The closing of Scores was a long time coming, and can be attributed to a variety of factors, not any of which can only be isolated to this club. Money laundering, tax evasion, mafia ties, and prostitution which led to pulled liquor licenses, all contributed to the progressive demise of Scores. It’s comparable to driving a red sports car at 100 mph, in the fast lane. The cop stops you, notices your array of bumper stickers featuring Sublime, Bob Marley, and “drinking makes driving easier.” Then you wonder why you get searched, breathalyzed, and locked up. Scores, shame on you for driving drunk!
Let’s be honest about this club: it was made famous by its’ clients, and not because there was anything remotely different about the club itself. It opened in the early 90s, alongside Goldfingers, Stringfellows, and Flashdancers, and they all represented a new era in strip clubs. These clubs took residence in New York City because the economy was flourishing, and it was recognized that the prettier the girls, the plusher the sofas, and the more decadent the meals, the more patrons would pay. And where is there a high-concentration of wealthy socialites and tourists willing to spend money? And these this wasn’t recognized/acted upon until 1990? Where is my time machine?
Despite opening in an affluent area of New York, in the midst of an economic boom, Scores was financially unstable. Coined a “mobster hangout,” Scores was a favorite of the Gambino crime family, who allegedly extorted money from the club, forcing them into bankruptcy. The Mafia’s consistent visits to the club not only hindered the club’s image and finances, but also led to the murders of a bouncer and a waiter in 1996, after a brawl between the employees and a mobster. After years of mob-ties, the FBI wired Scores’ owners, leading to the indictment of John “Junior” Gotti on extortion charges. The publicity was bad, but their name was everywhere. Scores was getting noticed.
Before lavish adult clubs sprouted up like hemorrhoids on a pornstar, Manhattan, like the rest of America, consisted of seedy, hole-in-the-wall strip-bars. Personally, I think there is something wrong with a man who seeks a squeaky-clean club; it’s as futile as choosing the transvestite prostitute who looks most like a girl–it’s all the same, and you know it. Gentleman’s clubs are all the same presents wrapped in different packaging. Eventually, people would notice.