Disclaimer: The characters of the Stephanie Plum Series belong to Janet Evanovich and the story of the squirrel on Brice Street was a forwarded joke. Both are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Note: The story Stephanie relates about Brice Street is actually a joke that was forwarded to me called: We always knew there was something sinister about squirrels... Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street Anymore). It was just outrageous enough that I found myself saying “I could see this happening to Stephanie”. Thus, a little story to frame it and a few minor changes to the story to make it work.
Rating: Suitable for all audiences
One Of Those Days
By TT
"Pick you up at ten," Ranger said before hanging up.
Stephanie glared at the phone for a second. She knew he was just using his normal phone manners, or lack of them, but today it really bothered her that he would ask her to do a distraction and then just hang up without even saying goodbye. Huffing out a breath in frustration, she closed her cell and tossed it aside as she sank down onto her couch and rested her head in her hands.
It had been a miserable day from the moment she woke up to the ringing of her phone. Her mother had called insisting that she come over immediately and take Grandma Mazur out of the house for fear Mr. Plum would follow through on his threat to "kill the old bat".
Stephanie had dragged herself out of bed, groaning when she saw it was only 7 in the morning and quickly got dressed.
As she arrived, she was surprised that no one was at the door to greet her.
When she opened the door of her car, she suddenly understood why. The shouting and noise reached her even in the street.
Glancing longingly down the street, Stephanie braced herself and closed the door. In the past, she braved stalkers, psychos and angry Ranger and Joe. She could face this.
Only, that’s not quite how it had worked out.
She had taken Grandma and they had gone out for breakfast. It was actually not too painful an experience until a loud explosion rocked the diner.
Neither Stephanie nor Grandma Mazur had to look to see what had happened, but curiosity eventually overcame Grandma and she went off to see the results of the explosion. Stephanie just kept eating.
Finished with her food, she left money on the table and pushed her way through the crowd to the outside.
Sure enough, there was a burned-out hulk of charred steel where her car had once been.
The firemen were just checking to be sure the flames were completely out and the police were keeping the crowd back.
After suffering through the jokes, taunts and general humiliation people seemed to enjoy subjecting her to, she had caught a ride to the office with Ranger while Grandma called one of her friends to come pick her up.
Vinnie had taken another motorcycle as collateral again and she knew it would be available for her to ride. The fact that it was a Valkyrie had nothing to do with it. Really.
That had been a highlight, or so she thought. She loved riding motorcycles.
After collecting her files, she had stowed them away and prepared to drive home. That’s when her mother called, however and insisted she come by and explain what happened at the diner that morning.
With a resigned sigh, she had made her second trip to her parent’s house, suffered an hour-long inquisition and berating and then headed home. A nice, long, hot bath would be perfect.
Blithely dreaming of the hot bath that awaited her, she didn’t give much thought to turning down Brice Street as she followed the detour through the ‘Burg. That had been her worst mistake yet. Of course, maybe it was only the second-worst. The first worst was, apparently, getting out of bed that morning.
Her eyes slipped closed as she tried to block out the horror of that trip.
When she got to her apartment building, she’d taken her usual spot beside the garbage and trudged up the stairs – the elevator was broken – she knew that her bath would have to wait until after she had put her first-aid skills to use on herself.
Entering her apartment, she had dropped her bag and stripped off her jacket. It only took her a second to retrieve the first aid kit.
She had just opened it when her phone rang. With a sigh, she had answered her phone. It was Ranger asking her to do a distraction. The word “no” hovered on her lips until he threw in a “please”. She was such a sucker for that word.
That led her to the present.
Somehow she needed to find enough energy to get up off the couch and go to the bathroom. She figured she would just close her eyes for a few seconds.
When she opened her eyes, it was dark outside. Catching sight of the clock on the VCR, she saw she had three hours before Ranger would be by.
Pushing up, off of the couch, Stephanie let out a groan as her body protested the movement.
“Bath first,” she announced to Rex as she made her way to the bathroom.
Seeing the first aid kit, she debated tending her wounds first, but decided against it. She could do that later.
Forty-five minutes later, Stephanie finished drying off and wrapped the towel around her body. Grabbing the first aid kit, she walked out to the living room and shrieked. The sound of the kit crashing to the floor soon followed.
“Babe,” Ranger said, his voice somewhere between amused and turned on as his eyes swept up and down her towel-clad form. Finally they settled on the first aid kit on the floor and his expression turned to concern. “You OK?”
“Yeah,” Stephanie assured trying to hide how uncomfortable she was and very, very aware she was only in a towel.
Ranger rose from his seat and strode over to look at her injuries. “Not too bad,” he agreed. “Some of them will be hard to reach. Why don’t you let me take care of them?”
Stephanie could feel her entire face flush at the thought. “N-no,” she stammered. “That’s OK. I’ll do it.” The smile on Ranger’s face at her denial was more frustrating than flustering. Great. She was amusing him again.
His amusement didn’t hide the genuine concern in his gaze. “Go put something on and I’ll take care of them,” he instructed.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Stephanie nodded and headed off to her room.
She emerged a few minutes later in a sports bra and shorts.
Ranger waved her over and positioned her on the couch so he could tend to all her wounds. “What happened,” he asked as he began cleaning the various scrapes, cuts and tending the bruises.
Stephanie let out a sigh. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find out what happened. She was positive that there were already rumors flying all over the Burg. If nothing else, she’d be able to tell her side of the story.
Taking a deep breath, she began her narrative. “I was on my way home from my parent’s house when there was a detour down Brice Street. I never dreamed slowly cruising on a motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! But then, it is me, so I should have suspected something,” Stephanie said ruefully. “Especially after the day I’d been having.
“Anyway, I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.
”It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it - it was that close. I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.
”Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leaped! I’m pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Bonsai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular ... as he shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest.”
Stephanie tried to ignore both Ranger’s chuckles of amusement and awareness of his eyes on her chest as she continued. ”Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt under my jacket, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
”I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser.
”But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary ******-off squirrel. This was an ‘EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH’!”
Stephanie paused in her narrative for a few minutes to appreciate the sight of Ranger laughing so hard he fell to the ground and had tears in his eyes. He was a beautiful man and the sight made sharing the humiliation that was her life that much more bearable.
When he settled down a bit, she continued, “Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact; he landed squarely on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him.
”I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result; torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in... well ... I just plain screamed!
”Now picture me on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn- t-shirt and jacket, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on my back.”
She had to pause again and wait for Ranger to regain control of himself before resuming her tale.
When she was satisfied Ranger was paying attention again, she explained, “Both me and the squirrel are screaming bloody murder. With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle.... . my brain was just simply overloaded.
”I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser. About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway, he began hissing in my face! I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity.
”It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on the bike maxed out! (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment) and the front end started to drop.
”So there I was on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly-torn t-shirt and jacket, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet.
”By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse. Finally I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked.... sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of.... so to speak.
”Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a huge black and chrome cruiser, carrying me dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt and jacket flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all my strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
”I heard screams. They weren't mine... I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. Except for two things.
”First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street and was aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.
”So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to ‘let the professionals handle it’ anyway. That was one thing. The other?
”Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me, shooting me the finger ...That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol car ... but it was all his.
”I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decide it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And some Band-Aids.”
Finally finished with relating her humiliation, Stephanie just sat and waited for Ranger to regain control of his laughter so he could finish tending her scratches and she could get ready for the distraction. Of course, watching Ranger practically roll on the floor in hysterics was pretty distracting as well.
Eventually, he regained control of himself and looked at her with amused eyes. “Only you, Babe.”
End