't suppose you'd let me call my fiancé?"
Dreadlocks gestured magnanimously. "Go right ahead, darling, but being as we're miles away from land and there wasn't anybody on that raft with ye, I don't think he's going to answer."
"Raft? What raft? I was in a parking lot!"
"You must have hit your head pretty hard, miss."
"Plum. Stephanie Plum. And you are?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, darling." He took my hand and helped me to my feet. "Welcome aboard the Black Pearl."
I guess he was expecting some kind of reaction other than my confused stare.
"Surely you've heard of it."
I shook my head.
"Fiercest pirate ship in the Caribbean."
"I'm in the Caribbean?!"
Now it was his turn to look confused. "Aye, that you are. Where did ye think you were?"
"Trenton." He still looked confused, so I added, "New Jersey."
"Never heard of it. Jersey, I know well, back in bonny ol' England."
"Well, if you can just drop me off at the nearest Holiday Inn or Hilton, I'd really appreciate it." Hey, a little Caribbean holiday wouldn't be a bad thing. I could wire Morelli for the money and get a tan while waiting....
The 'pirate' was looking at me as if I had a few screws loose. "This is a pirate ship, not a pleasure boat."
"Oh, come on, the only pirates are in Pittsburgh."
"Pitts-what?"
As we stood there staring at each other, it occurred to me that I didn't hear an engine. I looked around. I didn't see any sign of an engine, either. Groaning loudly, the awful truth hit me. I wasn't in Jersey anymore.
***************************
"You can rest here," Sparrow was telling me, as he guided me into one of the cabins. "Too much sun for a girl of your delicate sensibilities, most likely...."
I rolled my eyes at him but thought better of mentioning that I was a bounty hunter. Instead, I said simply, "I'm from the Burg. We're not exactly a bunch of trembling daisies."
"Of course not."
Great. I was being patronized by my hallucination. Yeah, that was probably it, this was a great big hallucination. I'd probably been hit with a fender or a tire and been knocked unconscious. Morelli was probably whispering this in my ear, out of spite.
Still, Sparrow was a pretty interesting hallucination. Lack of personal hygiene aside, he had sexy dark eyes, a nice, lean body and a really great ass. I poked him with a finger and wasn't really surprised that he was solid to the touch.
"What are you doing?"
"So, how's Diesel?"
"Who?"
"You know, the Spirit of Friggin' Christmas. Visited me in my apartment last year. Helped me catch Sandy Claws. Come on, you don't expect me to believe I was blown through time into the 1800s, do you?"
"It's 1689, pet."
"History wasn't one of my better subjects." I shrugged. "Are there doughnuts in 1689?"
His eyes grew even wider at that and his mouth worked but no words came out.
"I guess not. What about cake? Cake would definitely help me think."
Sparrow backed slowly to the door. "I'll see what I can rustle up from the galley."
With that he bolted out of the cabin and I could hear him lock the door behind him.
Well, at least maybe I'd get some cake.
A bizarre c/o between Stephanie Plum and PotC.
A/N - Stephanie Plum belongs to Janet Evanovich and PotC belongs to the Mouse. This drabble is like a Reese's peanut butter cup – two tastes that go great together (or not).
Being unconscious has its advantages. It prevents you from thinking about things like the fact that your shiny new yellow Ford Escape is now charred bits of metal littering the mall parking lot. Or that your insurance company is probably not going to give you a new one. Or that the sexy new pink sandals that you bought from Macy's but couldn't really afford were in your truck when it blew up.
Okay, so these were really selfish thoughts I wasn't having because I was unconscious. I could have been not having thoughts about the guy that blew up my truck, one Dwayne Cieslak. Dwayne was a skip I was working for my cousin, Vinny Plum, proprietor of Plum Bail Bonds. Cieslak missed his court appearance for a weapons possession charge. This is where I came in – Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter. It should have been easy. Just about everybody in the Burg carries a gun. Cieslak just made the mistake of having it on his front seat when he got pulled over for not wearing a seat belt. All I wanted to do was explain to Cieslak that he needed to come with me to reschedule his court date. Who knew the guy carried grenades with him?
Given all these thoughts I shouldn't have been having, it was pretty obvious I didn't want to wake up and have to have them for real.
The cold water in my face said that somebody really didn't care.
"Hey!" Great, now my hair was going to be a soggy mess on top of everything else. I cracked open an eye and was greeted by a man standing over me. He had dreadlocks with all sorts of beads and knick-knacks woven in and he was wearing an out of style puffy pirate shirt. "You must be one of Sally's friends."
The man shook his head and flashed me a grin. Gold teeth glittered down at me.
Sally Sweet was a transvestite rocker that sometimes helped me. I turned my head and saw a vertically challenged man who was similarly dressed. I knew better than to call them midgets. Not after last Christmas. "You don't know Randy Briggs, do you?"
He shook his head.
I saw up with a groan and ran a hand through my soggy hair. As my eyes focused, one thing became very clear. "This isn't the Macy's parking lot!"
Dreadlocks crouched down beside me and I realized he was wearing eyeliner. Lots of it. And his was probably in better shape than mine at the moment. "Easy, love, you've had a rough time of it."
As I looked around it became obvious I was on a boat. Great. Not only had my Escape and my sandals been blown to bits, but I'd been shanghaied. And I was going to be late for dinner. On pot roast night. Worse, I was going to miss that upside down cake my mother was making. My cell phone, naturally, was in my bag, which, of course, was in my truck.
"I don't suppose you'd let me call my fiancé?"
Dreadlocks gestured magnanimously. "Go right ahead, darling, but being as we're miles away from land and there wasn't anybody on that raft with ye, I don't think he's going to answer."
"Raft? What raft? I was in a parking lot!"
"You must have hit your head pretty hard, miss."
"Plum. Stephanie Plum. And you are?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, darling." He took my hand and helped me to my feet. "Welcome aboard the Black Pearl."
I guess he was expecting some kind of reaction other than my confused stare.
"Surely you've heard of it."
I shook my head.
"Fiercest pirate ship in the Caribbean."
"I'm in the Caribbean?!"
Now it was his turn to look confused. "Aye, that you are. Where did ye think you were?"
"Trenton." He still looked confused, so I added, "New Jersey."
"Never heard of it. Jersey, I know well, back in bonny ol' England."
"Well, if you can just drop me off at the nearest Holiday Inn or Hilton, I'd really appreciate it." Hey, a little Caribbean holiday wouldn't be a bad thing. I could wire Morelli for the money and get a tan while waiting....
The 'pirate' was looking at me as if I had a few screws loose. "This is a pirate ship, not a pleasure boat."
"Oh, come on, the only pirates are in Pittsburgh."
"Pitts-what?"
As we stood there staring at each other, it occurred to me that I didn't hear an engine. I looked around. I didn't see any sign of an engine, either. Groaning loudly, the awful truth hit me. I wasn't in Jersey anymore.
***************************
"You can rest here," Sparrow was telling me, as he guided me into one of the cabins. "Too much sun for a girl of your delicate sensibilities, most likely...."
I rolled my eyes at him but thought better of mentioning that I was a bounty hunter. Instead, I said simply, "I'm from the Burg. We're not exactly a bunch of trembling daisies."
"Of course not."
Great. I was being patronized by my hallucination. Yeah, that was probably it, this was a great big hallucination. I'd probably been hit with a fender or a tire and been knocked unconscious. Morelli was probably whispering this in my ear, out of spite.
Still, Sparrow was a pretty interesting hallucination. Lack of personal hygiene aside, he had sexy dark eyes, a nice, lean body and a really great ass. I poked him with a finger and wasn't really surprised that he was solid to the touch.
"What are you doing?"
"So, how's Diesel?"
"Who?"
"You know, the Spirit of Friggin' Christmas. Visited me in my apartment last year. Helped me catch Sandy Claws. Come on, you don't expect me to believe I was blown through time into the 1800s, do you?"
"It's 1689, pet."
"History wasn't one of my better subjects." I shrugged. "Are there doughnuts in 1689?"
His eyes grew even wider at that and his mouth worked but no words came out.
"I guess not. What about cake? Cake would definitely help me think."
Sparrow backed slowly to the door. "I'll see what I can rustle up from the galley."
With that he bolted out of the cabin and I could hear him lock the door behind him.
Well, at least maybe I'd get some cake.