Marko had a code about women: Don’t get involved. But Martha intrigued him. She was so very different than most of the women he met, in extremely positive ways.
She was tall, 5’8” yet curvy. Her tits weren’t small, but not monsters, perfectly shaped and natural. She was in shape and took very good care of herself. Her amazing physical attributes attracted him, but there was so much more. She handled work like a man. Considerate and thoughtful, generous and forgiving, she exuded the perfect mom.
Clean as a whistle, she was organized and neat. He could find no faults, and his highly analytical mind was impressed. He couldn’t keep his gray/blue eyes off her. Every move a delight, she flowed along behind the bar, caressing each decanter and slender drink glass with grace and style.
Her dark blue eyes sparkled with delight. With her dimpled cheeks, a constant happy smile and gorgeous ruby red lips, she made every patron melt, no matter what a bad ass big Charlie thought he was. She turned a rainy day into warm sunshine with a glance and a cheerful greeting.
Even as the sun set on a Friday night, an ambient glow hung over the dining room. Mandy, Tina and Sheila caught the positive vibe radiating from Martha’s helpful, efficient demeanor. The Cantina cooked as the happy hour crowd departed, replaced by the dinner crew.
Marko reviewed the dining room and the parking lot where skinny Franky swept cigarette butts and detailed the landscaping. Just as he dumped a load of leaves in his rusty galvanized steel trash can, Franky was caught off-guard by a kid on a 10-speed blazing between parked cars and slicing between Franky and his can, knocking his dustpan full of leaves back to the pavement and spinning him around.
“Hey, goddammit!” Franky shouted.
“Watch it, old man,” the long haired teenager said, sliding to a stop outside the front door and tossing his Schwinn Varsity to the tiled entrance. With impunity, he jogged inside and up to the bar.
“Hey, mom,” Billy, her only son barked. “Gimme a margarita, some money and your car keys.”
“Not now,” Martha said, and for the first time in a week of joyful work environment, she grimaced as if a dark tsunami filled her world with icy gray water.
“Bullshit!” Billy snapped. “I know you’re getting tips. I’ve got a date.”
“You’ve got a date with a drug dealer,” Martha snapped. “Get the hell out of here.”
“Does he need a job?” Marko asked, stepping up to the bar.
“I don’t need a job,” Billy said, and turned to look at Marko’s imposing form. For the first time, the scrawny kid with darting blue eyes shut his mouth and stopped.
“I’m Marko, head of Cantina security,” Marko said, extending his hand.
“Billy,” said and his cocky attitude returned, “the bitch’s son.”
Even Marko, the king of cool, was caught off guard. “What was that?” Marko said and leaned in real close. “Never mind, forget the job, punk.”
Marko was well aware of the laws against striking a teenager under 18 in California. He wasn’t sure what the hell he could do, but more certain of what he couldn’t do. But the teenager knew.
“I’ll tell you what, punk,” Marko whispered in his ear. “It you use that word in reference to your mom again, I’m going to hurt you. And you won’t know what happened.”
Marko stood up straight and tall. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, but you need to keep personal conversations away from working hours in the Cantina. And minors are not allowed at the bar. Thank you for your support and understanding.
Marko put a grip on the kid’s bicep. It was like vice grips on a peach. Billy stood up straighter than he had ever stood. They started to walk towards the door.
Marko turned in the center of the room, so Billy faced his mom again. “Don’t you want to thank your mom for her time and hard work?” Marko asked.
“Ah, you bet,” Billy said, straining against the grip bruising his arm. “See ya, Mom, thanks for everything. Sorry about the interruption.”
Martha just nodded in disbelief as Marko led the kid outside. As soon as Marko cleared and closed the big oak Cantina doors and spotted the bike tossed on the pavement, he gave the kid a shove.
Billy grabbed for this throbbing arm, tripped and fell over his bike.
“I’m only going to tell you this once,” Marko said. ?“When you’re around here, everything is treated with respect, including the help, the grounds the doors, the sidewalk, and your mom, especially. You’ve just entered a new world of no bullshit. Now get the fuck out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy said, scrambling to straddle his bicycle and peeling out. But would he learn? Time would tell and shit will smell.
