The third group were people with criminal records, unable to get work, or stable housing. In the fourth and final category were people with serious mental health issues, people like Raya, whom the system and their families had failed. Many were discharged from psychiatric hospitals or jails with no follow-up care or support system and found themselves with nowhere else to go. Becca could usually assess a person within thirty seconds. As they began their canvass, Becca stopped anyone that seemed even remotely coherent, showing them her phone with the photo and asking, “Have you seen these kids? Please look at this picture. Please can you look closer?”

When people refused to even look at the photos, Becca offered up cigarettes, which proved effective in that they would speak to her. But all they got were more noes.

They avoided the haphazardly constructed encampments, unsure of who or what they might find lurking under the tarps and blankets, nor did it seem wise to disrupt what were well-constructed walls made from found objects: handbaskets from ninety-nine-cent stores, discarded office chairs, and beach umbrellas. Becca did her best not to make eye contact with anyone talking to themselves or anyone naked, which proved more difficult than one might imagine.

Christian didn’t help matters. Most people they encountered wanted nothing to do with the cops, and despite Christian’s civilian clothes, his crew cut and macho swagger screamed law enforcement. One middle-aged man with no teeth and a T-shirt covered in dirt, and what Becca assumed was blood, followed them for a full city block, screaming over and over, “I ain’t trusting no pigs.”

But once word got out that they had cigarettes, she and Christian suddenly became the most popular people on Skid Row. People began approaching them with all kinds of elaborate tales about where and when they’d seen Ash.

“Think I saw her turning tricks over on Fourth Street.”

“Heard some girl OD’d the other day. Not sure if it was a white chick. She was definitely dead.”

“They’re taking folks off the street for government experiments. The boy’s one of them. I’m sure of it. They’re gonna experiment on all of us.”

Other people would take a cigarette or two, offer up a cursory glance at Ash and Nate’s photo, shrug, and scurry away. A middle-aged woman who reeked of whiskey took three cigarettes, shaking her head in disapproval. “Pretty girl like that don’t belong out here.”

Thanks for stating the obvious, Becca thought. She was tired and frustrated and they weren’t getting anywhere. It wasn’t long before Becca was down to her last pack of cigarettes, which coincided with Christian reaching his breaking point.

“That’s it. Enough is enough. We’re done. I’m taking you home,” he said.