Wondering if my building was the only one paying attention on the block, I went next door to gather intel at the cafe on the other side of the sex club and asked to speak to the owner. They've seen patrons too, just not in person: a favorite pastime of the overnight weekend doormen is to watch people come and go from the club on our security cameras, one of which is pointed squarely at its front entrance.
They’d seen someone actually emerge through the door, more than once, but said it’s always the owners, not patrons. The doormen in my building seemed to know less about the history of the club, but more about the everyday goings on of the place. But, it was forced to eliminate its on-site whirlpool for health concerns. He told me the club was once in danger of being closed down by the mayor’s task force, but because it has friends in high places, it remained open. In a city where bartenders let you smoke after hours (suck it, Bloomberg) and bodegas are used as drug-selling fronts, that was a stupid question. “There’s an armed guard on the other side of that door, what do you think?” he said. “But is everything that goes on in there legal?” I asked.