He cruised past, his eyes searching the parked cars and sidewalks. The diversity of the people defeated his precautions. He saw Hispanics, blacks, Anglos, Orientals. Muscled young men with perfect hair and designer jeans window-shopped in groups. Hundreds of cars took every space at the curb. Other cars double-parked. A car full of Hispanic teenagers was parked in a driveway while the driver ran into a liquor store.

On his street, Jefferson saw a thousand shadows where they could hide.

A panel truck moved into a space two addresses down from his apartment complex; the driver — a young Chicano in a windbreaker, slacks and Cuban heels — got out and saw that he had parked next to a fire hydrant. He restarted the truck and drove away. Jefferson swerved into the space. Tonight, a fifty-dollar parking ticket would be the least of his problems.

Leaving the driver-side door unlocked, he got out of the car. He did not go to his apartment. A friend's room overlooked the street and the entry to Jefferson's apartment complex. Jefferson ran up the wooden stairs to the second floor of the partitioned Victorian house.

"Who's that there?" a voice questioned when he knocked.

"Floyd."

"Ah… say, brother. Could you come back later?"

"I got a problem. I got a serious problem."

"This is an inconvenient time."

"I don't care who you're screwing! This is life and death..."

The door opened. Jefferson stepped into the dim interior of the one-room apartment. The air smelled of marijuana and sweat. His friend Peter stood naked behind the door.

His ratted blond natural hairstyle clouding around the bronze tan of his face and shoulders, Peter grinned like a demon. From the double mattress on the floor, two young men looked at Jefferson.

"Want to make it a foursome?" Peter asked him.

"Hey, man. I'm hetero. How many times I got to tell you that." Jefferson went to the window and looked across to his apartment entry.