OK, here is the third chapter of my first Stephanie Plum fanfic, I don't even know if anyone will read it, I'm just typing along…and I appreciate all feedback, please be gentle.

Spoilers: If you hadn't read the books, you wouldn't be here, but you won't be spoiled either way

Rating: PG13 for language, it's adult language

Disclaimer: I made the whole thing up, I own none of JE's characters.

Out Of my Mind

Chapter 3

My brain always works better on a full stomach, so I carried my value meal to a booth in the corner and began chewing.

I was creating a list of things still to do and how to accomplish them.

Clearly, getting a license to carry seemed like the biggest hurdle, so I decided to take it first.

I figured if they declined me, I'd get some more legal paraphernalia and look just as cool.

With my mind made up, I balled my trash into the bag and took off.

The guy at the gun store had given me the street address, and had even written down directions to the police station.

I found the street, but it turned out I didn't need the house number: The Trenton police department was a no-frills brick and mortar block exactly as described.

Some part of me had expected it, but I still marveled at the how and why.

Not only had I never handled a gun, I had never spared the thought of the process involved with owning one.

An officer sat behind a glass plate in the entrance area, and I thought he was as good a place to start as any.

"I'm here to get a gun permit?"

"Second floor, room 212."

Okay, that was easy.

There were few people around, and I found myself looking for 'familiar' faces.

Would I recognize Eddie Gazarra? How about Big Dog?

Why stop there, Morelli must be lurking somewhere, right?

I wished I had Jess by my side to share the experience, and so I wouldn't look like a big dope grinning from ear to ear.

I took a deep breath before I knocked on the door marked 212 and entered.

Three steps into the room was a counter, and behind it were two desks and a sea of filing cabinets.

A uniformed officer stood behind the counter and looked up from his paperwork as I approached.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here to get a gun permit." – or whatever you called it, I amended in my head.

The officer looked like this was an every day occurrence, dug behind the counter and produced a form.

"I will need your driver's license and you will need to fill this out" he instructed, handing me the piece of paper.

Policemen and everything to do with them always gave me the creeps. I felt like Lula, even though I had no criminal background whatsoever, they just made me nervous.

I took out my pen and started to fill out the form. Since I didn't know what was going to be checked where, I decided to go with the truth and the information on my license, and handed it in a few minutes later.

It occurred to me that the officer hadn't cracked a smile, but then I rationalized that he wasn't exactly in the customer service industry and just waited.

He went over the information, tapped a few things into his computer, and I heard the printer whirr.

He handed me a cardboard paper the size of a car registration and pointed to the dotted line at the bottom.

"Sign here. That will be five bucks."

Clearly, my story was trying to make it easy for me, but I wasn't going to argue.

I signed, handed over the money and pocketed my permit.

I was a legal gun owner, at least in my dream!

Retracing my earlier route, I parked in front of the gun store, went inside and proudly presented my certificate.

I had realized I also needed handcuffs, and I congratulated myself on remembering it before I had attempted my first capture, so I added them to my treasures.

Following the advice of gun guy, I also got a box of bullets, merely to not look suspicious.

I was still expecting to wake up at any moment, but I was going to run with it as long as it lasted.

By now, I was on a four-lane highway, chain stores, fast food franchises and car dealership on my left and right.

I pulled into the first T.J. Maxx I noticed and parked.

Now that I had decided to stay, I not only needed the finishing touch for my "uniform", I also needed all essentials.

It turned out I hadn't needed the army surplus store as much as I thought, I was able to find 2 pairs of gray cargo pants in the clearance department.

I added a slew of V-neck t-shirts, a rain jacket, socks and underwear, as well as everything else I imagined I could need.

As an after-thought, I grabbed a large duffle bag from a display to be able to carry all my new clothes in something other than plastic bags.

I got back into my car and sighed with a sense of accomplishment.

Then I giggled uncontrollably as the afternoon's events replayed before me.

Right, a place to stay was next on my list.

I remembered passing a few roadside motels and figured they were the way to go.

Since I didn't remember any of the names from the books, I just chose the least-seedy looking motel and pulled up to the office.

I had half expected to be asked to pay by the hour, but the clerk just took my credit card, made an imprint and handed me a key to unit 13.

My lucky number! I was congratulating myself on how well I had fleshed out the details as I got back into the car to drive over to my room.

Once in my new accommodations, I spread my purchases out on the bed, dressed in gray and clipped my arsenal onto the utility belt.

It worked, I was already feeling more bad-ass.

At some point, I would have to frequent a drug store if I was going to stay overnight, but that could wait for now.

My purse held all the essentials I could ever need, it was a thing.

I pulled my dark blond hair back into a ponytail and applied some make-up, more to feel secure than to look pretty.

When I was done, I checked myself in the full-length door mirror and was mightily impressed with myself.

I didn't resemble Ranger (or Joyce Barnhardt, as my inner fangirl quickly added) but I looked like I meant business.

At some point, I would need to call Jessica to let her know I was all right, but I figured I had until much later, she wouldn't worry until after her class.

Instead, I settled on the bed on my spartan, but clean room and studied the files Connie had given me.

The first file contained all the necessary information for a guy called Steve Morino, who had apparently failed to appear for a court date after being caught shoplifting dirty magazines at a 7-11.

He was skipping out on a $700 bond, which seemed pretty low to me.

I couldn't imagine shoplifting being a crime punishable by jail time, but what did I know.

I was just glad the file didn't mention anything about Steve possessing any weapons, and he read like an ordinary guy.

It seemed like a good place to start, how hard could it be?

I realized I was thinking along the same lines as Stephanie on her first case and that made me smile.

By the time I had located his home address on the map and was in my car to find it, I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

I took some wrong turns and had a hard time dealing with Jersey drivers and their tempers, but an hour later, I parked in front of a brick apartment building with parking in front and no memorable features around it.

My outfit added to my confidence, I felt like I was wearing a uniform that made me look cool.

My coolness factor may have taken a blow when I tripped on my second step, but a quick look around didn't see anyone that may have witnessed my mishap.

I located apartment 25, took the steps to the second floor and rapped on the door with some authority.

No need to sound like the Avon lady, I figured.

There was no answer, even to my third knock.

Now I chewed on my lip.

In theory, I guess I should check if Stevie was home and then break down the door, I reasoned. But if he was home, he would have heard me knock and decided against opening the door.

I inspected the door more closely and realized there were scratch marks around the lock, it looked tempered with.

On an instinct, I turned the knob and held my breath as it actually turned and the door opened.

I took a step inside and yelled a stupid "Helloooo?" into the apartment.

The entrance door opened into a combination living/dining room, with the open kitchen off to the left.

Either Steve was not much of a housekeeper or a hurricane had visited the place, it looked like a war zone.

An uneasy feeling began creeping into my stomach, but I blamed it on the excitement and pressed forward.

There were 3 closed doors in the apartment.

Bedroom, bath and closet, I imagined, but there was no way to know.

"Mr. Morino? I'm Lindsay Taylor with Plum's Bail Bonds?"

My voice echoed in the room.

Still no answer though.

I guessed it was possible Steve just wasn't home and his placed had been broken into, but it didn't look like there was much to steal in the first place.

It was a typical, lower middle class bachelor pad.

I eenie-meenie-mooed my way to the first door, opened it, and let out a relieved sigh when it was just a closet. Not much in it, or rather no much left on the shelves, it looked like it had been searched through.

On to door number 2.

I mentally cracked my knuckles as I turned the door knob and pushed.

And then I gagged.

I don't know what kind of evil tricks my mind was playing with this fantasy, but I was planning on seeing a shrink when I woke up.

A man's body was halfway in, halfway out of the tub, face up, his unseeing eyes towards the ceiling.

A dead guy!

I just froze.

Unlike Stephanie, I had never seen a dead person outside the movies or the TV, so I had no preparation.

It was my movie experience that had classified the guy as dead in the first place, although the pool of blood on the floor was a dead giveaway.

I must have stepped backwards because I collapsed onto the couch in the living room and fought hard against my instinct to throw up.

Internalizing my Stephanie Plum persona, I put my head between my knees and forced myself to take deep breaths.

After what seemed like an eternity, the nausea subsided.

That unfortunately left me with the need to deal with the more pressing situation of the dead guy in the bathtub.

My first instinct was to turn tail and run, all the way back to Boston if I had to.

This was no longer fun and games, I didn't like the way this was going and I was going to end it here and now.

I took a steadying breath and pinched myself in the arm.

It hurt, but I was still slumped on the dirty dead guy's couch when I opened my eyes.

"Call the police!" my sane voice said in my head.

"And say what? That I'm a greenhorn from Boston who found a dead guy?" my panicked voice countered.

I was pretty sure the dead guy was Steve Morino, at least he resembled the picture in the file to some extend. Not that I was going to take a closer look to confirm.

If I had been Stephanie, I would have had a number of people to call at my disposal, but Sandra didn't know anyone. Neither did Lindsay.

I knew the reasonable thing to do would be to call 911, but instead, I fished the scrap of paper out of my wallet in my cargo pants. I had Joe Morelli's number.

And he was working homicide. This looked like a homicide sitch to me.

I grabbed my cell phone and punched in the number before the voice of reason in my head was able to gain too much power and held my breath while the line rang.

"Yeah?"

It was the voice I recognized from the voicemail box.

"Joe Morelli?" I managed.

"Who's this?"

I thought he sounded annoyed, but that didn't do the sexiness in his voice any harm. I imagined what it would be like to have the voice read the phone book to me and liked the idea.

Earth to Sandra! Or Lindsay, but think quickly!

"Are…are you Joe Morelli?"

Now I sounded like a frightened girl.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"D…do you work in homicide?"

At this point, I would have hung up on myself if I had been on the other end, I sounded like a lunatic.

Instead, the voice said "I do. What is your name?"

Holy Ted! It was Joe Morelli the cop, the fantasy of many lonely nights of every other Plum fanatic!

That realization did nothing to calm my nerves, so I took another deep breath and willed myself to stop stuttering.

"I think I have discovered a murder victim."

There, that sounded somewhat saner. Marginally so, but it was progress.

"Who is this?" the voice demanded again.

I panicked and hung up. Clearly, the bad-ass bounty hunter in charge when I entered the apartment had left the building.

I almost jumped out of my skin when my phone hummed in my hand.

Shit! I had forgotten about caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Don't hang up!"

It was Joe. At least he seemed to take me seriously, which was more than I could say for myself.

"Where are you?" He demanded.

I took a deep breath and recited the address.

"I am on the second floor in apartment 25, and I think the guy that lives here has been murdered."

There, I said it.

"And who are you, what are you doing there?"

Jeez, didn't he realize I was about to pass out after divulging the information so far?

"I'm S…Lindsay Taylor, Mr. Morino is in failure of his bond agreement and I have authorization to take him in."

Even I didn't understand everything I had just said, but Joe seemed satisfied.

"Stay where you are. I will be there in a few. Don't touch anything!"

And he disconnected.

"Well, that went well." I said out loud and didn't quite recognize my own voice.

Now that the first wave of panic subsided, I felt scared.

I wanted to wake up, I wanted to be in Jess' apartment, or at home, anywhere but here.

Alternatively, I needed a drink, but I had been told not to touch anything, and I wasn't going to disobey. I just remained seated, trying to calm myself, while I counted the seconds and hummed "Mna, mna, mna" under my breath to focus on something other than the dead guy in the bathtub and the image of me in a jail cell.