As ripples of fear spread through Los Angeles' immigrant communities on the eve of drastic changes in welfare and immigration laws, a writer decides to consult a "hechicero" -- a Mexican sorcerer. The seer admits his skills have become clouded, but he knows the future is worse on the other side of the border, and discrimination everywhere is on the rise. PNS associate editor Joe Loya is a writer based in Los Angeles who recently completed a prison term for bank robbery. (Second in an occasional series profiling fortune tellers, brujos, diviners and their insights about the future.)

LOS ANGELES -- Last week I made a rough peace with superstition. I went into the heart of East L.A. to interview a Mexican sorcerer -- a "hechicero." With drastic changes in welfare and immigration kicking in, I wanted to know what someone who foretells the future was advising people in despair.

I was raised in a strict Baptist home where sorcerers were viewed as minions of Satan. I lost faith in that kind of superstition long ago. Having no connections in the field, I asked an aunt who is familiar with the world of sorcerers.

"I know of a man," she said, "a strong brujo." She gave me an address for Victor whose office is not far from the Maravilla projects, where I was born. Maybe I expected someone like the fantastic Yagui of the Don Juan Chronicles, because I was a little disappointed that I could have found this sorcerer in the yellow pages.

The name of the place was painted in an uneven hand over the fortune-teller's entrance. Centro Espiritual El Negro Santo -- Black Saint Spiritual Center.

The front door was heavily barred and had one of those industrial weight anti-crime screens -- black-painted metal mesh that is virtually impossible to see through. I knocked on the knobless screen door and leaned forward to peer inside.

All of a sudden I heard the bolt being unlocked. Victor had been standing behind the door. He opened the door and invited me in. I had no appointment so he must have assumed I was a new client.

A client anyway, because he said nothing but "have a seat," and walked into the back room.

He left me alone for 15 minutes.

Victor's unexplained departure did not create a sense of awe or mystery in me. On the contrary, his detachment seemed all too familiar, the sort of rudeness one expects from any bureaucrat or institution.

And although Victor might have liked me to see him as another agent helping the poor in the community, I couldn't help but think how I'd seen his type before -- in prison (where I served time for bank robbery). People who thought of themselves as the intelligent manipulators of simpler minds. Using silence, distance, bluff, and intimidation. Exploiting true believers the way conniving mafiosi in prison recruit younger Mexican believers with nationalistic and mythic references like, "I know what is best for La Raza, so go sell these drugs for Mexico."

Victor returned and sat near me. I told him I knew of several people who count on his powers as a seer. He nodded solemnly.

Silence for a moment as his eyes locked on mine. A steady unwavering glare. He was accustomed to harsh eye contact. He had the cool stare of all successful Svengalis, Ponzi artists, presidents.

A brief but serious suspicion flickered in Victor's eyes when I asked if pending cuts in welfare benefits had made his immigrant clients more anxious or fearful.

Victor was too clever to simply refuse to be interviewed, but he did not try to be ingratiating.

Yes, his clients are concerned about the Welfare Reform Act, he said. But he admitted his skills as a seer had become clouded. The future was too nebulous at the moment for even the most gifted hechicero. If an illegal immigrant comes in and wants to know if he will find a job or, more to the point, if he will be caught and deported, Victor will not -- he cannot -- make a prediction. He will only tell the client to be careful.

Victor sees one trend: "The country is becoming more discriminatory. The situation is getting worse before getting better," he said. " No va a cambiar. Muchas, muchas problemas!"

Translation to paying customers: you may lose your benefits.

If telling me the future is unknowable while telling me it bodes ill for his clients is a paradox, Victor is not bothered. He took me over the border.

"Mexico is much worse than here. A more uncertain future. A dangerous place to be. Which is why no matter how bad it gets here, people will stay. But more and more people will turn to easy money. Drugs!"

His foretelling was picking up speed. He told a story: a mother came to him distraught. Her son had dropped out of school and was flirting with the drug trade. He told her to send the boy to him. "Did you ever think how this could cause your mother great grief?" he asked the boy, who then went back to school and found a job. A simple story with a tidy ending.

I left the hechicero's office and stepped onto Cesar Chavez Avenue. I had a quick urge to go back and ask Victor to conjure the spirit of Cesar Chavez so I could ask for advice. The Black Saint might be strong, but I'd always believed that the Mexican messiah would resemble a migrant worker.

Then I understood Victor's charm. He resembled every picture I ever saw of Benito Juarez.