It was close to 2 a.m. when I got on the road. Keeping my guard sharp, I moved forward, taking turns and crossing streets.
Occasionally, I used Echo to check my surroundings—especially to scan for any police patrols within a 200-meter radius.
Moving at a fast and steady pace, it took just over 10 minutes to reach my destination: Carter Street, on the south side of Los Angeles.
The location was far enough to avoid any link to my apartment, yet close enough to not feel like a journey.
Standing at an intersection, my eyes studied the black van parked on the side of the road beside an old brown two-story building. After getting a look at everyone in the van, I approached it.
Dang!
Dang!
Reaching the back of the truck, I knocked softly and then waited.
I thought the back doors would open, but instead, the driver's door opened. A young lady dressed in orange overalls stepped out and walked toward me.
"Hello, how can I help you?"
