The familiar sound of distant jazz drifts through the air as you step out of the unmarked sedan onto the wet streets of Manhattan. Neon signs flicker against the dark sky, their reflections shimmering on the rain-slicked pavement. Ahead, you spot a dingy diner, its weathered sign reading "Tommy’s Coffee Spot," glowing faintly in the haze. The sound of muffled chatter seeps through the cracked glass of the windows.