Here's a real fairy tale...
The Queen, see... in those days, he reigned over the whole of MoHo. The gayborhood, as it was known. Protection, sure - but with a soft touch. If you didn't pay on time... then you got a bit more time. Maybe a broken window, if he had a bad day. Whatever - it worked.
Then there's Whitey. One of the Queen's own. Upstart little tranny capo. Eventually has the op. So he's a real 'made' man now. But having a dick turns him into one. Decides he wants a bigger piece of the action - and thinks coke's the way to go. He gets his crew onside, no problem. Bunch of little guys: Knuckles, Blades, Spanners, Axe, Nails, Teeth and Ironshoes - all done up in their cute suits like a row of skittles. Harmless-looking you'd think - but you wouldn't have wanted to try 'em for size.
'Why'd they call you Ironshoes, Ironshoes?'
'I specialise in footwear for swimmers.'
You get the idea. Squeak like mice - stamp like a herd of fuckin' rhinos. Forget the windows - they went for the bones. Heigh-ho!
So... before you can say 'nice bag', the 'hood's adrift in Whitey's snow. People start getting over-confident - telling the Queen he'll just have to wait, José. Billing him for window repairs. That kind of thing. And although the Queen's patient and understanding for a boss, there's a limit. There's only so many days he's gonna look in that mirror before realising the truth: he ain't the fairest any more. Fairness don't come into it now. Something's gotta give.
So he hatches this plan. Play Whitey at his own game. Disguised in a frock, he takes Whitey a gift - some yay of his own. Makes like he's a new boy, schmoozing his way in.
'Here, gorgeous... give it a try. Give some to the pee-wees, too. Party-time, guys. See how good this is.'
Except this is cut with something special. A generous dose of ol' Mr Blue! And Whitey's so tickled he falls for it flat. One snort each and the midgets are amped - out of their pants and bouncing Whitey around the walls like a friggin' basketball. They look like little hammers the way their handles are sticking out. As for Whitey... he gets so horny he busts his stitches and the thing flies off like a wiener from a pop-gun - straight out the window and down to the street. Well... the dog's are hungry in that part of town. What can I say?
The Queen snuck out and left 'em to it - leaving the rest of the baggie for dessert. They were going all day, the papers said - right 'til the last one was boned to death.
That Queen! A king among 'em, I tell ya.
The moral of the story?
Never fuck the boss.
And if you want to get ahead - don't get a dick.