"Nobody is interested in your activities here. We just wanted to ask you a few questions."

Keeping his voice intentionally low, Mike bridged the short distance to the group of teenagers, young boys dressed in gang clothes that bulged above their concealed, and illegal weapons, all of them eyeing the two San Francisco Homicide Detectives suspiciously.

He moved slow, predictably, approaching the group of 16-somethings like a trapped animal, trying to appear as none-threatening as possible.

Next to him, Steve kept his eyes glued to the presumed leader, a tall and lanky Hispanic boy with a large gold chain wrapped around his neck, one shaky hand over the grip of his weapon, shoulders slightly turned as though he was getting ready to run.

Swallowing his unease over the fact that these young kids were carrying heat to begin with; Mike raised his hands, showing his empty palms, then smiled warmly.

"You guys hit me like the type of people who know what's going on here at all times…", he schmoozed, never losing that cheerful expression, as he took one more cautious step toward the group that was nestled against the corner of a barricaded garage door, "And we are hoping to identify a man that was found buried in the Mission Dolores Cemetery. Nobody seems to know who he is, and yet somebody buried him there in a very special way, as though that man was very dear to him. We figure him to be late fifties, early sixties, medium built, about oh…five-ten, five eleven. He died about nine months ago."

Whether it was the fact that a police officer treated them with respect, or the curious question Mike was posing, he saw several of the half dozen youths raise their eyebrows, trying to think of anything that might help them.

Glancing over to the left, he could see Steve starting to relax, the situation not as normal for him as it would be for a cop who walked the Tenderloin for many years.

"How…how did he die?", one of the younger boys asked and looked back and forth between both detectives, before his eyes settled on Mike.

"We're not sure yet. His neck…his neck was broken and so was his shoulder and collarbone. There's a chance that his death was not an accident. We're after the truth, we want to know what happened to him and we want to find his family and give them closure. We believe he spent a lot of time in this neighborhood."

His genuine approach caused the young man to nod understandingly, then tap one of his cohorts on the shoulder.

"What about this…this Harry Mendoza guy?", he asked, causing the other youth to shake his head.

"No, he's still around, just spent some time in 'Q for dealing."

When the group turned uncomfortably silent again, Mike cleared his throat, then pointed east toward the Mission Dolores Basilica, remembering the link to the cassock their body wore.

"How about somebody who either spent time at their homeless shelter, or maybe somebody from the staff. Do you guys remember a religious guy walking around, maybe offering help? Giving out food? Somebody who disappeared without a trace around that time frame?"

Another round of silence ensued, before the leader put an index finger to his lips, his eyes traveling back to the Basilica for a fleeting moment, then ending up on Mike.

"What about Reverend Joe?"

The group looked up at him, as several heads began to nod in unison.

"Reverend Joe?'

Having never heard of the man before, Mike frowned as he watched Steve reach for his notepad.

"Yeah, Reverend Joe. He said he was going to leave town for a while. And I think that was about nine…nine or ten months ago. He may have left, I don't know. But if he didn't, he might be that body. That would be horrible."

It was easy to tell from the young man's words that there was a distinct level of respect the group had for their latest person of interest. A religious man well known on the streets fit their speculations perfectly at this point.

"Do any of you know the last name of the Reverend?", Steve tried but received only headshakes in response.

"What about a description? How did he look? How did he talk? What did he wear? Where did he used to hang out? How did you get to know him?"

Mike's bombardment of questions raised the leader's interest, and the young man symbolically crossed his arms over his chest, then pointed his chin to a nearby hotdog stand.

"We're hungry, law and order. And we need some dough for…things. How much are our answers worth to you?"