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CHAPTER 1 MAY. FRIDAY NIGHT. The jet-black BMW 525i rolled across the lonely four-lane 181st Street Bridge, heading into the Bronx. Sitting off in the distance, a jagged line of tenement buildings stretch into the darkened skyline. Thomas Bail, early thirties, glanced at the half moon overlooking the city that never sleeps. The amber turn signal flickered to life, and he...