He nodded quickly. “Good. Let’s go.”
We started walking down the same street he’d taken the day before. The man moved fast.
We turned one corner, then another. The streets grew quieter. Storefronts gave way to brick walls and narrow alleys.
Finally, we reached a bridge that stretched over the highway. Beneath it stood a small cluster of tents, shopping carts, and makeshift shelters.
Several homeless people sat near a fire in a rusted metal drum.
The streets grew quieter.
My guide slowed down.
“Before we go any farther,” he said, “I want my payment.”
I tightened my grip on the bag. “I haven’t seen my daughter.”
He frowned. “We’re almost there.”
“Then you’ll get paid when I see her.”
His expression hardened. “That wasn’t the deal!”
“I need proof,” I said firmly.
Then the man lunged. His hand grabbed for the bag, and the sudden force pulled me forward.
“I want my payment.”
“Hey!” I shouted.
He tried to yank the bag from my hands. “Give it here!”
