Hiding Behind Fats

Back in the 80s I worked the door at the Bains-Douches in Paris.

The owner suggested hiring new blood for security.

My first choice was Big Jacques.

Jacques Negrit was a tall, handsome and good-natured voyo from the slums of the peripherique.

His gang was called Les Bufalos.

Jacques was just out of prison.

I never asked him for what,

My boss agreed to hire Jacques, although he was surprised by my suggesting, Jacques’ pote, Fats.

“What can he do? He’s lazy, steals, and eats like a horse.”

My patron was right, but I said, “Jacques, stand behind Fats.”

His real name was Philippe.

Jacques crouched behind Fats, who was munching frites from the nearby merguez stand.

“Can you see Jacques?”


“So when anyone attacks us with a gun, we hide behind Fats. He’ll block everything.”

“Give him a job.” My boss greenlighted hiring Fats, who was upset by my demonstration of his worth, but I said, “Fats, you’re one of us. I got you a job. I was just kidding about blocking the bullets.”

“Casse-toi.” He didn’t stop eating the frites and smiled at the thought of having a real job.

It was his first

Now he’s a head of a security firm in FRance.

The Bafalos handle all the concerts and big shows.

And I get into them for free, because I’m a Bafalo too.

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