Open Season

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The images were grainy and blurred. But they told a story.

The storyteller was a camera perched above the entrance to Westside Acu-Care Hospital on National Boulevard, a short stroll west of Robertson. The only active location on a grimy stretch of warehouses dominated by the concrete spaghetti of freeway overpasses.

The lens was a poorly placed witness, focused narrowly on a right-of-center slice of the hospital’s circular drop-off area. Luckily, it had captured the basics.

Saturday, two fifty-three a.m.: A car, dark, compact, speeds around the outer rim of the circle and stops short, rocking back and forth.

Seven seconds later, the driver’s door swings open and remains that way.

A man in a dark hoodie, pants, and gloves exits, runs to the rear right passenger door, and flings it open. Stooping, he reaches in and begins sliding something out. As the bulk of that something is brought outside of the car, it takes form.

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