"Here we are," says the cabby, stopping at No. 429 Broome Street, an unlighted storefront in lower Manhattan with a FOR LET sign taped to one black-painted window. By day, Broome Street is a bustling, truck-clogged thoroughfare; at 9 p.m. it is all but deserted. Doubtfully, the passenger pays the cabby and walks over to try the door of the store. It is locked. He is about to return to the taxi when he notices a small bell push, hidden in the shadows. He presses; a buzzer signals that the door is unlocked....
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