Syracuse, N.Y. -- When Alvaro Rene Mendez Perez came to his appointment at 401 S. Salina St. in downtown Syracuse Wednesday morning, he knew to give the car keys to his friend.

He knew that when he walked into the renovated Dey Brothers Department store building, he might not go home again.

In that building, past the Cafe Kubal coffee shop and down a long hall, is the office of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. There's no sign that the office is there. There's one hired security guard behind a desk and a bathroom around the corner that coffee shop workers buzz in and out of.

Wednesday morning, friends of Perez waited for him, nervously. Another family of immigrants waited to check in. They whispered in Spanish. They watched the swinging double doors. Two men, a father and a son, were there to check in with ICE officers. They had gone to a court appointment and needed to show their paperwork. Others were waiting for word about Perez. He had gone through the doors around 11 a.m., friends said. He'd been gone an hour now.

Syracuse calls itself a "Sanctuary City." But the ICE office tucked into the city center down the hall from the coffee shop is a spot where that declaration faces the reality of law. ICE officers continue to do their work -- both in that building and in the city of Syracuse. They investigate and often detain undocumented immigrants in Syracuse, setting them on a path for potential deportation.

A "Sanctuary City" is when a city decides that local law enforcement will not participate in federal immigration enforcement. It sounds more all-encompassing than it is. Former Mayor Stephanie Miner made this declaration, and new Mayor Ben Walsh said he would continue it. Both said local law enforcement would not participate in immigration work. Also, County Sheriff Gene Conway, who oversees the jail, has said he would honor federal requests to turn over undocumented immigrants.

Like elsewhere in the country, ICE's net is wider than it used to be. Under ICE practices during the Obama administration, undocumented immigrants who hadn't been accused of crimes, especially those with families, were less likely to be picked up by ICE. Now, that is no longer the case, said Rebecca Fuentes, lead organizer with the Workers Center of Central New York. The group helps undocumented and immigrant workers.

Data from ICE bears that out: In 2016 in the Buffalo region, which includes Syracuse, there were 1,103 administrative arrests by ICE. Of those, 160 were non-criminals. For 2017, there were 396 non-criminal arrests by ICE out of 1,494 total.

Thomas Feeley, field office director of ICE Enforcement and Removal Operations in Buffalo, explained the current enforcement focus.

"ICE is focused on removing public safety threats, such as convicted criminal aliens and gang members, as well as individuals who have violated our nation's immigration laws, including those who illegally re-entered the country after being removed and immigration fugitives ordered removed by federal immigration judges," Feeley said.

"Recent statistics reflect this continued focus. In Fiscal Year 2017, 92 percent of all aliens arrested by ICE had criminal convictions, pending criminal charges, were an immigration fugitive, or were an illegal re-entrant. Simply put, criminal aliens will find no refuge in the state of New York," he said.

In that lobby in downtown Syracuse, it takes 10 minutes to know which direction life will take -- a trip home to family or a ride out of Syracuse to the federal immigration detention center in Batavia, where deportation is decided.

Before Perez, another Syracuse woman who has been required to check-in for years went to her appointment. She came back through the doors after a few minutes. She would go home to her three children that day. Perez, who went in around 11 a.m., had been gone an hour already.

ICE agents knew Perez was here illegally. He was required to check in with them periodically, Fuentes said. She said he had been doing that and had no criminal history or problems with the law, aside from the immigration violation. Perez's checks with ICE had been by phone, not in person. On Wednesday, he was told to show up in person. It's unclear why.

When Fuentes heard, she sent off a group text to a "rapid response" group. There are dozens of people in that group: activists, lawyers, other immigrants. Many are with CNY Solidarity. Those who can show up with signs do. Others work the phones to try to find out what is going on, what the family left behind might need.

The point Wednesday afternoon was not so much to stop the inevitable, but to make people in Syracuse understand that, in the middle of the day, as they get coffee and lunch, the immigration debate is playing out in front of their eyes. A man who had been in this country, without documentation, for years was being put on a pathway out. As he was taken away in a mini-van, his wife and two American-born children waited for word.

When it became clear that Perez was not coming home, Fuentes and the others knew where he would go: to the federal immigration detention center in Batavia. There's a court attached to the detention center where deportation proceedings take place. Right now, Perez doesn't have a lawyer. (Immigration court is different: defendants are allowed to have lawyers, but the court does not have to provide defendants with one).

Fuentes went to the sidewalk by the underground parking garage on Warren Street where she met some others. They were waiting for sight of the van that would take Perez to Batavia. They held signs and chanted, "Immigration not deportation." Fuentes held a butterfly banner that read, "No Human Being is Illegal."

While they chanted, people scuttled by along the icy sidewalk to lunch appointments. Some paused to agree. Some shook their heads. A man walking across the street yelled an obscenity.

Finally a navy minivan pulled up out of the parking garage. Fuentes and the other demonstrators blocked it and chanted. A gate flew open next on an alley next to the garage and men wearing jeans and boots ran out. They were ICE officers and they were trying to do their job. They pulled the protestors away from the van and threatened to have them arrested. In one officer's back pocket was a stack of plastic ties they use as handcuffs. Call-center workers on a cigarette break half-watched.

The van then sped into the alley. A few minutes later, it roared away again with its passenger, another dark minivan on a busy city street.

Marnie Eisenstadt writes about people, life and culture in Central New York. Have an idea or question? Contact her anytime: email | twitter | Facebook | 315-470-2246