TWO shades of red darkened the Japantown concourse by the time I arrived. One belonged to a little girl’s scarlet party dress. The other was liquid and far too human. City officials would evince a third shade once reports of the carnage hit the airwaves.
But long before the news jockeys began grappling with the Japantown slaughter, the problem landed on my doorstep.
Minutes after receiving an urgent summons, I was charging down Fillmore in a classic maroon Cutlass...