Semen Friedman rode in his “Cadillac” under an elevated subway line on Brighton Beach Avenue. As always at that morning hour, traffic here was heavy: cars crawled almost in a single left lane—the right outer edge and the middle were packed with trucks arriving with goods for the shops, and with delivery cars of shoppers who had violated the parking rules, lured by the cheap sales at the stores along this street—more precisely, the little street—two stories high, dim from the wide overhang of the subway station beneath it. To walk from one end to the other took fifteen to twenty minutes. Streets like this one abounded in the outskirts of New York—in the Bronx, Queens, and even Brooklyn.