It was a freezing cold Monday afternoon just after Christmas when they caught me. It had been snowing non-stop for three days and the East Village was almost deserted. I didn’t see a thing. One minute I was scurrying home through the blizzard to my wife and kids, the next I had a gun in my ribs and there was a strange, muffled voice telling me to get into the white van that was parked nearby. Terrified, I clambered in and a small, wiry figure in a black balaclava and b...
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