I removed each file from my cabinets, waved them under Gasko's nose, and returned

them to their place. I'd only been there since Monday, so there wasn't much to search.

Mordecai slipped from the room and went to Sofia's desk, where he used the phone.

When Gasko declared my office to be officially searched, we left it, just in time to hear

Mordecai say into the receiver, "Yes, Judge, thank you. He's right here."

His smile showed every tooth as he thrust the phone at Gasko. "This is Judge Kisner, the

gentleman who signed the search warrant. He would like to speak to you."

Gasko took the phone as if it were owned by a leper. "This is Gasko," he said, holding it

inches from his head.

Mordecai turned to the other cops. "Gentlemen, you may search this room, and that's it.

You cannot go into the private offices to the sides. Judge's orders."

Gasko mumbled, "Yes sir," and hung up.

We monitored their movements for an hour, as they went from desk to desk--four of them

in all, including Sofia's. After a few minutes, they realized the search was futile, and so

they prolonged it by moving as slowly as possible. Each desk was covered with files long

since closed. The books and legal publications had last been looked at years earlier. Some

stacks were covered with dust. A few cobwebs had to be dealt with.

Each file was tabbed, with the case name either typed or handprinted. Two of the cops

wrote down the names of the files as they were called out by Gasko and the others. It was

tedious, and utterly hopeless.

They saved Sofia's desk for last. She handled things herself, calling off the name of each

file, spelling the simpler ones like Jones, Smith, Williams. The cops kept their distance.

She opened drawers just wide enough for a quick peek. She had a personal drawer, which

no one wanted to see. I was sure there were weapons in there.

They left without saying good-bye. I apologized to Sofia and Mordecai for the intrusion,

and retreated to the safety of my office.

________________________________________________________________

Twenty-three

Number five on the list of evictees was Kelvin Lam, a name vaguely familiar to Mordecai.

He once estimated the number of homeless in the District to be around ten thousand.

There were at least that many files scattered throughout the 14th Street Legal Clinic.

Every name rang a bell with Mordecai.

He worked the circuits, the kitchens and shelters and service providers, the preachers and

cops and other street lawyers. After dark we drove downtown to a church wedged

between high-priced office buildings and ritzy hotels. In a large basement two levels

below, the Five Loaves dinner program was in full swing. The room was lined with

folding tables, all surrounded by hungry folks eating and talking. It was not a soup

kitchen; the plates were filled with corn, potatoes, a slice of something that was either

turkey or chicken, fruit salad, bread. I had not eaten dinner, and the aroma made me

hungry.

"I haven't been here in years," Mordecai said as we stood by the entrance looking down at

the dining area. "They feed three hundred a day. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Where does the food come from?"

"D.C. Central Kitchen, an outfit in the basement of the CCNV. They've developed this

amazing system of collecting excess food from local restaurants, not leftovers, but

uncooked food that will simply go bad if not used immediately. They have a fleet of

refrigerated trucks, and they run all over the city collecting food which they take to the

kitchen and prepare, frozen dinners. Over two thousand a day."

"It looks tasty."

"It's really quite good."

A young lady, named Liza found us. She was new at Five Loaves. Mordecai had known

her predecessor, whom they talked about briefly as I watched the people eat.