Tagger

Chapter 22 -- Scouting Mission

35

Friday, five p.m.

Kimo texted Rob he had something important to do, and he'd see him after Rob's graffiti run with Carlito.

Kimo swung by home and grabbed Marble's powerful camera. Driving to where Rob and he outran pit bulls two nights before probably wasn't a good idea, but 3-D had boasted about how The Posse was going to party big time, and that pointed to this location. Scouting the surroundings in daylight would be useful.

Kimo turned left onto Slauson Avenue off Garfield. After a quarter mile, he turned left beyond the railroad tracks onto a dusty unpaved pathway, backing his Malibu behind thick bushes sixty yards further along. The dirt road dumped out a hundred yards further onto a quiet street with outlets in both directions.

Kimo locked up, hid the camera under his light jacket, and returned to the main drag entry on foot, snapping a couple of quick shots of a long warehouse surrounded by barbed wire extended as far as one could see. Prominent signs on the warehouse and fencing screamed

"NO TRESPASSING" in red letters, and "NOT responsible for theft or damage to vehicles or contents."

Kimo hustled across the street and followed the railroad tracks paralleling the building's perimeter. On the other side of the fence, a Honda Civic sat adjacent to a six-step staircase leading to a warehouse door. A ladder accessed the roof between the Civic and the stairwell.

Looking through the wide-angle camera lens with car and building in the same frame, Kimo gauged the building's roof to be thirty feet high.

The arc of the roof resembled the slant of a Desk Jet printer. It extended west all the way to Malt Avenue, three hundred feet away. The large corrugated metal building in the rear sat adjacent to the Miedo chop shop and suited the youthful tagger's need for night-time surveillance.

Kimo followed the tumbleweed-laden railroad tracks and empty field as it coursed around the Miedo property for another quarter mile, with its time-worn railroad tracks crossing Malt Avenue at the far end. The Miedo property contained two buildings – the chop shop and the big gray metal building. Overgrown trees and shrubs, coupled with the rundown condition of the building from the Malt Street side, gave passers-by the impression this place had been out of business a long time.

Kimo had seen enough and drove away unnoticed.

****

Young Flores got on his computer at home and reviewed the digital photos he'd taken. Kimo measured and cut thirty-five feet from a sixty-meter climbing rope he kept in his closet. He packed it into his black backpack, adding his grappling hook for a roof escape.

The last things into his bag were the 35 mm. camera with its powerful zoom and three rolls of film. He changed the camera's batteries before zipping it shut, then laid out black clothes for the night's surveillance. A long soak, a quick bite, and it was seven o'clock. Time to go.

****

Fifteen minutes later, Kimo parked his car in his hidden spot unseen by anyone on the main drag. He raced across Slauson at the first break in traffic. The barbed wire fence loomed ahead. Kimo hurried to its far end where he'd seen rusted and bent poles.

Drawing his grappling hook from the backpack, he smashed the weakest link on the fence with it. The hook cracked the protruding spikes on the fence top. With two more well-directed blows, Kimo had flattened a section of spikes a yard wide.