Tag Archives: notorious nineteen

Excerpt for Notorious Nineteen!!! Stephanie Plum Coming Soon!!

Excerpt for Notorious Nineteen!!! Stephanie Plum Coming Soon!!.

Here is a reminder post about the new Evanovich novel coming out on November 20th!  Stephanie Plum and Lula are at it again haha .. I can’t wait!

Getting divorced this month .. I need the laughter!  Bring it on Lula!

Excerpt for Notorious Nineteen!!! Stephanie Plum Coming Soon!!

Janet Evanovich
“I don’t know why we gotta sit here baking in your car in the middle of
the day, in the middle of the summer, in the middle of this crummy
neighborhood,” Lula said. “It must be two hundred degrees in here. Why
don’t we have the air-conditioning on?”
“It’s broken,” I told her.
“Well, why don’t you have your window open?”
“It’s stuck closed.”
“Then why didn’t we take
my car? My car’s got everything.”
“Your car is red and flashy. People notice it and remember it. This is
the stealth car,” I said.
Lula shifted in her seat. “Stealth car, my big toe. This thing is a hunk
of junk.”
This was true, but it was
my hunk of junk, and due to a professional
dry spell it was all I could afford. Lula and I work for my cousin Vinnie’s bail
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Janet Evanovich
bonds office in Trenton, New Jersey. I’m a fugitive apprehension agent, and
Lula is my sometime partner.
We were currently parked on Stark Street, doing surveillance on a
rooming house, hoping to catch Melvin Barrel coming or going. He’d been
accused of possession with intent to sell, Vinnie had bonded him out of jail,
and Barrel hadn’t shown for his court date. Lula makes a regular wage as
the office file clerk, but I only make money if I catch skips, so I was
motivated to tough it out in my hellishly hot car, hoping for a shot at
snagging Barrel.
“I worked this street when I was a ’ho,” Lula said, “but I was in a
better section. This here block is for losers. No high-class ’ho would work
this block. Darlene Gootch worked this block, but it turned out she was
killing people as a hobby.”
Lula was fanning herself with a crumpled fast food bag she’d found on
the floor in the back of my car, and the smell of stale french fries and
ketchup wafted out at me.
“You keep waving that bag around and we’re going to smell like we
work the fry station at Cluck in a Bucket,” I said to her.
“I hear you,” Lula said. “It’s making me hungry, and much as I like the
aroma of food grease, I don’t want it stuck in my hair, on account of I just
had my hair done. I picked out the piña colada conditioner so I’d smell like a
tropical island.”
Lula’s hair was fire-engine red today and straightened to the texture of
boar bristle. Her brown skin was slick with sweat. Her extra-voluptuous plussize
body was squeezed into a size 2 petite poison-green spandex skirt, and
the acres of flesh that constituted her chest overflowed a brilliant yellow
Notorious Nineteen page
Janet Evanovich
spaghetti-strap tanktop. At 5’ 5” she’s a couple inches shorter than me.
We’re about the same age, which puts us both in the proximity of
thirtysomething. And we’re both single.
My name is Stephanie Plum, and I haven’t got Lula’s body volume or
the attitude that goes with it. My attitude goes more toward survival mode. I
have shoulder-length curly brown hair, blue eyes currently enhanced by a
swipe of black mascara, decent teeth, a cute nose in the middle of my face,
and I can almost always button the top snap on my jeans.
“Look at this fool coming at us, walking down the middle of the
street,” Lula said. “What the heck is he doing?”
The fool was a skinny guy dressed in homey clothes. Baggy pants,
wifebeater T-shirt, $400 basketball shoes. He was jogging more than
walking, and every couple steps he’d look over his shoulder and scan the
street. He spotted Lula and me, made a course correction, and ran straight
for us. He reached my car, grabbed the driver’s side door handle and
yanked, but nothing happened.
“What’s with that?” Lula asked.
“My door’s stuck,” I said. “It happens when it gets hot.”
The skinny guy had his face pressed to my window, and he was yelling
at us.
“What’s he saying?” Lula asked. “I can’t make it out, and I’m gonna go
blind from the sun reflection on his gold tooth with the diamond chip in it.”
“I think he’s saying if I don’t open the door, he’ll kill me.”
“That don’t sound appealing,” Lula said. “Maybe this is a good time to
go get lunch.”
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Janet Evanovich
I turned the key in the ignition, and the engine cranked over and died.
I turned it again and there was silence. I looked back at the skinny guy and
realized he had a gun pointed at me. Not just any old gun, either. This gun
“Open your door,” he yelled. “Open your damn door.”
Lula had her purse on her lap and was fumbling around in it. “I got a
gun in here somewhere,” she said. “Keep him busy while I find my gun.”
I fidgeted with the door handle on my side so it would look like I was
trying to open it. “Here’s the plan,” I said to Lula. “When you find your gun,
you let me know so I can duck down and you can shoot him.”
“That would be a good plan,” Lula said, “but I might not have my gun
with me. I might have left it home when I changed from my red purse to my
yellow purse. You know how I am about the right accessories.”
The guy was really agitated now. He had the gun against my window
and his forehead was glued to the gun, like he was sighting for the kill.
“Maybe you should open the door and see what he wants,” Lula said.
“Maybe he just feels like going for a ride. In which case he could have this
piece of dog doodie car, and I’d be happy to take a bus home.”
“Hold on,” I yelled at the guy. “I’m going to open the door.”
“What?” he yelled back.
“Hold on!”
I hauled back and rammed the door full force with my shoulder. The
door flew open, catching the guy by surprise, the gun discharged, and he
went down to the ground and didn’t move.
We got out of the car and stared down at the guy. He was utterly still
and bleeding from his forehead.
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Janet Evanovich
“You killed him,” Lula said. “You hit him with the door, and he shot
“It was an accident.”
“Don’t matter. You killed him all the same.” Lula toed him, but he still
didn’t move. “Yep,” she said. “He’s dead.”
I looked at my car and realized that a bullet was embedded in the
roof, just over the window. I bent down and took a closer look at the skinny
“He’s not shot,” I said. “He got hit in the head when the gun kicked
back. He’s just knocked out.”
“Hunh,” Lula said. “That would have been my second theory.”
We dragged him to the gutter so he wouldn’t get run over and got
back into my car. I tried the key several times, but there was no response.
“I bet your battery’s no good,” Lula said. “That’s my professional
opinion. You’re gonna have to call someone to juice up your battery. And in
the meantime I’m going across the street to that sad-ass grocery store to
get a soda. I’m all dehydrated.”
I crossed the street with Lula, we got sodas, and we stood in front of
the store chugging them down. A black Cadillac Escalade rolled down the
street and stopped by my car. Two idiots wearing gang colors got out,
scooped the skinny guy up, and threw him into the Escalade. A yellow
Hummer careened around the corner, jerked to a stop half a block in front of
the Escalade, and two guys in the Hummer leaned out the window and
opened fire. The Escalade returned fire. A guy wearing a crooked ball cap
popped his head out of the sunroof on the Hummer, aimed a rocket launcher
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Janet Evanovich
at the Escalade, and
phoonf! the rocket went wide of the Escalade and blew
up my car. There was a moment of silence, then both cars roared away.
Lula and I stared wide-eyed and openmouthed at the fireball
consuming my car.
“Jeez Louise,” I said.
“Yeah, but you gotta look on the positive side,” Lula said. “You don’t
have to worry about charging up the battery.”
Excerpt to be continued October 1