Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

a small chunk of cheese into his cage.

Something banged against my front door. I went to the peephole to look out but before I

reached the door, there was a wrenching noise and another loud thud, and the door flew open

and crashed against the wall.

It was the big, bleached-blond, muscle-bound moron with the stapled balls. He rushed

inside and grabbed me. I shrieked, and he clamped a hand to my mouth.

“Shut up,” he said, "or I'll hit you. I'd like to do that anyway, except my boss wants you in

one piece."

“Why?”

“I don't know. That's just his way.”

“No, I mean why does he want me?”

"My boss doesn't like people who get too nosy. And you've got a knack for being in places

you don't belong. My boss thinks you know something."

“Who, me? No way. I don't know anything. You could fill a room with what I don't know.” "You can tell it to my boss. He wants to talk to you. You can cooperate and walk out with

me. Or I can stun-gun you and carry you out. Which is it?"

One more stun gun and I was going to permanently forget half the alphabet. “I'll walk out.”

He turned and Joyce was standing there with a gun in her hand.

“No way, Jose,” Joyce said. "I'm following her. I saw her first. You want the money? Find

it yourself."

“Fuck off. And my name isn't Jose. It's Dave.”

"I'm counting to three, Dave. If you aren't hauling ass by three, I'm going to shoot you in

the nuts."

“What is it with my nuts? Why's everybody picking on my nuts?”

“One,” Joyce said.

“You're getting on my nerves.”

“Two.”

“Screw this,” Dave said.

He grabbed the barrel of the gun, the gun discharged, and Joyce shot off the top of his

pinkie finger.

Dead silence. We were all surprised.