A big Cadillac limo with Jersey plates was parked down the block. Few locals in East Harlem even owned cars, let alone new ones. Curious, I asked the street kids what’s up. They casually explained that the mafioso come weekly to collect their drug money. Later I found a playground, which served as a veritable narcotics flea market each night. If a blanquito from the suburbs and some third graders could uncover the illicit trade, I wondered why the officials – who plastered the city with “keep New York drug free” signs – couldn’t do the same.