Tuna fish was not what I had in mind for breakfast. But this was leftover from the casserole Mom made last night, and was the only food I had, so I finished it up and tossed Rex few of the cornflakes that had fallen off the top. The fridge was empty now, which meant one of two things: either I'd have to take Ranger up on his newest offer of a job, or go see if Vinnie had anything for me. My money, the buck ninety-two I currently had, was on Vinnie. After all, the last time I worked for Ranger every vehicle I had was destroyed. Rather, every vehicle Ranger loaned me, and I've decided that I didn't want to know how he got them, blew up.

Still, anything Ranger loaned out to me - usually new Town Cars or BMWs, as well as a few Jeep Grand Cherokees - had to be better than the Buick. Granted my sister Valerie was driving the Buick right now, but it had been my set of wheels to fall back on when my car blew up or caught on fire or was totaled in some other way. Which has been happening all too frequently since I went to work for Vinnie. My cousin Vinnie is the crown gall on my family tree, a sleazy growth that'd rather play hide-the-salami with his newest filing clerk than work. I'm Stephanie Plum, bond apprehension agent, AKA bounty hunter extradionare. I work for Vinnie, finding the scumbuckets he bails when they don't show up for their court date. I keep my gun in the cookie jar, my tazer in my purse and tend to go through cars like some men go through women.

Rex had apparently decided that soggy corn flakes were not his idea of breakfast. After sniffing at them a few times, he turned up his nose and went back to sleep in his soup can. Nothing like being snubbed by your pet hamster.

I grabbed the keys for my latest acquisition, an old black Dodge. I've learned the hard way that expensive is not the way to go, though they make much more impressive explosions than old and crappy. These days I just look for something that moves, and is, hopefully, indestructible. Like Big Blue, though I refuse to drive that Buick if I don't have to.

To say I was surprised to see Joe Morelli drive into the parking lot as I got out there wouldn't be exactly truthful. Especially when I saw what could only be Bob hanging his head out the window and slobbering on the pavement. I knew what Morelli wanted even before he got out of his truck. And this time it wasn't sex.

"Let me guess, Bob's been eating the furniture again."

"Not exactly, cupcake. I've got a meeting I got to go to and Bob can't come along. My neighbor who usually dogsits is out of town and my mom refuses to watch Bob for me. He ate the doilies off her couch the last time we were there." Morelli's eyes sparkled with amusement.

"What about Mooch?" Hey, I had to try.

"You're the one who foisted him on me in the first place. Why can't you take him?" It was true, though another cop that he worked with had suckered me into taking Bob. Still, the big oaf had kinda grown on me. I had been just about ready to rip Mitchell's heart out with my bare hands when he had tried to dognap him. These days, though, Bob lived with Morelli. I don't blame him; he's got a backyard, nice neighbors and a heck of a lot less bullets flying after him there.

"I'm going to Vinnie's," I brightened at that thought. The last time I took Bob to Vinnie's someone else's car caught fire, so maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. "But I can probably take him. Lula and Connie'll have to hide all the donuts though."

He gave me that look, the one that says 'I really don't like that idea' all the while it's melting your insides into goo. Joe Morelli is every woman's dream come true, probably has more numbers in his little black book than Heidi Fleiss and was, at one time engaged to me. That was until a few more people started shooting at me than he could handle, which is a bit sad for a cop. He didn't like my job and I didn't like him telling me what to do with my job. Once we got past the engagement thing, and a few other people started shooting at me, things between us got better. Now we're back to that old undefined gray area (which is kind of the way I like it these days).

"They'll have to hide more than just the donuts. You don't mind, cupcake? I can pick him up later."

"Don't worry; he'll keep me and Rex company."

"Thanks, Steph." He enticed Bob out of the cab of the truck, handed me his lead while kissing me soundly and jumped back in. He had peeled out of the lot before I came out of my daze.

Men. I'll never figure them out.

I didn't reach Vinnie's until near eleven, but that didn't matter as long as they had some files for me. That's one thing I like about this job, I can work my own hours. It's the whole bad guys shooting at me that I just can't get used to. Lula's Firebird was parked out in the lot, so I knew that my trusty sidekick was in. She's Vinnie's newest and longest employed file clerk, hired when the last one quit after refusing to play hide-the-salami. Lula's a former prostitute who got caught in the crossfire in my first case. Vinnie's clerk quit about the time Lula got out of the hospital, so she decided to get off the street corner and grabbed the job. She's big, black and loud, both verbally and in how she dresses. Her hair color changes every week and she tends to wear a lot of spandex and fake fur. Personally, I think Vinnie's too scared of her to try anything. Not to mention that she's my friend and he knows that I'll tell Lucille, his wife, about the "duck incident". Lucille would tell her father, Harry the Hammer, and – well, we won't go into what Harry would do to Vinnie.

Connie was adding more mascara to her already caked up eyelashes when I walked in. Lula was sitting on the couch, sharing the details of her weekend, and Lord knows that it was probably better than mine. Mine consisted of taking Grandma Mazur to Stiva's Funeral Home for the Saturday showing. Anything is more exciting than seeing dead people laid out at a mortician's. Especially with Stiva hanging over your shoulder to make sure you don't burn the place down - again.

"Have anything for me?" I joined Lula on the couch, keeping a close eye on Bob. If he was going to start eating furniture I was going to have to banish him to the truck. I didn't think he could eat the seats in it.

"Got one that just came in. Lucky for you Joyce's not been here yet. It's a big one, but Ranger's in Puerto Rico doing a trace for us, so it's all yours."

"What is it?" I tried to ignore Bob's drooling all over the plastic plant; it was expendable if you asked me.

"His name is James 'Elvis' Postolli." She handed me his file, complete with picture, and I got to know Mr. Postolli a little better. His stock in trade, Elvis impersonations with a twist. The most recent twist had been a double performance - robbing his employers, as well as the guests at their little soiree, at gunpoint just after a rousing rendition of "Blue Suede Shoes." Apparently he didn't think he could afford a new pair. Unfortunately for him, he had set up before his act a little stand with his business cards to generate new customers. While I doubt he'll be singing the blues at any blowouts anytime soon, the police did enjoy that little fact. And Vinnie, being Vinnie, probably enjoyed the money that Elvis Postolli was going to generate for him – Vinnie gets fifteen percent of every bond he signs off on. Unless the suspect runs, then Vinnie has to forfeit the money to the court if he isn't caught, or ten percent of the bond to me if I catch him.

"Looks good to me, I'll head over to the address he gave and see if he's there." I grabbed Bob's leash and pulled him out the door.

As it closed I pretended to not hear Lula's exclamation. "Hey, what happened to the plant?"

But, for some reason, I wasn't at all surprised to see some dried Spanish moss hanging from Bob's lower lip when I helped him into the truck.

Mr. Postolli's house was dark when I got there, and since none of the blinds were drawn I could pretty much tell that he wasn't there. Okay, so I went and looked in the windows. If Lula had come with me we'd probably be finding a conveniently 'broken' window about now. But she wasn't and I really didn't want to come across Elvis and his gun on my own. Call me a wimp, but I'm not a fool.

I pulled out the pack of TastyKakes that I had swiped off Connie's desk - she'll thank me for eating them for her later - and shared them with Bob. He had inhaled the iced cupcake before I had mine out of the package, so I ate it quickly before he could try to sucker me out of it. There wasn't much else in Elvis's file to go on, so I waited and watched the place, hoping for some divine intervention.

While I wouldn't exactly call it divine – well I would, but not that kind of divine – a diversion, at least, came. In the form of two rental cars, one a mini-van, the other a truck that mine could only hope to be. Out of which came seven, count them seven, of the most divine images of manhood I'd ever seen, not counting Morelli or Ranger. Even the young one, who I knew my nieces would be drooling over like one of those boy band singers, was good looking. The dangerous looking blond looked almost as good in black as Ranger does, and nobody looks as good in black as Ranger. Last time I saw someone looking as good in black as Ranger he had funky tattoos on his cheeks and was chasing after a mummy across the movie screen

Damn. There had to be a law somewhere stating that it was illegal for that many men, that good looking to be in the same state, much less on the same block. They were a driving hazard, I know that I would have jumped the curb had I been driving. I was literally about to have an orgasm on the spot, and that hadn't happened in a long time. It usually takes at least three minutes.

It was time to get out of there. I had been sitting in my truck staring at them long enough to attract attention, besides Elvis wasn't there and I had to find him if I wanted to pay the rent. Or else I'd be moving back in with Morelli, and then his Grandma Bella would be planning our wedding. I had a bad feeling about Elvis, one of those finding dead bodies and having people shooting at me bad feelings. Maybe Connie had some little stuff for me, something to put food in the fridge while I tried to figure out what to do about Elvis.

We stopped at the McDonald's drive-through on our way back to the office. I got a milkshake and a Big Mac; Bob got two hamburgers. His were gone before we got out of the parking lot; I was finishing up as I parked in Vinnie's lot. Connie hadn't moved from her chair, though now she examining her mustache in a mirror instead of applying more makeup. It must be about time for her electrolysis again. Lula was at work, back behind the filing cabinets continuing with the morning's story about her weekend. I was jealous.

"Back already?" Connie looked up, her teased hair bobbing with the movement.

"Elvis had left the building. Do you have any more information on him, favorite hangouts, parents, siblings?"

"Nada. Elvis was Elvis's life." Connie was looking through the file again, shaking her head at the form Postolli had filled out when Vinnie posted bond. "Only thing listed here is a cousin, in Colorado."

I shivered; I was not going to Colorado. Elvis was just going to have to wait until Ranger got back from Puerto Rico. I'd heard stories about Colorado; it was supposed to be cold in Colorado and with no beaches to make up for it in the summer. Nope, I was not doing Colorado.

"Hmmm, no address listed for the cousin, though. Just Denver." She looked up at me, eyes snapping in humor. "Not enough information to send you out there on."

"Ranger, maybe. Not me." Ranger was the shit; he knew everybody and everything. He probably had the cousin's address in his Rolodex back at the Bat Cave. If not, he probably knew enough people in Denver to have the cousin's address waiting for him at the airport when he got there, if not the cousin himself. Ranger was also known as Ricardo Carlos Manoso, former Special Forces. He had a body that looked like it was carved from granite and an ass you wanted to sink your teeth into. He's multilingual, speaking both ghetto and stockbroker, can usually be found in all black and has been recently growing his hair back out. He listed an empty lot on his employment application, a homeless shelter on his driver's license and has an office in one of the most prestigious building in Trenton. And nobody knew where the Bat Cave was. "When's he getting back?"

"He's on the phone with Vinnie now; he's either asking for an extension on his time or saying he's bringing his perp home early. My money's on bringing the guy in early." So that's why Vinnie's door is closed. And here I though he was shaking hand with Mr. Happy. At least there were no barnyard animal noises coming from the other side of the door, but then, Joyce's SUV wasn't in the lot.

"You have any quick pick-ups I can work on, while I try to figure out where Postolli is?"

"Your favorite, Clarence Sampson missed his court date again. You should find him wandering down the street near his place." Now Clarence I could do. He was one of the family drunks; usually fell asleep in the car on the way to the station. It was just a question of what to do with Bob.

"I'll have to leave Bob here, but it shouldn't take too long."

"No problem, long as he don't eat no more fake plants."

I gave Lula an innocent look as I headed out the door; I didn't know anything about Bob's sudden appetite for plastic plants.