Immigrants' woes provide fat paychecks for 'notarios'.

IN the corners of narrow, dead-end hallways at the Los Angeles Immigration Court downtown, lawyers can be seen huddled with groups of two or three clients.

In the courthouse's pasty white halls, nearly a dozen languages mix as people talk in hushed tones with the attorneys and interpreters before their case is heard. There are several courtrooms to a floor, and on each floor's single hallway, counsel and clients line up waiting for their cases to be called.

The thin 17-story building at 600 Olive St. overflows with people seeking citizenship or fighting deportation.

It also proves a fertile breeding ground for those who prey on them.

Into this mix come the notarios, immigration "consultants" who often misrepresent themselves as lawyers, either directly or by omission. For a fee, they rope in unsuspecting clients for the licensed attorneys who spend minutes reviewing cases before walking into court on their behalf.

"They're like ants," said a 16th floor security guard, gesturing toward a nearby notario combing dockets. "They're everywhere."

Though there is nothing wrong with acting as a broker for legal services, many of the practices used by notarios are illegal under state law. By advising clients on how to get visas or avoid deportation and filing forms on their behalf, they are practicing law without a license. Attorneys, in violation of the ethics codes established by the state bar association, are paid by the notarios for signing forms filed with the court and for representing clients at hearings and trials.

Many clients lose the cases handled by the notarios and their cohorts, and those that do often have little time to complain before being deported. When they do come forward, few have the receipts or other evidence to back up their claims.

"It's a pervasive problem," said Neils Frenzen, director of the immigration clinic at the USC law school. "It's just really difficult to put the pieces together sometimes."

Months become years

David Escutia, a 38-year-old Mexican immigrant, hired a notario on the recommendation of an employee in the human resources department of the Whittier battery factory where he works.

The notario promised she would be able to get work permits for him, his wife and son in six months. The cost: $4,000. Instead, Escutia said, it took nearly two years to get his permits, during which he was bounced between lawyers employed by the notario.

Escutia said the notario demanded payment in cash and wouldn't let him write checks to the immigration court for filing fees or to the attorneys, even after several of his forms were returned by the court with her bounced checks attached. "I always had to pay her, not the attorneys," he said. "She always wanted the money in cash."

Suspicious of the notario, he felt that if he walked away his case would be sabotaged.

"I was afraid if I said anything, she might do something to the case that's bad for me," he said. "So I had to cooperate. I had to go along with her."

To date, the process--which includes getting permits for his wife and 16-year-old son--has cost Escutia a total of nearly $15,000 and has taken more than eight years.

"Year after year she said she needed more money," he said. "I was afraid what would happen if I didn't pay so I gave her the money."

The term notario itself can be confusing to many immigrants from Central and South American countries. In the United States, the connotation simply means notary public, but in Latin America notarios are highly educated and trusted legal professionals.

The scheme isn't confined to the Latino community. Similar players are found in pockets of Armenian, Chinese, Korean and Vietnamese communities across Southern California and the country.

"People who have trouble getting bus money to get to your office will find a way to come up with $2,500 for these guys," Frenzen said. "For the promise of staying in this country, people find ways of coming up with money like that."

Such practices have begun to attract more attention. Two weeks ago, state Attorney General Bill Lockyer won a $1.85 million civil judgment against Asian Pacific Legal Services, owned by Walter Wenko and his wife Miao Huang.

The Monterey Park couple falsely advertised themselves in Chinese newspapers and phone books as being able to obtain green cards and help with the immigration status of family members in a fraction of the normal time, according to the judgment.

Wenko was disbarred in 1998, though he continued to advertise his services through 2001, according to a statement from the Attorney General's office.

In announcing the award, Lockyer said the couple duped hundreds of unsuspecting Asian immigrants out of thousands of dollars in questionable legal services.

Pressure is also mounting on the civil side.

Immigration attorney Allan R. Diamante, president-elect of the Mexican American Bar Association, is part of a coalition of attorneys filing civil complaints against notarios and the lawyers who work with them.

Diamante, a first generation American whose family moved to the Pico Union neighborhood from Argentina, said he began working with Citizens Against the Unauthorized Practice of Law shortly after graduating from Loyola Law School in 1995.

"It made me mad, seeing all these people getting tipped off," said Diamante, who holds regular seminars on notarios and helps victims file complaints with the state Bar against the lawyers who help them.

"We all know who they are," he said. "We see their dirty work. They conduct it out in open in the court for everyone to see."

When attorneys don't know basic information about their clients or their cases, Diamante said judges might chide them about their lack of knowledge but do little else.

"It's not like notarios are helping people stay in the U.S.," Frenzen said. "They are helping them be deported. Some judges in the immigration level don't care. It's easier to deport someone with a lawyer, especially an incompetent one, than without a lawyer."