Chapter 51 Cara
FIFTY-ONE
CARA
Olvera Street feels like an authentic mercado in Old Mexico. It’s a great place to get lost and forget you’re in the heart of Downtown Los Angeles except for all the homeless encampments nearby. Why don’t they do something about that?
—Dave L., Las Vegas, NV, Yelp Review
Cara had visited historic Olvera Street, a cobbled pedestrian passageway filled with traditional Mexican shops, clothing stalls, and restaurants, many times before.
She’d brought out-of-town guests and even spent an afternoon there as part of an LA staycation weekend as a brand ambassador for Millenium hotels.
She and Karl had spent two nights at the Biltmore, taken a ride on the Angels Flight funicular, then made their way to Olvera Street for shopping.
They’d eaten lunch at the El Paseo Inn, where the waiter prepared its famous Caesar salads at their table.
The throngs of tourists had added to the all-around charm on that happy weekend. Now, the density allowed her to hide in plain sight.
She ducked into a small shop and bought a pair of sunglasses big enough to conceal her bruise, a bucket hat, and a black unisex T-shirt with Frida Kahlo splashed across the front. She pulled the T-shirt over her Florida Is for Lovers tank top before leaving the shop.
Sheriff Burke was walking toward her, this time with the short Asian woman Cara had glimpsed alongside the pulled-over bus on Highway 41 outside Oakhurst.
Hoping to hide the shock on her face, Cara turned and kept walking, careful not to run.
How had they known she was here? Two very big men in matching blue windbreakers, one Black and one White, were coming from the opposite direction.
They obviously weren’t tourists—they were looking at people, not merchandise.
She cut between two vendor carts and ducked into a storefront on the west side of the street.
Inside, she squeezed past shelves filled with brightly colored sombreros, blankets, maracas, leather goods, and assorted knickknacks—ignoring a friendly, “Can I help you, miss?”—until she found a door at the rear of the store.
Thank God, it wasn’t alarmed.
Cara heard the shop owner say, “What’s going on?” as she opened it and pushed through. On the sidewalk of North Main Street, a beverage-delivery truck idled at the curb while its driver wheeled a hand truck into a nearby restaurant.
After quickly checking to make sure no one was watching, Cara used both hands to lift the rolling door on one of the truck’s back bays. Other than two cases of Mountain Dew Baja Blast, it was empty. She climbed inside and pulled the door down all the way.
Escape achieved.