We were hanging out in the new downtown after hours night spot - The Zombie Club. A perfect name for the denizens that hung out there. As I remember this fine niterie, the patrons were a mixed bag of transgender prostitutes, decadent gamblers, pleasure seekers and drug addicts. Of course alcoholics were there too. Even back then I knew The Zombie Club was a flash in the pan, after-hours club. A smattering of rock and rollers hung out there - probably just to score drugs. But it was the new hangout of the moment. The place to be. So instead of going to Save the Robot or the Nursery at 4:00 a.m., I ended up here. Recalling this particular ‘Twilight Zone’ scene, there was a dance floor, a medium sized bar, and a small enclosure to do your drugs of choice. A real decadent hole-in-the-wall hangout. Like I said, this poor excuse for a night spot wasn't meant to last long - probably didn't have a liquor license either. I was with ‘Wacky Jackie’ at the time. Ms. Jacqueline was a brunette, slightly ‘zoftig,’ Jewish woman. Always hungry for bisexual, androgynous male cocaine whores. As soon as we entered the club, she sort-of drifted away – fading away in the distance. Man hungry - I believe. I was second guessing myself as to who was transgender and who was a biological woman. I really couldn't figure out who was who. Not that it mattered to me that much, but it was a thing to do. It was one of my weird after-hours games that I played with myself. The lighting was not so great in there. I stumbled onto this make-believe room and was lucky to find a cushioned seat on the two sofas in the small enclosure. The scene was crowded. Various hipsters were doing an assortment of chemicals.
And there he was - sitting just opposite of me - the icon of American Punk Rock, Johnny Thunders himself. He was dressed in a 1960's era - mod style outfit. Very slim black leather jacket, wrapped around a dark shirt and, of course, black styled sunglasses. Pink skinny tie. Yep. No doubt about it, Johnny Thunders! This speakeasy crowd was definitely not a rock and roll fan club. I could tell that. Nobody recognized him except for me. But I was wrong. There was one other guy sitting next to Johnny who did. He most certainly was with this lost New York Doll. This fellow looked like he was from Staten Island or maybe even Connecticut - a bridge and tunnel beaut. Nevertheless, he was very stoned. Mr. Thunders could see I recognized him. It was obvious at this point. He was smiling at me with that fake, phony smile of his. Something was up. Some type of ‘Junky Business.’ I looked deep - didn't grin, didn't frown - into his Inky shades that resembled the rest of his fiendish face. Sitting next to him was his prey. Thunders joined that group of mutant humans that needed junk, water and food and in that order. The imp’s mindset - the depraved addict took over. Johnny became part of the natural order of life - and addicts always need more! I should know. Like any predator he was acting on pure animal instinct. The whole act of being a petty criminal was so natural to him. He put his arm around the dude's shoulders - his mark - as if they were best friends. His quarom seemed happy and content. Slowly, with nimble fingers, he entered the white, ‘Colin’ shirt’s upper pocket and, one at a time, he eased out a small heroin baggie. The first three endeavors went fine. He continuously transferred the dope bags openly with that right hand of his to some hidden area above his crotch. That he was able to pull that off three separate times, was simply amazing, without his dupe or the horde in the small den noticing. But the ‘greed factor’ entered the picture. It always does sooner or later. Desperation calling! He seized three bags instead of one. Big mistake. He dropped two out of the three bags. They quietly hit the floor with nobody noticing except me. I immediately put my foot down and dragged the glassine baggies to where I was seated and picked them up without breaking a sweat. Johnny Thunders just looked on - smiling - and gave me a small shrug. I beamed back at him with the leer of the damned and gave up my seat. I found Wacky Jackie at the bar. She was not successful in picking up a man. I said, “no dude huh?” She just licked her lips and said, “What's the matter with men these days? Did they all turn totally gay? Let's get out of this claptrap.” “Yeah”, I said "let's go.”
END
Was this an actual place on Laight Street? I remember a place I went to there once. It was just an abandoned apartment overlooking the exit from the Holland Tunnel.
Great story, David! And I like the monkier Hubstack Nation as well.
Was this an actual place on Laight Street? I remember a place I went to there once. It was just an abandoned apartment overlooking the exit from the Holland Tunnel.
It could have been that place but it was a long time ago.
✍🏼💨