Chapter 1

Hollywood, 1982   

 The sizzling crackle of partially lit neon signs join in the cacophony of dogs barking somewhere in the Hollywood Hills. 

Sticky echoes of a car moving through a damp side-alley mix in and bring an eerie broken silence to the dark early morning life of Hollywood Boulevard.

At this hour, such a street holds little for the imagination unless you’re of keen ear for snoring where snoring is not allowed.

In the darkened recessed entrance of a Magic and Tricks store, huddles Sophia, a snoring, rag clad old woman.  Before her stands a grocery cart partly filled with old clothing, redeemable bottles, and aluminum cans.  An old frayed rope hangs limply joining the old lady’s puffy wrist and her cart.

On the sidewalk in front of the store, two teenage boys pass by, drinking beer and trading drunken words.  Their muffled exchange stops.  They step back to the entrance and chuckle, underscoring the phlegm enhanced snoring of Sophia. 

They tiptoe up to the sleeping woman to take a closer look.

Sophia’s hair is all matted beneath a precariously pinned bright red Christmas bow.  Her feet covered by a pair of old yellow basketball shoes whose worn soles reveal calloused skin completes the bookending of her tired body.  Her free hand clutches a plastic bread bag full of pizza crusts.

The boys cautiously start fingering through the cart and searching the pockets of the old coat covering her.

Across the street, a patrol car emerges from the alley and stops at the curb.  Out steps Sgt. Gaines, an aging veteran cop, notoriously known by his fellow cops and the Rags as Steely.  He places his hat smartly over his slightly balding head quietly walks across the street and stands a few feet behind the boys...unnoticed.  So as not to awaken the old woman, he whispers, “They call that stealing.”

The boys can''t get away fast enough.

Steely stands a moment, then takes out his nightstick, a specially made wooden handled steel bar.  With a vicious swing, he wails into the cart.  The toothless old woman jolts up, mumbling in her sleep.  “Against the law to sleep in a storefront, Ma’am.” he whispers.

She staggers to her feet and pushes her cart onto the sidewalk.

“Hey,” shouts Steely.

She turns back.

He points down to the ground.  “You forgot your teeth.”

She starts back as Steely grinds his heel into the dentures, crumbling them under his 240 lbs.  Their eyes meet, like two old warriors about to challenge each other to the death.  Steely smiles and sarcastically says, “You know the streets aren''t safe at night, Sophia.

Minutes later, Steely sits behind the wheel of his patrol car and glances at his watch.  11:30. He shifts the car and pulls away from the curb and proceeds down the mostly deserted Hollywood Blvd.  His rookie partner, Frank, makes some notes in a small notebook.  Steely glances over, making him feel a bit awkward with, “Better you don’t write down everything in that diary thing of yours, you know.”

“Just my learning tree.”

“Dangerous---writin'' everything down.

Frank pauses, then shoots Steely a questioning glare.  “You been telling me that ever since I joined you.”

“Well?  Isn''t 3 months of tellin'' ya enough?

Frank closes the note book, slips it into his jacket, and flashes a patronizing smile.  “You''re a good teacher, Sergeant.”

Steely continues looking at the straggler street people lingering along the Blvd.  “Just a cop knows how to do my job.  Burn the notebook…tonight.”

The loud speaker next to the overhead Greyhound Depot sign announces an arrival.  “Arriving at gate 3 is the Greyhound Redeye Special from San Francisco.  Boarding passengers for Orange County will have a fifteen-minute wait while the bus is serviced.  Thank you for traveling Greyhound.”

In the parking lot of the station, Pepe, an old feisty Rag—once decades earlier called  a “Homeless” or “transient”, clad in his bright colored dumpster-saves, quickly completes his nightly rummage thru the depot''s refuse container and approaches the passengers as they exit.  Four college students lead the group off the bus past Pepe who smiles his usual welcome to Los Angeles.  One of the students turns over his shoulder.  “Hey, dig it.  A pure bred Hollywierdo.”

Pepe bows graciously.

Another student pulls out his point-and-shoot camera.  “A picture for Mommy and Daddy.  Let ''em know we were in good hands.”  He motions for the others.  “Harry…Bob…on either side.  The shutter-bug quickly pushes them into position.  Pepe puts on his best smile and the student flashes a picture.

Pepe jumps back a couple of steps, whips out four little balls and proceeds to perform his favorite magic trick, making one of the balls disappear into thin air.  More passengers have now departed.  Some mill around watching him perform, while others go into the station.  He does some playacting, searching around for the missing ball, then uncovers it beneath his crumpled fedora.  The students, along with other passengers applaud.  He graciously bows again and extends his fedora.  Several drop quarters into the hat.  He thanks them.

Anna, a beautiful twenty-year old passenger wearing faded blue jeans, denim shirt and sneakers looks on.  Over her shoulder, she carries an old overstuffed nylon shoulder bag.  After everyone has gone, she steps up and drops a quarter in his hat.

“And thank you as well, my pretty little thing,” says Pepe.  He turns to leave.

“Uh, Sir?  Could you use a five-dollar bill?”

Pepe pauses, grins ear to ear, and looks her over.  “Of course.  What do you want for it?”

“I’m trying to find my grandmother.  She…she lives on the streets…I think.  You might know her.”

“Might,” says Pepe with suspicion.  “What you want with her.”

“She''s sick and I''m her granddaughter.”  Anna takes an old picture from her bag.  “Picture''s seventeen-years old.  Know her?”

Pepe eyes the picture carefully, then Anna.  “You some kind of undercover somethin'' or other?”

Frustrated, Anna puts the picture back in her bag, takes out a manila envelope, and removes an audiotape.  “No, a scared old lady of a grandma on this tape who wants to see me and…”  She shows Pepe the face of the envelope.  “I need help.  NO return address.  Nothin’ but a Hollywood postmark.”  She takes out a five-dollar bill. 

Pepe pauses.  Grins.

She takes out another five-dollar bill. 

He eyes the money, then looks her up and down one more time.  The grin turns to a huge smile on his impish little face.  He stuffs the money under the layers of cloth and takes her arm.  “Let''s go listen to that tape.  Maybe I know her.”

They walk away, Pepe pushing his bright red painted shopping cart.  “I know everybody…just about, and if I don''t, Doc does.”

“Doc?”

Pepe grins.  “You’ll like him.”

Across the street from the depot, Steely and Frank sit in their patrol car finishing burgers and coffee as they watch Pepe and Anna disappear around the corner and into the darkness.  Steely stuffs the last bite and starts the engine.  “That little Pepe fuck is contaminatin'' the citizens again.” 

He screeches away from the curb and pulls a U turn, causing Frank''s coffee to spill in his lap.  “For Christ sakes,” says Frank.  “Take it easy.  The guy''s on foot.”  They rip around the corner, but no Pepe or Anna.  Just an empty alley.

“God Damn these alleys,” Steely hisses.

Frank shakes his head.  “Can I get another cup of coffee?”

Pepe and Anna peer thru a pile of discarded cardboard boxes at the rear of a liquor store as Steely’s patrol car roars away down the boulevard.  “What''s his problem?” asks Anna.

“That''s Sgt. Gaines.  "Steely."  You don''t ever wanna give the creep a chance to kill ya…’cause he will.  C''mon.”

A huge mountain of wrecked cars is surrounded like a walled fortress with crushed auto bodies ready for the scrap dealer.  In the background loom the multi-colored lights of Los Angeles and Hollywood.  Except for a neon advertisement "TONY''S AUTO SALVAGE, INC." hanging above the office, the only sign of life is a strange metallic tapping and the quiet singing of "Santa Clause is coming to town."

Inside an old school bus at the back of the yard, a small wind up monkey toy clashes its metallic cymbals and marches around the toy littered floor accompanied by the last refrains of the holiday song.   Stacked on anything with a surface are toys, mostly broken awaiting their turn to be fixed.  A few, their fresh paint drying, stand erect, facing an old catalytic burner.  Doc, a big man in his late 50''s, wearing a turtle neck sweater and an old ragged sport coat, sits in the center of this small burned out orifice that was once a shiny testimony to innovative mobile living.  He quietly continues humming the song as he finishes the last few brush strokes on the head of an old doll.  He gives it a last inspection, noting that the hair doesn''t quite cover the mended crack across the skull.  He reaches over to an old battered and ripped truck seat and pulls out some horse hair stuffing, placing it atop the doll''s head.  Satisfied, he proclaims, “Prettiest girl in town.”

“Not quite, Doc,” comes Pepe’s voice. “I got the prettiest girl in town…in the whole screwed up world.”

Doc, happy to hear the sound of his friend''s voice, wheels around to see Pepe peering thru the "dog entrance" cut out of the side door of the bus.  He gets up and opens the door as he mutters, “If it''s another dog or cat, I ain''t got no room.  And if...”

The door opens, revealing Anna standing next to Pepe.  He holds her arm in an exaggerated regal manner.  “Her highness, the Princess Anna of San Francisco.”  Rolling his introductory arm toward the jolly toy man, “Princess, the King of the Rags, Doc.”

Doc stares at the two of them a moment, Ann''s beauty looking very strange, arm in arm with this torn bundle of dirty, but lovable laundry.