THE KING OF NEW YORK CITY, 1975

Stoner nation rolled in the muddy Woodstock slip and slide in upstate New York.

Five years later they took a shower, got a haircut, and danced the disco.

Top New York City discos needed the right people managing the door and lines that grew down the sidewalk most weekends.

Full of Queens, Brooklyn, and Jersey people, they needed tending.

That’s what Gary did across the street from Dangerfield’s.

Anyone could get into Adam’s Apple, but not all once.

If you had a problem waiting, Gary spotted you in line.

One night a man showed up so wasted he couldn’t stand without the wall.

When he did stand, his girlfriend nearly fell.

Gary knew the man.

The woman with him wasn’t his wife, or the same girlfriend he showed up with last week.

He was an off-duty cop with a girlfriend, too drunk to go home to his wife, too drunk to get into Adams Apple.

Easy call.

===

“Come on, Tony.  Tonight’s not the night,” Gary said.

Tony’s head rolled against the city wall.

“You don’t tell Tony nothing, you,” the woman said. “Who do you think you are.  Tony, who is this guy.”

Tony closed his eyes, chin on his chest.

“Nothing. Not nothing,” he said.

“Nothing what, Tony. This guy named nothing,” the woman said, swaying in time with Tony’s head.

Gary leaned in. “You know how it is, Tony. Okay? Not tonight. This isn’t the place for you.”

Tony nodded his head once before his chin dropped back to his chest.

“Tina.”

“You telling Tony what to do?” she said. “Good one, door-man. Let me tell you, me and Tony are going inside. Here’s the fifty, let’s go.”

Before she could pull away, Gary pushed the money back.

“You need to understand, this won’t work out,” he said.

“Understand this, pollack.”  She flipped him the bird.

“I’m Hungarian, but thank you. Tony. Tony? I’ll get a cab. It’s time to go.”

===

A cab stopped.

The woman pulled Tony and tripped with his weight on her and fell hard against the cab.

“Did you see that, Tony? That bastard punched me. He punched me right in front of you, Tony. He can do that?” she said.

Hearing those words, Tony squared his shoulders instinctively and seemed fifteen drinks lighter.

He stepped toward Gary pointing his detective finger on his extended hand, an old street-fighter trick to get your opponent’s attention on anything but the fist you’re ready to swing.

“Punch my girl? You,” Tony said, throwing that punch.

Gary caught it in his hand.

“No Tony, I didn’t punch anyone. Neither have you. We’re even. There’s the cab,” he said, easing him toward the back door.

The woman wasn’t in the cab.

She came out of nowhere to land on Gary’s back, her arms wrapped around his neck.

He dipped a shoulder to shake her off. She clipped Tony in the head with her swinging heel.

“Punch me now?” he slurred.

The woman rolled from Gary’s back to the sidewalk. Tony stared at her, then turned toward Gary.

“Tony, Tony. No, Tony. Not here. Come on.”

The line waiting for their disco night to start moved past.

Gary stepped away from the next swing. Tony fell past, lost his balance, skidded on his face.

The woman looked up from her spot on the city sidewalk.

Tony lifted his face, all road rash and blood, and rolled to his knees.

Gary leaned over to help the woman.

She kicked at him just as Tony made his final lunge of the night.

Gary pivoted and he fell headlong onto the woman who accidentally kneed him in the nuts on the way down.

===

All part of the job on a New York street.

Get people in and out, keeping them in line while they’re on line.

Gary knew the job, when to push and when to pull.

Tony stood near the cab, steadying his head to focus on Gary.

“This not over. Ish not. You hear that?  Over.”

“Sure, Tony. Over, not over. Over and out. Get home safely. Say hello to the missus.”

From the cab window:

“You’ll see.”