Collection Bait

When I told Gonzalez that Dollins said Chavez targeted church members, he said, "The detective is lying, brother."

As we spoke, Gonzalez and another man were painting a short wall around Gonzalez' yard. The church bought the property in 2002, and it's exempt from taxes. A chain-link fence extends all the way to the sidewalk, giving Gonzalez' pit bulls the opportunity to leer at pedestrians from close range.

Gonzalez and his wife, Jina, do not live in opulence — the county says their home in the Northeast is worth $32,873. Just the same, street fund-raisers provide them with a livelihood. Gonzalez told me last summer that the church is his only job, a somewhat remarkable feat given the size of the congregation.

I asked Gonzalez to show me the shelter for women and children. He refused. A day later, property records led me to a house five blocks from Gonzalez' parsonage. A woman who called herself the overseer said five women were staying in the house. They weren't there, though; she said they were at the men's home for a Wednesday-night "discipleship."

The meeting at the men's home broke up around 8:30. A resident let me in. Standing in the meeting room were four women, including the two I had seen at Independence and Topping. Tommy Brown was upstairs, where a handful of men mingled among bunk beds.

I didn't see Pastor Gonzalez. Maybe he was busy feeding cookies to his dogs.