Lean ​Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13.) 6 csillagozás

„Do you have money for the girls?” I asked him.
„I try not to hand money out at strip bars. Its like feeding stray cats. Once you feed them, they never go away.”
„Yes, but I'll be there to protect you this time.”
[…]
Ranger was a bimbo magnet.
The dancers finished their set, and one immediately strolled over to our table and straddled Ranger.
„Want a private party?” she asked.
„Not tonight,” Ranger said. He handed her a twenty, and she left.
„What about the cat-feeding theory?” I asked him.
„Out the window.”
Our drinks were delivered and a new dancer popped up in front of Ranger. "Hey
sweetie," she said. „How's it going?” And before Ranger had a chance to answer, she had her huge breasts in his face and her leg over his lap.
„Not tonight,” Ranger said. He handed her a twenty, and she left.
„I'm seeing a pattern here,” I said to Ranger. „How often do you come here?”
„Too often. I thought you were going to run interference.”
„It's like they come out of nowhere. Before I know it, they're on top of you.”
A woman in rhinestone pasties and a rhinestone G-string stopped by, and Ranger
handed her a twenty before she got her leg over him.
„You could go through a lot of money fast this way,” I said to Ranger.

Grandma opened the box and hauled out a stuffed cat. It was standing on four stiff legs, and its tail looked like a bottlebrush. Like maybe the cat had been electrocuted while standing in the rain.
„Ain't that a pip!” Grandma said. „I always wanted a cat.”
My mother turned white and clapped a hand over her mouth.
„Holy crap,” my father said. „Is that son of a bitch dead?”
„His name is Blackie,” Coglin said.
[…]
Grandma dragged an extra chair to the table so Blackie could eat with us. Blackie
had close-set eyes, one higher in his head than the other, giving him a pissed-off, slightly deranged expression. He peered over the edge of the table, one eye focused on Morelli and one eye on his water glass.
Morelli burst out laughing, I gave him an elbow, and he bowed his head and sunk his teeth into his lower lip to gain some self-control. His face turned red, and he started to sweat with the effort.
Bob growled low in his throat and pressed himself against my leg.
„I'm not eating with a dead cat at the table,” my father said.
Grandma put her hands over Blackie's ears. „You'll hurt his feelings,” she said to my
father.
„Just shoot me,” my father said. „Morelli, give me your gun.”
My mother was on her third glass of wine. „Honestly, Frank,” she said. "You're such a
drama queen."