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private telephone rang. After dropping the stack of telephone messages on the desk, he picked up the receiver.
    â€œHello. This is Hezekiah Cleaveland.”
    â€œGood morning, handsome,” said the voice on the line.
    The tension in Hezekiah’s shoulders slowly dissolved. “Good morning, baby,” he said in a whisper.
    â€œI’m driving down Imperial Highway past your church. I’m on my way to give out condoms and socks to a group of homeless guys at an encampment under the freeway near your church and I just wanted to hear your voice.”
    â€œCondoms?” Hezekiah asked, laughing. “Why do homeless people need condoms? They shouldn’t be having sex under the freeways.”
    The voice on the phone laughed with him.
    Hezekiah lowered his body into his huge black leather chair and said, “I loved being with you last night. I miss you already.”
    â€œI miss you too.”
    â€œDo me a favor?” Hezekiah said. “Drive in front of the church and tell those protesters to get off my property. I think they might be friends of yours.”
    â€œFriends? What are you talking about?”
    Hezekiah could hear the blaring horn of a city bus through the receiver. “It’s those homeless advocates who’ve got nothing better to do on a Monday morning than harass me.”
    The voice on the line began to laugh again. “Don’t let them get to you, Hezekiah. Everyone knows you do a lot for the homeless.”
    â€œI’ve got a meeting in a few minutes,” Hezekiah said as he spun around in his chair to watch the protest escalating outside his window. “When am I going to see you this week? I miss you.”
    â€œHow about tonight?”
    â€œI can’t tonight. I think I’m free tomorrow evening. I’ve got to meet with my attorneys at six but I should be free by seven.”
    â€œSounds good. I can hold out until then.”
    Hezekiah whispered seductively, “You know I love you. Be careful out there and tell those guys to stop having sex near my church.”
    The voice laughed again and said, “I’ll give them the message. I love you too, Hezekiah. See you tomorrow night.”

3
One Year Earlier
    H ezekiah first saw the young man kneeling at a corner on skid row. His green canvas backpack lay on the sidewalk beside him, filled with the daily rations of vitamins, warm socks, and condoms for homeless people he encountered on his rounds of the city.
    The sounds of horns honking and public-transit bus engines revving echoed off glass towers and graffiti-marred hotel facades. The block was cluttered with wobbly shopping carts filled with plastic trash bags, aluminum cans, plastic bottles, soiled clothes, and half-eaten cans of beans and sardines. Cyclone fences served as the only barriers between the human debris and parking lots filled with BMWs, Jaguars, and other nondescript silver foreign automobiles.
    The pungent smell of urine and human feces was everywhere. Emaciated dogs foraged through piles of trash, looking for the morsel that, for them, stood between life and death. Drivers sped by, making extra efforts to avoid looking to the left or the right. The human misery was too painful to witness, and the filth too disgusting to stomach.
    One man lay sleeping in the middle of the sidewalk. His limbs were twisted and his face was pressed into the cement. His blue denim jeans were stained from being worn for over two months. Alcohol fumes were almost visible as he breathed. He looked as though he had been dropped from the roof of a five-story building.
    A woman sat on the curb with her legs spread to the street. She wore a dirty pink scarf wrapped around her matted hair, a dingy, tattered yellow sweater, and no shoes. Her feet were covered with scabs and open wounds. “I told you ta stop bring’n dose peopo in’ta my mothafuck’n house. I’m mo kill that mothafucka if he do dat ta me again,” she