Miranda watched as the thin arm, pocked and dotted with needle points, snaked under the dirt-gummed bars of the pawnshop.
Swan dance, like a prima ballerina. Except the fingernails were chipped and filthy, the muscle wasted from too much hop. She nodded to the pawnbroker, his chubby stomach still quaking, eyes darting from her to the arm. The Chinese was as rapid as his breath.
Hand froze, jade necklace still dancing in its grip.
She prodded the proprietor with her shoe and his eyes came back to her, wide and scared. He bit his lip, tucking small feet