a moment, she slipped out of her lined denim jacket.
“Hi. Is that your dog?” A breathy voice spoke directly behind Miranda, causing her to whirl and duck sharply. A savvy homeless woman in K.C. had repeatedly warned Miranda about not letting anyone come up too close behind her.
“Uh…no. I don’t have a dog. I just got off a bus.”
“Oh.”
“Do you live around here? If so, maybe you can help me get my bearings.” Miranda extracted a pack of gum from her pocket and offered a stick to the unkempt brunette—a young woman probably not even out of her teens.
With her face free of makeup, Miranda thought she probably didn’t look much more than a teenager herself.
“Thanks for the gum. I’m Jenny, by the way.” Shrugging, she said, “I guess you could say I live here. I caught some z’s last night at the bus depot. Sometimes the cops run us out. Last night I got lucky.” She stripped the paper off the gum. Both women cast sidelong glances at the scruffy black-and-white terrier now sitting placidly at Miranda’s feet.
“If he’s not yours or mine, then whose is he?” Kneeling, Miranda ran a hand around his neck in search of a collar. She and Jenny were alone on either side of the street for at least a block. “He’s not tagged.”
“Big surprise. He’s been dumped. This area’s well-known as a dumping ground for homeless people and strays.”
“So are you, uh, homeless?” Miranda asked hesitantly.
The girl’s grin softened otherwise hard features. “Depending on who you ask, I’m both homeless and a stray. You by chance got any smokes?”
“Sorry, it’s not a habit I ever picked up.”
“Lucky you.” Jenny continued to stare. “You have a smoker’s voice. Unless it’s your accent. Are you from down South?”
“Used to be.” Miranda rolled one shoulder. Preferring to change the subject, she straightened and said, “I may not have cigarettes, but I have two sandwiches. A guy on the bus took pity on me at the last stop. I wasn’t hungry then, but I’m fixin’ to be now. He said one’s roast beef on wheat. The other’s tuna on rye. I’ll give you first pick.”
“Cool. How about we split fifty-fifty? I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Eric, he’s my buddy, lucked out and got a gig playing at a wedding reception last night. He promised me he’d nab leftovers. Anyway, he’ll come away with a chunk of change. It won’t be that much, though. And Eric needs new strings for his guitar.”
Miranda’s stomach sank. “Oh, your friend is a musician?”
“Yeah. Me, too. Well, not really.” She pulled a wry face. “Me and a girlfriend tried to break into rock and roll. But Felicity—that’s my friend—she, uh, died.” Sudden tears halted Jenny’s explanation.
Miranda’s sympathetic murmur prompted the girl to continue. “Felicity and me had a real scummy audition, see. They’re all hard. Some are really bad. The jerk in charge made us feel like shit. And my friend had her heart set on getting that job. Felicity’s brother is, like, some finance guru to big-deal stars. She wanted to impress him. So it, like, hit her super hard when the guy said we were totally awful. Felicity must’ve gone straight out and bought some bad dope. Eric and me, we found her and carried her to County Hospital straight away. But it was too late.”
“I’m sorry.” Miranda’s temples had begun to pound, if not from trying to follow Jenny’s narrative, then from hunger. She took out the sack of sandwiches and sat on the low brick wall fencing an empty lot.
Wasn’t it her bad luck to run into a wannabe songbird? And did this girl take drugs? Still, how could she renege on her promise to share her sandwiches? Handing over half of one, Miranda asked casually, “Is rock and roll all you sing? What about rap, or…uh…country?”
“Bite your tongue. Don’t say a dirty word like country around my crowd. They’ll run you out of town on a rail.”
Relieved, Miranda looked up and realized the dog had followed her. He gazed at her hopefully, his liquid brown eyes tracking her every move. “Okay, mutt. Jeez. I’ll give you the meat out of my sandwich.”
Jenny was already wolfing down her portion. “I hope you wanted a pet…uh… What’s your name, anyway? Just a warning, but if you feed him, he’s yours forever.”
“I’ve never had a pet,” Miranda confessed. “I wouldn’t mind keeping him. For…companionship.”
Jenny bobbed her head. “I hear you. I would’ve loved a dog or cat, but my mom couldn’t feed her kids, let alone pets.”
“My dad fed me fine. It’s more that we traveled a lot. More than a lot,” Miranda admitted, tossing another thin slice of beef to the dog. The poor starved beast didn’t gobble it in one bite as one might expect. Instead, he thanked her with his eyes, then sank to his belly to take small, dainty bites.
“Would you look at that.” Jenny paused to smile. “I still didn’t catch your name. I can’t be calling you, hey you.”
Just in case the girl read the newspapers, Miranda stammered a bit and then settled on a short version. “It’s…Randi.”
“Cool. I wish my mom had come up with a classier name than Jennifer.” The girl frowned.
“I spell Randi with an i, not a y,” Miranda said for lack of a better comment.
Jenny raised a brow. “Doesn’t matter how you spell it down here. Only time spelling’s an issue is if a cop hauls you in or you end up in the morgue.”
Pondering that chilling statement, Miranda halted in the act of feeding the last of her sandwich meat to the terrier. As if to punctuate Jenny’s words, a police car rounded the corner and slowed. Both women stiffened. “Cripes, now what?” Miranda muttered.
Jenny swallowed her final bite, wiped her mouth and said, “It’s okay. That’s Benny Garcia. This is his beat. For a cop, he’s cool. All the same, let me do the talking.”
Miranda noted that the uniformed man and Jenny exchanged nods. But her blood ran cold as he pulled to the curb and stepped out of his cruiser. What if he recognized her from the flyers that had surely circulated through major police departments?
He didn’t. He gave her only a cursory glance, frankly taking more interest in the dog. “Cute little guy.” Bending, he rubbed the wriggling animal’s belly. “If you’re planning to stick around here, kid, you’ll need to leash and license him.”
Opening her mouth to deny the dog was hers, she stopped abruptly at the cop’s next words. “If he’s lost or a stray, I’ll phone the pound to pick him up.” The man stood and reached for a cell phone clipped to his belt.
“I’ll get a license.” Miranda scooped up the black-and-white bundle of fur. “Where do I go? I’m new to L.A.”
“Thought so. Hmm. The bad news, kid, is that you’ve gotta supply your full name and home address to get a dog license.”
Miranda bit down hard on her lower lip.
