Late one muggy afternoon last month, two men carrying bulging paper bags got out of a 1975 Mercury Marquis, walked up to a cigarette wholesaler's warehouse in Queens, pushed a bell above the steel door and were admitted. A few minutes later, another man rang the bell. "Whaddaya want?" he was asked over an intercom. "This is Jerry. I came to pick up the order," said the caller. "It's too late. I can't give you the stuff," said the voice, clicking off. The caller made a quick gesture to a building across the...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
