Stephanie Plum's got rent to pay, people shooting at her, and psychos wanting her dead every day of the week (much to the dismay of her mother, her family, the men in her life, the guy who slices meat at the deli...oh, the list goes on). An ordinary person would cave under the pressure.
But hey, she's from Jersey.
Stephanie Plum may not be the best bounty hunter in beautiful downtown Trenton, but she's pretty darn good at turning bad situations her way...and she always gets her man. In To the Nines, her cousin Vinnie (who's also her boss) has posted bail on Samuel Singh, an illegal immigrant. When the elusive Mr. Singh goes missing, Stephanie is on the case. But what she uncovers is far more sinister than anyone imagines and leads to a group of killers who give new meaning to the word hunter.
In a race against time that takes her from the Jersey Turnpike to the Vegas Strip, Stephanie Plum is on the chase of her life. The unforgettable characters, nonstop action, high-stakes suspense, and sheer entertainment of To the Nines define Janet Evanovich as unique among today's writers.
A Macmillan Audio production.
Release date:
May 14, 2008
Publisher:
St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages:
320
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My name is Stephanie Plum and I was born and raised in the Chambersburg section of Trenton where men pretty much only drop their drawers in private. Thank God for small favors because the top activities for men in the Burg are scarfing pastries and pork rinds and growing ass hair. The pastry and pork rind scarfing I've seen first hand. The ass hair growing is for the most part rumor.
The first butt I saw up close and personal belonged to Joe Morelli. Morelli put an end to my virgin status and showed me an ass that was masculine perfection ...smooth and muscular and blemish free. Back then Morelli thought a long term commitment was twenty minutes. I was one of thousands who got to admire Morelli's bare ass as he pulled his pants up and headed for the door.
Morelli's been in and out of my life since then. He's currently in and he's improved with age, butt included.
So the sight of a naked ass isn't exactly new to me, but the one I was presently watching took the cake. Punky Balog had an ass like Winnie the Pooh ...big and fat and furry. Sad to say, that was where the similarity ended because, unlike Pooh bear, there was nothing endearing or cuddly about Punky Balog.
I knew about Punky's ass because I was in my new sunshine yellow Ford Escape, sitting across from Punky's dilapidated row house, and Punky had his huge Pooh butt plastered against his second story window. My sometimes partner, Lula, was riding shotgun for me and Lula and I were staring up at the butt in open mouthed horror.
Punky slid his butt side to side on the pane and Lula and I gave a collective, upper lip curled back eeyeuuw!
"Think he knows we're out here," Lula said. "Think maybe he's trying to tell us something."
Lula and I work for my bail bonds agent cousin, Vincent Plum. Vinnie's office is on Hamilton Avenue, his front window looking into the Burg. He's not the world's best bonds agent. And he's not the worst. Truth is, he'd probably be a better bondsman if he wasn't saddled with Lula and me. I do fugitive apprehension for Vinnie and I have a lot more luck than skill. Lula mostly does filing. Lula hasn't got luck or skill. The thing Lula has going for her is the ability to tolerate Vinnie. Lula's a plus size black woman in a size seven white world and Lula's had a lot of practice at pulling attitude.
Punky turned and gave us a wave with his Johnson.
"That's just so sad," Lula said. "What do men think of? If you had a lumpy little wanger like that would you go waving it in public?"
Punky was dancing now, jumping around, wanger flopping, doodles bouncing.
"I'm glad we forgot the binoculars. I wouldn't want to see this up close."
I didn't even want to see it from a distance.
"When I was a 'ho I used to keep myself from getting grossed out by pretending men's privates were Muppets," Lula said. "This guy looks like an anteater Muppet. See the little tuft of hair on the anteater head and then there's the thing the anteater snuffs up ants with... Except ol' Punky here's gotta get real close to the ants on account of his snuffer isn't real big. Punky's got a pinky."
Lula was a 'ho in a previous life. One night while plying her trade she had a near death experience and decided to change everything but her wardrobe. Not even a near death experience could get Lula out of spandex. She was currently wearing a skin tight hot pink mini-skirt and a tiger print top that made her boobs look like big round over-inflated balloons. It was early June and mid-morning and the Jersey air wasn't cooking yet, so Lula had a yellow angora sweater over the tiger top.
"Hold on," Lula said. "I think his snuffer is growing."
This produced another eeyeuuw from us.
"Maybe I should shoot him," Lula said.
"No shooting!" I felt the need to discourage Lula from hauling out her Glock, but truth was, it seemed like it'd be a public service to take a potshot at Punky.
"How bad do we want this guy?" Lula asked.
"If I don't bring him in, I don't get paid. If I don't get paid, I don't have rent money. If I don't have rent money, I get kicked out of my apartment and have to move in with my parents."
"So we want him real bad."
"Real bad."
"And he's wanted for what?"
"Grand theft auto."
"At least it's not armed robbery. I'm gonna be hoping the only weapon he's got, he's holding in his hand right now ...on account of this don't look like much of a threat to me."
"I guess we should go do it."
"I'm ready to rock and roll," Lula said. "I'm ready to kick some Punky butt. I'm ready to do the job."
I turned the key in the ignition. "I'm going to drop you at the corner so you can cut through the back and take the back door. Make sure you have your walkie talkie on so I can let you know when I'm coming in."
"Roger, that."
"And no shooting, no breaking doors down, no Dirty Harry imitations."
"You can count on me."
Three minutes later, Lula reported she was in place. I parked the Escape two houses down, walked to Punky's front door and rang the bell. No one responded so I rang a second time. I gave the door a solid rap with my fist and shouted bond enforcement. Open the door.
I heard shouting carrying over from the back yard, a door crashing open and slamming shut and then more muffled shouting. I called Lula on the talkie but got no response. A moment later the front door opened to the house next to me and Lula stomped out.
"Hey, so excuse me," she yelled at the woman behind her. "So I got the wrong door. It could happen, you know. We're under a lot of pressure when we're making these dangerous apprehensions."
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