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trailer. I felt like a bobblehead.
    “Hang on.” Hudson pulled into the breakdown lane, but he didn’t stop. Moving barely faster than the traffic, he drove straight for the off-ramp. Pings and clangs of debris hit the undercarriage of the truck, and behind us, Kyoko trumpeted her displeasure. “Hang in there,” Hudson coaxed. I didn’t know if he was talking to me, Kyoko, or the truck.
    We coasted off the freeway and into the parking lot of a dilapidated strip mall, serenaded by the frantic metallic-chicken clucking of the engine.
    “Something doesn’t feel right,” Hudson said.
    I refrained from commenting on the obvious.
    Hudson cut the engine and the truck shuddered like a dog shaking off water. I trotted back to the trailer and saw what Hudson meant. One of the two tires on the trailer’s passenger side was shredded. The trailer canted at an angle, the back corner dipping toward the pavement.
    I hopped onto the step and peered inside. Kyoko bugled, not moving from where she quivered against the front of the trailer. White showed around her dark eyes, and she swung her head and trunk back and forth in agitation.
    “Shh, it’s okay. It’s over. You’re safe.”
    “It’s definitely over,” Hudson said from behind me.
    I turned and fought a grin. The silver top hat sat at a rakish angle. The round barrel was mirror smooth and just as shiny; the sunlight reflecting off it would have blinded me if it were real. Maybe President Lincoln could have pulled the look off, but not Hudson, especially not in a short-sleeve T-shirt. The silver terrier stood on point at his side, as large as a Great Dane now. Beneath its feet lay a recognizable square of a Monopoly game board with a green bar across the top: Pennsylvania Avenue. I looked around for a silver iron or boot or wheelbarrow, or better yet, the horse and rider, but it appeared Hudson’s emotions were linked to only these two pieces.
    Hudson scowled at the ruined tire and ran his hand through his short hair—and the metal hat. The reality of the situation punctured my momentary humor.
    “Now what?” Hudson asked. “Where are we supposed to find another trailer in this town?”
    The trailer wasn’t our only problem. “Uh, how’s the truck?” I asked, eyeing the worn cowboy boots engulfing Hudson’s shoes. Perhaps he fancied himself a cowboy? We did have a horse trailer, after all.
    Hudson swung his gaze to mine. “Okay, where are we supposed to find another trailer and truck in this town?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve never had the need.”
    “Me, neither.” He pulled out his cell phone and glared at it, mashed at the black screen, then shoved it back in his jeans’ pocket. “I can’t even access my contacts list.”
    I surveyed our location. The strip mall looked like a thousand others in the greater LA area, though this one fortunately had a large parking lot; the truck and trailer took up six spaces at an angle. A Thai restaurant, Laundromat, window blinds store, tattoo parlor, nail salon, and yogurt shop filled the two-block strip. The dull roar of the freeway mixed with the revved engines and stereo sounds at the crossroads. This wasn’t anywhere I recognized: It wasn’t near a familiar bus route, and I’d never had a feng shui consultation in this neighborhood.
    “I’m going to get a new phone, then figure something out,” Hudson said. He pointed across the street at a hole-in-the-wall electronics store crammed floor to ceiling with tiny doodads and gizmos.
    “Okay. I’ll stay here with Kyoko.” It was the best solution for everyone, especially the proprietor of the claustrophobic shop.
    Hudson waited for a break in traffic before running across the four-lane road. The statue-still, pony-size silver terrier gliding along on its Monopoly square wasn’t what pulled my gaze from Kyoko to watch him go.
    It took a few minutes of soothing babble before Kyoko calmed enough to mosey across the trailer to whuffle my hand and arm.
    “I wish