I didn’t have to wait long before Gabe’s car pulled up followed by a second vehicle. He and Enzo stepped from his black Lincoln Town Car along with two soldiers, and four more exited from the other car. I joined them, shaking hands with Gabe and Enzo and nodding to the others—all of us equally stoic. Meets were supposed to be violence-free, but there were never any guarantees. As we greeted one another, a large metal garage door slid open. A single soldier stood at the entry, inviting us inside. The building housed a typical mechanic’s garage that I would have bet was a chop shop. The little garage tucked away in Brooklyn would be the perfect place to take stolen cars and refurbish them to be sold on the black market. We were led to the back of the building and down a hallway past a series
