Back in 1982 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 twenty year-old from the projects of the peripherique.

His gang was called Les Bufalos.

I liked Jacques and didn’t trust the French Marine bouncers. I had been shot at and they didn’t even bother to stop playing billiards

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

“What can he do? He eats like a horse.”

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

The big man’s real name was Philippe. He was smarter than most everyone at the Bains-Douches and like Jacques gentle as sleeping bears

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

“Can you see Jacques?”

“No.”

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

Better we don’t open the door.

The glass was an inch thick. .”

“Give him a job.” My boss green-lighted hiring Fats, who was upset by my demonstration of his worth, but I said, “Fats, you’re one of us. You’re smart and funny, but more importantly you’re a Bafalo.”

“Same as you, Pete Johnson.” Jacques loved calling me that.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 and we are all brothers to the end.