“I’m not pawning; I’m buying,” Jesse replied. “Come on. What else are you doing?”
Noah shrugged amiably and went to put the dog inside.
Noah directed him toward All That Glitters, the pawnshop that Tommy had purchased with settlement money after an accident on the set of a B-rate action flick. The store was housed in a strip mall in Venice, five blocks from the canals. Against all economic odds, the shop thrived. The building had never been nice, but against the devil-may-care backdrop of Venice Beach, its careworn shabbiness had somehow transformed into grungy chic. A fresh coat of paint on the building would have been ruinous for business, as would fixing the neon sign out front, where the s in Glitters had long since burned out. Jesse had occasionally wondered if the pawnshop got much business from misguided glitter fanatics.
He had met Tommy only once, at Noah’s going-away-to-Vancouver party, and he’d come away glad that the pawnshop was out of his jurisdiction. Tommy flounced around with a devilish “I’m getting away with something, copper” attitude that Jesse figured was intentional—and possibly also accurate. Bad if she lived in your jurisdiction, but potentially good if you needed something only marginally legal. “She still wearing the eye patch?” Jesse asked idly as they searched for parking.
Noah grinned widely. “She goes back and forth between that and the glass eye. There, right there!” He pointed at a space, and Jesse parked in a side alley a stone’s throw away from the Venice Canals.
Instead of a bell, a chime played the first two bars of “You Know I’m No Good” as Jesse and Noah went in. Jesse was surprised at how clean and bright the shop was—he’d been expecting something seedy, with a thin layer of grime on each surface, but for a pawnshop the place was surprisingly . . . perky. The main room consisted of smaller goods—china sets, hardcover books, electronics—and a long glass counter against the back wall. There was a wide doorway to Jesse’s left that led to a room of what looked like musical instruments. A doorway to the right led to a room of bigger items like suitcases and vacuum cleaners.
Tommy herself stood behind the counter, arguing pleasantly with a man in his fifties who looked just this side of homeless. “Be right with you guys,” she called, giving Noah a little wave. The older man glanced at them briefly, then did a slow, cautious double take at Jesse, who gave him a hard stare, just for fun. The guy mumbled something to Tommy, scooped a handful of necklaces off the counter, and jammed them in the pocket of his dirty army jacket. Without meeting anyone’s eyes, he skulked past Jesse and Noah and out the door.
“Wow,” Noah said, eyeing Jesse with new appreciation. “I had no idea you carried such a stench of bacon.”
Jesse held up a middle finger to his brother. “Forget about it,” Tommy said, circling the counter to approach them. She was in her mid-thirties, like Noah, with long lean limbs, dark-red lipstick, and what looked like two compacts’ worth of blue eye shadow on her lids. She was wearing the glass eye today, and Jesse was impressed at how natural it looked next to her remaining blue eye. Her hair, on the other hand, looked anything but natural: it appeared to have been teased up high with an eggbeater and then shellacked in place with black varnish. She wore skintight jeans and a ribbed tank top that showed off what had to be thousands of dollars’ worth of intricate, colorful tattoos. No bra.
“Noah Cruz, as I live and breathe,” Tommy drawled, throwing her arms around Jesse’s brother. She gave him a long hug, squealing with delight as Noah leaned back to lift her briefly off the ground. “And Jesse ‘the Cop’ Cruz, I remember you,” she added, giving Jesse one of those half handshake, half hugs he mostly expected from other men.
“Hi, Tommy,” Jesse said.
“Hey, Toms, did you get new, you know . . .” Noah pointed to his own chest. Jesse backhanded his brother lightly on the arm. “What?” he protested. “I’m asking professionally. As an actor.”
“It’s cool,” Tommy said happily. She clutched a breast in each hand, looking down at them fondly. “They were my birthday present last year. To myself. They’re good, right?”
“There’s only one way to be sure,” Noah said glibly, stepping toward her with a hand outstretched.
“Not why we’re here, hermano,” Jesse said, intercepting his brother and steering him away with Noah’s own momentum.
“Right,” Tommy said, dropping her hands. “You looking for something? Besides a glance at my fabulous new tits?”
“He is,” Noah said, pointing a thumb at Jesse. “I’m good with the glance.”
Tommy treated him to a flirtatious smile and a wink of the glass eye, and then she turned to Jesse, leaning in a little. “You’ve got my attention,” she said in a low confidential voice.
“I’ve got a friend,” Jesse began, “who’s doing a student film. He’s really into authenticity—”
Tommy waved a hand. “I don’t need the particulars,” she said dismissively. “It’s LA, baby. This week alone I sold a wax ear and a big-ass box of used dental floss. Nothing surprises me, and I don’t need backstory.”
Jesse nodded. “Weapons,” he said shortly. “I’m looking for a silver blade. And a boot knife.” Noah’s mouth dropped open a little, but Jesse ignored it.
Tommy’s expression grew cagey. She folded her arms across her ample chest and cocked out a hip. “All of our blades are in the glass case on the counter.”