40
RAY ROLLED THE CAR along 6th Street, looking for Shake n’Bake’s tent, but couldn’t find it anywhere. He’d made a pact with himself that he wouldn’t come down to Skid Row ever again, but he needed something.
It was his fourth circle of the area and he still hadn’t caught sight of the familiar red nylon. It wasn’t like Shake n’Bake to not set up camp. Maybe the drug enterprise he’d gotten so excited about had taken off suddenly, letting him set up in a transient hotel somewhere.
Wherever he was, Ray couldn’t hang around anymore. The SUV was conspicuous. If he couldn’t get a bead on the junkie, he’d have to make other arrangements.
On his third crawl past Wall Street, he saw the familiar waddle of Mama Nomad, pushing her cart down the center of the road. She must’ve missed her chance a
