“It’s none of your damn business,” she told her before storming out.

Ash crossed McCadden and located another pawnshop, nestled between a CrossFit studio and a porn theater with a sign advertising GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS. The clerk, a gaunt, skinny man in his thirties with a lazy eye, nervous laugh, and a toothpick between his teeth, surveyed the jewelry with practiced indifference. “I’ll give you twelve hundred,” he said. His eyes narrowed, inspecting Ash up and down. “Unless you’re interested in coming to the back room? We could have a little fun, double your profits,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m not interested in anything little,” she said, glad the days where things like this happened were behind her.

The man’s smile turned to a sneer. “On second thought, this shit’s only worth nine hundred. Take it or leave it,” he grunted. Ash gritted her teeth, annoyed she’d given this dickhead the power to lowball her. She gazed down at Becca’s jewelry. God, she didn’t want to be the kind of person who stole from the people she loved. She was doing this for Nate though. That’s what she had to remember.

“Fine. Whatever,” she told Pencil Dick. She grabbed the cash, flipping him the bird on her way out. Ash hurried down Hollywood Boulevard, darting nervous glances, searching for any sign of the Tribe, when she spotted Hopper. He was an old Gulf War vet she befriended while hanging on the boulevard with Nate. The first time she saw his HOMELESS VET NEEDS HAND UP, NOT HAND OUT sign, she lost her shit. Ash’s grandpa and Becca’s dad were both veterans. She hated anyone who lied about their service. She marched right over and told him what she thought about his bullshit, while Nate looked on in surprise.

Hopper quickly set Ash straight. “Girly, I served in Desert Storm and got my leg blown to shit. So save that shit for someone else.” She’d felt like a total jerk and made it a point to give him some cash for food. After that, Ash would visit with him, listening to his old war stories. Sometimes she stopped by with a Double-Double and a chocolate shake from In-N-Out, always insisting Hopper tell a story in exchange for the food. His stories about his war days and life on the streets were hilarious and heartbreaking.

Hopper had seen her hanging out with Nate and the others and tried to warn her. “Them folks ain’t right in the head, I know it,” he said once. She ignored him, telling herself it was just the ramblings of a sad old man. She wished she could go back in time, wished she could listen, really hear what he was trying to tell her. Hopper wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but he was a decent person. She figured for the right price, she could count on him to help her out. She knelt down beside Freud and wrapped her arms around him. He happily licked her face.