The house was an old, dilapidated tenement in a row of shabby buildings of similar vintage just off Houston Street in the shadow of the old el. Johnny Liddell led Muggsy Kiely into the dim vestibule, down the corridor to the door at the far end. He knocked, heard the sound of a panel sliding in the door.
The voice was old, raspy, smelled of stale beer. “Yeah?”
“It’s Liddell. I want to see the Dummy.”
The panel scraped shut, and after a moment the door creaked open. The room beyond was in darkness, but as soon as the door swung shut behind them a dim light went on.
The doorman was a thin, shriveled man in a collarless shirt. When he grinned, his toothless gums gleamed pink in the light. “Dummy’s kind of tied up, Liddell,” he said, “but he says come up and wait.”
Liddell nodded. “You kn
