On a lonely sidestreet off Church Avenue in Flatbush, in a low-slung, oddly built brick building that may have been a stables of a small factory, is an accountant with no name and an unprepossessing address. I picture motley surroundings upstairs, a low ceiling, cluttered desk and an old, wily, not entirely trustworthy may in an unbuttoned vest and eyeshades. Bill Sikes might get his taxes done here. If Bill Sikes ever did his taxes.
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