A Cowboy at Heart. Roz Fox Denny
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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.
“Figures.” Garcia let out a long sigh. “Why can’t you kids just stay home? Running away solves nothing. Trouble always follows. What kind of way is that to live?”
“The cops couldn’t stop my mom’s drunken rages,” Jenny snapped. “Out here, I have a fighting chance. My friends and me do fine.”
“Weather bureau says it’s gonna be a cold winter. You and your friends should reconsider moseying up north to that new ranch for teens. I gave Eric a flyer for it yesterday. A guy I know, John Montoya, he’s seen the place. Says the owner’s ordered cows and chickens. Imagine—fresh milk and eggs every morning without having to scrounge for leftovers from restaurant Dumpsters.”
With one holey sneaker, Jenny scraped at a weed struggling up through a crack in the sidewalk. “Eric’ll want to stay near the action. He’s got some contacts. Any minute he could land a gig that’ll make us stars.”
The cop eyed her obliquely. “How many times have I heard that one? At least think it over. Like I said to Eric, Montoya tells me it’ll mean hot meals and a solid roof over your heads through a bad winter. Weigh that against the scuzzy shelters around here. The owner isn’t asking much in return. Help tilling a few fields so there’ll be produce to eat in the spring. Eric can drive a tractor, can’t he?”
“He grew up on a farm in the Sacramento Delta, so of course he can. Question is, does he want to? Here, he gets an occasional chance to play, like last night. I don’t imagine there’ll be many opportunities for a guitarist on some dumb ranch.”
Garcia removed his foot from the low wall. “Suit yourselves. I’ve got a month’s vacation due. I can’t promise my replacement will be as easy on vagrants as I am.”
“We’re not vagrants,” Jenny blustered. “Me, Eric, Greg and Shawn are down on our luck is all. We’ll get work for our band soon. You’ll see.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Shaking his head, the cop started to walk away.
“Wait,” Miranda called. “It’s been a while, but I’ve lived on a farm. You think this ranch owner might let me keep, uh, Fido?” Her gaze swung from the cop to the terrier.
“Maybe. Hop in and I’ll give you a lift to the precinct. I left the extra flyers in my desk. There’s a map on the back showing how to locate the ranch.”
Miranda’s uneasiness about visiting a police station came to the fore.
Jenny correctly read her discomfort. “Hey, Randi, I’ll give you Eric’s flyer. I owe you for lunch. That’ll be a fair trade.”
“Sounds good. That’d be better, Officer. I’ve got no idea how well the mutt does in cars. Wouldn’t want him to pee on your upholstery.”
Garcia laughed. “Wouldn’t be the worst my upholstery’s had done to it. But I know you kids are leery of visiting the station. You say you’re new here? Can you promise me there aren’t any warrants out for your arrest?”
Miranda blanched. Wes Carlisle would use every means