A child's frightened, excited squeal made me look left, at the nail salon. Someone had cracked open the service exit. Huddled by the gap were two girls younger than ten, and a boy of about fifteen stood behind them. Kids of the owners, a Mexican couple that did great nails and were teaching the trade to their progeny. They must have gone to lunch, leaving the eldest to sit the girls.
I looked at the boy, opened my face shield and shouted, “What's wrong with you, kid?! Get back inside!” I pointed harshly and he slowly closed the door. “Goddamn kids.” I slammed the face shield.
Beside each of the eight doors were large pipes that drained water from the roof gutters. Next to the pipes were sections of concrete ribs that stuck out to support the building's structure. I darted behind the near
