Nyla had poured one after another on a perfect, sun-baked weekend, but Monday was different. A dense fog hung over the harbor in the morning.

Marko looked out of his studio addition to the Spanish Cantina and watched the cold mist engulf the harbor like an evil spirit over Salem’s Lot. He remembered that as a kid in New Zealand, cold overcast days like this indicated that he was going to get a bad report card from school. A chill ran up his spine as he pictured his father giving him what for.

He?d tried to work out, but his heart wasn’t in it, so he jogged along the edge of the harbor, returned and showered. Immediately thereafter, the first sign of the evilness of the day came in the form of a phone call from the liquor distributor. The San Pedro run was canceled because of a fatal accident on the Long Beach Freeway.

The red line on the phone buzzed and Marko picked it up.
“Marko,” Bandit said, “you may have to hit it down to Joe’s Liquor and pick up a case of Jack Daniels and Cuervo. I think we’re cool on everything else.”
“You got it, boss,” Marko said. “That?s not a good omen for the day, is it?”
“Don’t get religious on me,” Bandit said. “Let’s see how the day shapes up.”

Marko hung up and went about getting dressed and underway. He and Bandit had a thing about days like this and he would have preferred that Bandit ordered the Cantina closed. Business had been good over the weekend and the money was flowing in. Bandit didn’t like to let the regulars down for lunch during the week. They worked hard in the crummy industrial areas of the harbor and he liked to have good-looking girls and a warm meal for them at noon.

There were no new vistas to cross as the noon hour passed. Nyla wasn’t in the best mood because she was pulling a double shift while Bandit sought a new afternoon bartender. Marko noticed that about the middle of each month she would change and any additional stress wasn’t handled in her usual gleeful demeanor. She had that look today as she moved around the bar in a sullen mood, but there was something about her shape and those boobs that overcame the outward appearance of depression.

The fog was replaced by a low shroud of dismal clouds in the afternoon that gave the harbor that wintry, East Coast feel. It made Marko uneasy.

As the afternoon waned, he hoped that Bandit would shut the joint down for the evening. But as happy hour approached, Marko was immediately called back to the parking lot as two dock workers started to argue over a fender bender. The two tried to race for the same parking space with their pickups. Was it another forecast of what was to come? As he spoke to them, Marko felt a chill touch the back of his neck and he looked skyward to see the clouds become gathered and more ominous.

The Cantina had a reputation for closing during the rain as a message for riders to stay off the road and out of bars. Marko could swear that he sensed the first drop of rain, but as he looked around the graying asphalt in the parking lot he saw no black spots to confirm his evil inspiration. He calmed the two, motivated them to share information and bought each one their first drink.

By the time he inspected the remainder of the lot and returned to the interior of the bar, the two were fist fighting. He threw them out, making the more sensible one leave the premises first, then running off the hot head. It was a bad prophecy to the evening even as he watched the redhead Mandy flirt with Nyla.

Monday night wasn?t busy. It began to sprinkle at 6 p.m. but there was still no word from Bandit. Marko noticed two bikers park their matching Softails in the “bikes only” area and strolled into the bar, nodding at Marko. The dining room of 50 tables was nearly empty yet they picked a table at the back. Blackie looked at his buddy Storm, who was down-and-out, and motioned to Mandy. She popped over to their table rapidly with a basket of chips and a bowl of salsa.
“What are you going to have to drink?” Blackie asked Storm.
“Jack Daniels neat, a double,” Storm said. His face was a poster to lost loves. He was a good-looking man under a full beard and close-cropped, sandy-brown hair. He worked on the cranes that load the containers on the ships. He was restricted from sporting long hair, but they let him get away with the beard. He had been married for 15 years, and a week ago his wife announced that she wanted a divorce. Six months prior he was diagnosed with throat cancer from 20 years of smoking. He lit a cigarette.

“I’ll have a gold Cadillac margarita,” Blackie said to Mandy and she moved away. She could sense pressure at the table. Blackie barely made eye contact with her. Since her lunch with Jimbo, a relationship was beginning to spark and Mandy was taking better care of herself. Most men noticed.

The two men kept their eyes down. Blackie was 6 foot with shoulder-length black hair, black Levi?s and a black vest, hence his nickname. He was generally a light-hearted outlaw who bounced from one broad to the next without much thought. He was everyone’s fair weather friend and had known Storm since the service, 15 years prior. While Storm was the stable type, Blackie roamed constantly, but stayed in touch.

Shortly after Storm was hit with the cancer bug, his wife contacted Blackie about his depression. She complained that he had lost all his drive and desire. Blackie took her to lunch and listened. She talked about a sex life that had diminished to zip. Blackie patted her arm and she covered his hand in hers and looked him in the eyes. He avoided her attraction at first and promised to party with Storm and see if he could draw him out of his dire mood, and he kept his promise. But Storm was lost and began to drink heavily.

Storm’s wife, Nancy, was a voluptuous vixen with large round tits and curves that weren’t hidden by her clothes the second time they lunched. Always in the past Nancy wore Levi?s and sweatshirts that hid everything except the size of her pendulous jugs. She was almost in tears with the depression and abuse Storm was sliding across the table at her. That afternoon Blackie and Nancy spent their time under the sheets at the nearby Holiday Inn.

Blackie sipped his margarita as Storm downed the Jack straight. He thought back to the times he stood around bon fires drinking Jack straight. He wasn’t up to it anymore. “What the hell is on your mind?” Blackie asked.
“She wants a divorce,” Storm said barely lifting his eyes off the wooden spool table. His large round shoulders were hunched over as if to protect the drink cupped in calloused hands.
“She what?” Blackie said, expecting this to be another sounding board exercise for Storm?s depression over his illness.
“She told me she wants out,” Storm said. “The doctor says that if I stop drinking and stay on my treatments; I’ll beat this shit. We’ve been together 15 years and now, because of this shit, she wants to split.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Blackie said. He knew in his heart that he was no good for Nancy. He was a roamer. She couldn’t handle him, but he knew she had fallen in lust with him. He felt like shit. Blackie took a large gulp of the margarita on the rocks.
“Are you fucking my wife?” Storm said, pushing his shoulders back and lifting his head to be directly in line with Blackie’s furtive blue eyes. “Tell me, you sonuvabitch.”

Blackie felt as low as the crushed peanut shells beneath his feet, but he had listened to Storm’s depressed bullshit for months. He tried to bring the sonuvabitch around to save his marriage. Sure, he fucked his wife, and put some passion and pleasure back into her dour existence. He wasn’t trying to steal his wife. Blackie pushed his wooden chair back and stood up. “If you’d fuck her I wouldn’t have to, jack ass,” he spat.

Storm threw his glass of Jack at Blackie’s face and they went to blows. Marko sensed a tension between the two, like two brothers who needed to clear the air. He jogged across the room quickly, but hesitated as he neared the two men swinging wildly at one another. Storm cleared a shot to Blackie’s jaw and spun his brother toward a booth. Blackie crashed into the heavy table, Storm tackled him and they went to the deck.

At first Storm was on top flailing away with disconnected punches. Blackie grabbed Storm’s beard and pulled him to the cigarette butts and peanut shells scattered on the floor. “You need to take care of business and quit pissing and moaning,” he shouted as he rolled, knocking over chairs and pushing tables aside.
“I’ll kill you,” Storm muttered as he spat peanut crumbs from his mustache.

It was unlike Marko, but he stood back like a referee at a boxing match. Blackie jumped to his feet and Storm followed. He hunched over and tackled Blackie again, knocking over another chair and table as they clattered to the deck. Storm’s nose was bloodied with one of Blackie’s quick jabs, but it didn’t slow him down.

Mandy stood near the bar screaming and two other guys at the bar had gotten up and moved around Mandy to watch the action. A couple of citizens who came in for lunch were scared off. The jukebox played a Santana tune about murderers turning their lights on while rain pelted the windows outside.

Panting and spewing spittle at each other, the two rolled in the dust and crap on the deck. Blackie had on black cowboy boots that slipped against the shells, but he popped Storm again and leapt to his feet. Unstoppable Storm jumped to his feet and with his head down charged once more. “Give it up,” Blackie said, sidestepping his bull-like attacker.
“Never,” Storm said as he threw an upper cut between Blackie’s outthrust arms, cracking him in the jaw. That’s what Blackie hopped for, the passion he wanted to hear from his brother. “I love you brother,” he said, grabbing Storm’s wild swinging arm as the man burst into tears and grabbed him around the waist.
“I can’t lose you both,” Storm said.
“Just go home and tell her ‘never’,” Blackie said. “She’ll understand.”

Covered in scraps from the floor, they bellied up to the bar and ordered another round. Marko signaled for the busboy to help him clean up the mess. Bandit called down to the bar and Marko answered the phone. “Now you can shut the joint down,” he said. “You got it boss,” Marko said and hung up.

It was Friday night at Bandit’s Cantina, the hottest joint in town. The old Spanish style rough stucco building with red tiled roof looked out at the Los Angeles Harbor. The night was a cool, Southern California 60 degrees as two Asian men pulled into the parking lot on the edge of Harbor Boulevard in Steve’s, black Corvette. He had only been the day shift bartender for a short period of time. They pulled up behind a massive thorny Bougainvillea plant, standing 8 feet tall, separating them from the street.

Marko, the one man security force, recognized Steve’s Corvette. He moved closer and saw that there were two Asians inside and not Steve. He didn’t like what he smelled. Marko stepped into the Cantina where Nyla was the bubbly bartender with closely cropped dark hair. She was smiling sweetly as she moved with ease around the horseshoe styled bar filling drinks and taking care of Mandy’s and Tina’s orders. Tina was wired to the stops. Marko had been close enough to her to hear her teeth grinding and see the muscles in her jaw twitch. Her pupils were like pinheads darting around the room, but she was doing an admiral job. Her second shift was winding down.

Jimbo sat on a barstool at the corner of the bar and watched Tina as if he was a father figure. After their encounter in the afternoon for lunch, he would kill anyone who touched her. Marko understood human nature, was fascinated by it, but avoided the foibles of relationships like the black plaque. If he got laid, cool. If not he could care less. He had his heart broken severely once. That was enough. The bar was crowded with bikers and the spots reserved for bikes outside were jammed.

Marko stepped over to the bus boy stand adjacent to the Chinaman’s galley and picked up a small red phone to Bandit’s office up stairs. “Yeah,” came Bandit’s voice.
“We may have a problem brewing in the parking lot,” Marko said.
“It hasn’t reflected on the interior. Something to do with Steve.”
“Do you have your cell phone?” Bandit asked.
“Yeah,” Marko answered.
“Keep me posted,” Bandit said and hung up.

Marko took one final look around the large cantina. The band had taken a break and the polished hardwood dance floor was empty. The bar tables were full of longshoremen, bikers, truckers and locals listening to jukebox music and shooting the shit. He could see that there wasn’t any problem developing inside the Cantina. He went back outside.

It was nearly 11:00 when a lowered ’52 Chevy pickup rumbled into the parking lot and pulled up two parking spots from the Corvette. Marko looked at the cab with his small binoculars. He recognized Gomez and put two and two together. Gomez was not alone. A massive animal of a Mexican got out of the other side of the car facing the Corvette. Hanging at his side was a coach shotgun with dual exterior hammers. He stepped out of the truck and pulled the gun to waist height aimed it at the two men getting out of the Corvette and cocked the hammers. Gomez got out of the driver’s side and rounded the bed of the lowered truck. He had on dual shoulder holsters, both containing glistening stainless .357 mag revolvers. He was wearing fingerless gloves and his hands twitched. It was turning from an OK coral scene to a Mexican showdown right in the Cantina’s parking lot.

Gomez knew that sooner or later he would face down the Asian Tong gang that thought they had some territory in the region. He also thought they were bullshit punks and Pedro and Wilmington were Hispanic communities and they had no business in his area. “Fuck ’em,” he thought reaching under his arms for the pistols.

Han who was riding in the passenger side spotted the pickup first and pulled his nasty Uzi automatic weapon, checked the 30-round clip, cocked the action and checked to make sure the safety was off. He spun out of the car and got to his feet behind it while holding the weapon at his side.

The driver pulled his semi-auto Browning out of his shoulder holster and started to get out of the driver’s side facing the giant of a man in a white t-shirt holding the shotgun leveled at him. It was after 11:00 yet he was wearing narrow sunglasses.

Marko watched the Mexican standoff materialize right before his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. He was standing at the corner of a van. He also was wearing his modified .45 under his left armpit, but who the hell would he shoot? This was going to be the shits. A part of him was excited as hell. There was fear mixed with his duty to keep shit from happening at the Cantina when his cell phone began to vibrate at his side. It jolted his senses as if someone had stuck a gun in his ribs. “Hello?” he whispered dipping down behind the van he was using for protection.
“Marko,” Bandit said, “Give the phone to Gomez.”
“You got it,” Marko said and started to step out from behind the black mid ’70s van. Then suddenly he realized that he was walking into an armed hornet’s nest. He held the phone to his ear knowing full well the answer to his question. “You got a plan?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bandit said.
“Never mind,” Marko whispered then cleared his voice loudly distracting the men in the midst of a sweaty palm standoff, less than ten feet from each other. Gomez recognized Marko as Bandit’s main man for years and no slouch or bullshitter. His guard, the mammoth Mexican stayed transfixed on the two Asians.
“I’ve got a call for you Gomez,” Marko said walking briskly to the scene by not stepping between them. Gomez slipped one of his glittering weapons back in its holster and took the phone. “This better be good,” he said.
“I’ve got Steve,” Bandit said. “So you can go home.”
“Not sure I want to,” Gomez said.
“You know that your world will turn to shit if you fire one round,” Bandit said, “now let me speak to Han.”

Gomez put his other gun away lifted his hands above his head and stepped forward. He knew Bandit was right. He had a good thing going, a good ol’ lady, all the sex he wanted on the side and he was living fat. He handed the phone over the roof of the Corvette to Han and stepped back.
“Who is this?” Han said.
“Never mind,” Bandit said, “Just listen to this.”
“He is here,” the Asian waitress said her voice quivering, “he has released Steve and has taken me. He wants you to leave Steve’s keys in his car and walk back to the restaurant. Also leave your weapons in the car. He will return them. If you don’t do what he say…” her voice was high suddenly and fearful.
“We gotta deal?” Bandit said. “I’ll send Steve back to Hollywood where he belongs. I won’t have drug dealers working out of the Cantina.”
Han didn’t know whether to be respectful or mad. He also knew the implications of a war. “Okay,” he said reluctantly.
“I’m going to let this settle for a week,” Bandit said, “Then I’m putting you and Gomez together. I gotta get back to the Cantina. Give the phone back to Marko.”
“Yes sir,” Marko said standing next to the big Mexican.
“I cut a deal. Help them out of the parking lot,” Bandit said.
“I’ll see you at the shop in 10 minutes.”

The phone went dead and Marko clipped it to his belt. “Alright men, it’s all over,” Marko said and put his index finger under the barrel of the shotgun and press upward. The big Mexican scowled at him and looked to his boss who nodded. The two Asians uncocked their weapons put them on safety and slipped them in the back of the Corvette behind the seats and covered them with papers. They stepped out of the car, shut the door and Marko made a point to shake each man’s hand, thank him and look him directly in his eyes.

He offered the same condolences to Gomez and his partner as they got back in the pick up and headed for Harbor Boulevard.

Marko sighed deeply as he slipped behind the seat of the Corvette and started it. It was black on the outside and the inside with black leather seats. There was a dusting of cigarette ashes that looked and smelled like crap as he put it in gear and drove it slowly to the back of the Cantina where the shop was. He pulled up, opened the garage door and took the weapons inside as Bandit’s truck pulled up and Steve got out. As soon as he did the flamed truck pulled away.

Steve stood in the doorway to the garage. He was a mess. He had pissed himself. His face was bloody, bruised and his hair was a mess. Marko’s phone jiggled on his waist again.
“Yes boss,” Marko said.
“Pay him off and send him down the road. He almost destroyed our lifestyle. Hopefully he learned something.” Bandit said and hung up.

Marko closed his phone and looked at tall Steve standing there visibly shaking. Marko had Steve’s car keys in his pocket. “Don’t move,” Marko said, went in an interior door to the Cantina and returned in five minutes.

“Here’s your pay,” Marko said handing him an envelope and pulling Steve’s keys out of his pocket. He looked at Steve and estimated that Bandit had given him a couple more lessons before they returned to the garage. The man was a bag of nervous bones. Tears and slobber were all over the front of his cheap white dress shirt and he smelled of urine.
“Can I clean up?” Steve said almost pleading.
“No,” Marko said and threw Steve’s keys in the driver window of the car. “Get the fuck out and don’t ever call or contact us. I don’t care if you need the time of day. Forget it. If you ever deal drugs in this territory again, you can expect that we will put and end to it and you without hesitation. Get the fuck out of here.”

Steve turned toward his car and got in. Marko watched as he closed the door, started the car and drove to the edge of the lot, before disappearing onto Harbor Boulevard.

Marko was relieved to see him go, and thought that for the first time in several weeks he would look forward to fishing off the dock in the morning.

It was Friday night at Bandit’s Cantina, the hottest joint in town. The old Spanish style rough stucco building with red tiled roof looked out at the Los Angeles Harbor. The night was a cool, Southern California 60 degrees as two Asian men pulled into the parking lot on the edge of Harbor Boulevard in Steve’s, black Corvette. He had only been the day shift bartender for a short period of time. They pulled up behind a massive thorny Bougainvillea plant, standing 8 feet tall, separating them from the street.

Marko, the one man security force, recognized Steve’s Corvette. He moved closer and saw that there were two Asians inside and not Steve. He didn’t like what he smelled. Marko stepped into the Cantina where Nyla was the bubbly bartender with closely cropped dark hair. She was smiling sweetly as she moved with ease around the horseshoe styled bar filling drinks and taking care of Mandy’s and Tina’s orders. Tina was wired to the stops. Marko had been close enough to her to hear her teeth grinding and see the muscles in her jaw twitch. Her pupils were like pinheads darting around the room, but she was doing an admiral job. Her second shift was winding down.

Jimbo sat on a barstool at the corner of the bar and watched Tina as if he was a father figure. After their encounter in the afternoon for lunch, he would kill anyone who touched her. Marko understood human nature, was fascinated by it, but avoided the foibles of relationships like the black plaque. If he got laid, cool. If not he could care less. He had his heart broken severely once. That was enough. The bar was crowded with bikers and the spots reserved for bikes outside were jammed.

Marko stepped over to the bus boy stand adjacent to the Chinaman’s galley and picked up a small red phone to Bandit’s office up stairs. “Yeah,” came Bandit’s voice.
“We may have a problem brewing in the parking lot,” Marko said.
“It hasn’t reflected on the interior. Something to do with Steve.”
“Do you have your cell phone?” Bandit asked.
“Yeah,” Marko answered.
“Keep me posted,” Bandit said and hung up.

Marko took one final look around the large cantina. The band had taken a break and the polished hardwood dance floor was empty. The bar tables were full of longshoremen, bikers, truckers and locals listening to jukebox music and shooting the shit. He could see that there wasn’t any problem developing inside the Cantina. He went back outside.

It was nearly 11:00 when a lowered ’52 Chevy pickup rumbled into the parking lot and pulled up two parking spots from the Corvette. Marko looked at the cab with his small binoculars. He recognized Gomez and put two and two together. Gomez was not alone. A massive animal of a Mexican got out of the other side of the car facing the Corvette. Hanging at his side was a coach shotgun with dual exterior hammers. He stepped out of the truck and pulled the gun to waist height aimed it at the two men getting out of the Corvette and cocked the hammers. Gomez got out of the driver’s side and rounded the bed of the lowered truck. He had on dual shoulder holsters, both containing glistening stainless .357 mag revolvers. He was wearing fingerless gloves and his hands twitched. It was turning from an OK coral scene to a Mexican showdown right in the Cantina’s parking lot.

Gomez knew that sooner or later he would face down the Asian Tong gang that thought they had some territory in the region. He also thought they were bullshit punks and Pedro and Wilmington were Hispanic communities and they had no business in his area. “Fuck ’em,” he thought reaching under his arms for the pistols.

Han who was riding in the passenger side spotted the pickup first and pulled his nasty Uzi automatic weapon, checked the 30-round clip, cocked the action and checked to make sure the safety was off. He spun out of the car and got to his feet behind it while holding the weapon at his side.

The driver pulled his semi-auto Browning out of his shoulder holster and started to get out of the driver’s side facing the giant of a man in a white t-shirt holding the shotgun leveled at him. It was after 11:00 yet he was wearing narrow sunglasses.

Marko watched the Mexican standoff materialize right before his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. He was standing at the corner of a van. He also was wearing his modified .45 under his left armpit, but who the hell would he shoot? This was going to be the shits. A part of him was excited as hell. There was fear mixed with his duty to keep shit from happening at the Cantina when his cell phone began to vibrate at his side. It jolted his senses as if someone had stuck a gun in his ribs. “Hello?” he whispered dipping down behind the van he was using for protection.
“Marko,” Bandit said, “Give the phone to Gomez.”
“You got it,” Marko said and started to step out from behind the black mid ’70s van. Then suddenly he realized that he was walking into an armed hornet’s nest. He held the phone to his ear knowing full well the answer to his question. “You got a plan?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bandit said.
“Never mind,” Marko whispered then cleared his voice loudly distracting the men in the midst of a sweaty palm standoff, less than ten feet from each other. Gomez recognized Marko as Bandit’s main man for years and no slouch or bullshitter. His guard, the mammoth Mexican stayed transfixed on the two Asians.
“I’ve got a call for you Gomez,” Marko said walking briskly to the scene by not stepping between them. Gomez slipped one of his glittering weapons back in its holster and took the phone. “This better be good,” he said.
“I’ve got Steve,” Bandit said. “So you can go home.”
“Not sure I want to,” Gomez said.
“You know that your world will turn to shit if you fire one round,” Bandit said, “now let me speak to Han.”

Gomez put his other gun away lifted his hands above his head and stepped forward. He knew Bandit was right. He had a good thing going, a good ol’ lady, all the sex he wanted on the side and he was living fat. He handed the phone over the roof of the Corvette to Han and stepped back.
“Who is this?” Han said.
“Never mind,” Bandit said, “Just listen to this.”
“He is here,” the Asian waitress said her voice quivering, “he has released Steve and has taken me. He wants you to leave Steve’s keys in his car and walk back to the restaurant. Also leave your weapons in the car. He will return them. If you don’t do what he say…” her voice was high suddenly and fearful.
“We gotta deal?” Bandit said. “I’ll send Steve back to Hollywood where he belongs. I won’t have drug dealers working out of the Cantina.”
Han didn’t know whether to be respectful or mad. He also knew the implications of a war. “Okay,” he said reluctantly.
“I’m going to let this settle for a week,” Bandit said, “Then I’m putting you and Gomez together. I gotta get back to the Cantina. Give the phone back to Marko.”
“Yes sir,” Marko said standing next to the big Mexican.
“I cut a deal. Help them out of the parking lot,” Bandit said.
“I’ll see you at the shop in 10 minutes.”

The phone went dead and Marko clipped it to his belt. “Alright men, it’s all over,” Marko said and put his index finger under the barrel of the shotgun and press upward. The big Mexican scowled at him and looked to his boss who nodded. The two Asians uncocked their weapons put them on safety and slipped them in the back of the Corvette behind the seats and covered them with papers. They stepped out of the car, shut the door and Marko made a point to shake each man’s hand, thank him and look him directly in his eyes.

He offered the same condolences to Gomez and his partner as they got back in the pick up and headed for Harbor Boulevard.

Marko sighed deeply as he slipped behind the seat of the Corvette and started it. It was black on the outside and the inside with black leather seats. There was a dusting of cigarette ashes that looked and smelled like crap as he put it in gear and drove it slowly to the back of the Cantina where the shop was. He pulled up, opened the garage door and took the weapons inside as Bandit’s truck pulled up and Steve got out. As soon as he did the flamed truck pulled away.

Steve stood in the doorway to the garage. He was a mess. He had pissed himself. His face was bloody, bruised and his hair was a mess. Marko’s phone jiggled on his waist again.
“Yes boss,” Marko said.
“Pay him off and send him down the road. He almost destroyed our lifestyle. Hopefully he learned something.” Bandit said and hung up.

Marko closed his phone and looked at tall Steve standing there visibly shaking. Marko had Steve’s car keys in his pocket. “Don’t move,” Marko said, went in an interior door to the Cantina and returned in five minutes.

“Here’s your pay,” Marko said handing him an envelope and pulling Steve’s keys out of his pocket. He looked at Steve and estimated that Bandit had given him a couple more lessons before they returned to the garage. The man was a bag of nervous bones. Tears and slobber were all over the front of his cheap white dress shirt and he smelled of urine.
“Can I clean up?” Steve said almost pleading.
“No,” Marko said and threw Steve’s keys in the driver window of the car. “Get the fuck out and don’t ever call or contact us. I don’t care if you need the time of day. Forget it. If you ever deal drugs in this territory again, you can expect that we will put and end to it and you without hesitation. Get the fuck out of here.”

Steve turned toward his car and got in. Marko watched as he closed the door, started the car and drove to the edge of the lot, before disappearing onto Harbor Boulevard.

Marko was relieved to see him go, and thought that for the first time in several weeks he would look forward to fishing off the dock in the morning.

Nyla was working furiously behind the bar. Happy hour was in full swing. The Cantina was packed with dockworkers, longshoremen and tugboat crews. There were even a handful of bikers. There weren’t a lot of girls in the bar. The Chinaman had created some of his specialty, Mexican egg rolls and fried won ton instead of chips with his specialty, a sweet and sour salsa. The jute box was blaring and the televisions were covering the latest sporting events.

Tina was still wired to the stops and Mandy was holding her own bouncing from table to table. Marko had control of the interior and watched the exterior and parking lot for strange behavior. It was early yet, the sun was just beginning to dip behind the Palos Verdes Peninsula. The sky was full of crimson clouds and golden streaks. The Cantina was noted for its view of the harbor and massive freighters that languished on the water under the power of sea-going tugs. Customers got a bird’s eye view of any vessels entering or leaving the main channel.

Jimbo pulled up on his bike and parked it near the entrance. Marko, behind Bandit’s rules, made sure that bikers got the prime spots and that all riding stock was carefully watched. Jimbo entered through the large oak doors and immediately spotted Tina waiting tables. This usually wasn’t her shift. He made his way to the bar and ordered a beer. “What’s Tina doing here?” Jimbo asked Nyla.

“She’s working a double shift,” Nyla said bouncing from one station to another. She looked hot in her little outfit and every time she bent over to prepare a drink customers were afforded soft entertainment in the form of her jiggling tits. Jimbo looked down her blouse and let out a long sigh then took a swallow from his beer. “You should make your move tonight. She’s prime,” Nyla whispered.
“I’ll give it a shot,” Jimbo said. “Any reason why tonight?”
“That asshole Steve isn’t around,” Nyla said pouring four shots of Jack Daniels, “And she’s been taking Spanish Fly all day.”
“What?” Jimbo said.
“Stick around, you’ll see,” Nyla said moving to another section of the bar to deal with shouting customers.

Tina came to the bar with her tray and bellied up to the waitress station to unload glasses and enter another order.
“Hi Tina,” Jimbo said
“Hi Jimbo,” Tina returned, “Nyla, baby, I need some drinks,” She shouted across the island to where Nyla was working. Tina unloaded her tray of the empties and stepped away from the bar to the busboy station to grab a clean towel and wipe down her sloppy tray.

Nyla bussed around the bar and when she saw Jimbo and Tina’s proximity was clear she leaned over the bar sticking her large breasts under his nose,” Give her something,” Nyla whispered.
“Are you sure?” Jimbo said. He wasn’t a forward kind of guy, but he wanted a woman bad and Tina even worse. He had a hankerin’ that he could straighten her out if only he could make the connection.

Nyla was too busy to answer she just raised her cute eyebrows and started to fill Tina’s drink order. Tina was back in a flash, standing at the waitress station.

Jimbo left his beer on the bar and ran out to Harbor Blvd in front of the Cantina. There was usually a small Mexican kid on the island selling roses to the motorists who were trying to make a left onto the Vincent Thomas Bridge. The kid was standing on the island as cars whizzed past holding an arm full of red roses. Jimbo ran up to the curb and hollered, “Gimme a dozen.”

The kid was at his side in minute exchanging cash and roses. Jimbo returned to the bar as Nyla was finishing the last of Tina’s drink order. At the site of a dozen roses she raised her eyebrows and jiggled her tits, “Impressive.”

Jimbo leaned forward and put one hand on the railing that separated the rest of the bar from the waitresses and leaned forward. “Here’s just a little something to let you know that I care.” He handed her the dozen crimson roses and for some reason the notion flew around the bar and half the brothers stood up and applauded. Tina was completely caught off guard. No one had treated her with such kindness in as long as she could remember. No one had given her a romantic present in just as long.

For the first time she looked at Jimbo with open eyes. “I don’t know what to say,” she muttered as the crowd applauded.
“Let’s have a cup of coffee later,” Jimbo said.
“I have a break coming up in a few minutes, and I need it,” Tina said.
“I’ll be here,” Jimbo said. “Now, deliver the goddamn drinks, Tina,” Bandit said wandering through the Cantina and spotting the action. “Nice work, Jimbo.”
“Thanks, brother,” Jimbo said and smiled like he hadn’t in months. Ten minutes passed quickly and Tina grabbed a long coat she had in the back to cover her uniform. She followed Jimbo to his bike, “I’ve got to be back in an hour,” Tina said.
“No problem,” Jimbo said, “Get on.”

Tina hadn’t done much riding and Jimbo warned her about getting the coat caught in the rear wheel. He rolled up Harbor Boulevard to the 22nd Street Landing and pulled into the restaurant parking lot. He asked the Host for a booth overlooking the harbor so that Tina would be comfortable and she noticed the care he took for her. “Thank you, Jimbo, that’s very kind,” she said slipping her arm in his.

The booth was a padded horseshoe and they moved to the back to watch the sunset as they ordered dinner. Tina was rambling mentally. It was a day from some other planet. She had experienced a woman for the first time, received roses for the first time in years, got a lift on a motorcycle and for the first time got a real look at one of the good guys who came around the Cantina. She was amazed and still wired. She found comfort in talking to the big guy with kind eyes. He listened intently as she poured forth with her problems and rugged past. She only ate soup and had a glass of wine, while he had a slab of broiled Salmon and a Caesars salad. He kept and eye on his watch and made sure the tab was paid and they were walking back to his scoot in plenty of time.

When they rumbled up to the Cantina, Jimbo helped her off the bike. “I’m not going back in right now, but if you want me to come back at closing I will. I’ll take you some place where you can rest, but no drugs.” “Please,” she said and kissed him gently then strolled quickly back inside.

Nyla was working furiously behind the bar. Happy hour was in full swing. The Cantina was packed with dockworkers, longshoremen and tugboat crews. There were even a handful of bikers. There weren’t a lot of girls in the bar. The Chinaman had created some of his specialty, Mexican egg rolls and fried won ton instead of chips with his specialty, a sweet and sour salsa. The jute box was blaring and the televisions were covering the latest sporting events.

Tina was still wired to the stops and Mandy was holding her own bouncing from table to table. Marko had control of the interior and watched the exterior and parking lot for strange behavior. It was early yet, the sun was just beginning to dip behind the Palos Verdes Peninsula. The sky was full of crimson clouds and golden streaks. The Cantina was noted for its view of the harbor and massive freighters that languished on the water under the power of sea-going tugs. Customers got a bird’s eye view of any vessels entering or leaving the main channel.

Jimbo pulled up on his bike and parked it near the entrance. Marko, behind Bandit’s rules, made sure that bikers got the prime spots and that all riding stock was carefully watched. Jimbo entered through the large oak doors and immediately spotted Tina waiting tables. This usually wasn’t her shift. He made his way to the bar and ordered a beer. “What’s Tina doing here?” Jimbo asked Nyla.

“She’s working a double shift,” Nyla said bouncing from one station to another. She looked hot in her little outfit and every time she bent over to prepare a drink customers were afforded soft entertainment in the form of her jiggling tits. Jimbo looked down her blouse and let out a long sigh then took a swallow from his beer. “You should make your move tonight. She’s prime,” Nyla whispered.
“I’ll give it a shot,” Jimbo said. “Any reason why tonight?”
“That asshole Steve isn’t around,” Nyla said pouring four shots of Jack Daniels, “And she’s been taking Spanish Fly all day.”
“What?” Jimbo said.
“Stick around, you’ll see,” Nyla said moving to another section of the bar to deal with shouting customers.

Tina came to the bar with her tray and bellied up to the waitress station to unload glasses and enter another order.
“Hi Tina,” Jimbo said
“Hi Jimbo,” Tina returned, “Nyla, baby, I need some drinks,” She shouted across the island to where Nyla was working. Tina unloaded her tray of the empties and stepped away from the bar to the busboy station to grab a clean towel and wipe down her sloppy tray.

Nyla bussed around the bar and when she saw Jimbo and Tina’s proximity was clear she leaned over the bar sticking her large breasts under his nose,” Give her something,” Nyla whispered.
“Are you sure?” Jimbo said. He wasn’t a forward kind of guy, but he wanted a woman bad and Tina even worse. He had a hankerin’ that he could straighten her out if only he could make the connection.

Nyla was too busy to answer she just raised her cute eyebrows and started to fill Tina’s drink order. Tina was back in a flash, standing at the waitress station.

Jimbo left his beer on the bar and ran out to Harbor Blvd in front of the Cantina. There was usually a small Mexican kid on the island selling roses to the motorists who were trying to make a left onto the Vincent Thomas Bridge. The kid was standing on the island as cars whizzed past holding an arm full of red roses. Jimbo ran up to the curb and hollered, “Gimme a dozen.”

The kid was at his side in minute exchanging cash and roses. Jimbo returned to the bar as Nyla was finishing the last of Tina’s drink order. At the site of a dozen roses she raised her eyebrows and jiggled her tits, “Impressive.”

Jimbo leaned forward and put one hand on the railing that separated the rest of the bar from the waitresses and leaned forward. “Here’s just a little something to let you know that I care.” He handed her the dozen crimson roses and for some reason the notion flew around the bar and half the brothers stood up and applauded. Tina was completely caught off guard. No one had treated her with such kindness in as long as she could remember. No one had given her a romantic present in just as long.

For the first time she looked at Jimbo with open eyes. “I don’t know what to say,” she muttered as the crowd applauded.
“Let’s have a cup of coffee later,” Jimbo said.
“I have a break coming up in a few minutes, and I need it,” Tina said.
“I’ll be here,” Jimbo said. “Now, deliver the goddamn drinks, Tina,” Bandit said wandering through the Cantina and spotting the action. “Nice work, Jimbo.”
“Thanks, brother,” Jimbo said and smiled like he hadn’t in months. Ten minutes passed quickly and Tina grabbed a long coat she had in the back to cover her uniform. She followed Jimbo to his bike, “I’ve got to be back in an hour,” Tina said.
“No problem,” Jimbo said, “Get on.”

Tina hadn’t done much riding and Jimbo warned her about getting the coat caught in the rear wheel. He rolled up Harbor Boulevard to the 22nd Street Landing and pulled into the restaurant parking lot. He asked the Host for a booth overlooking the harbor so that Tina would be comfortable and she noticed the care he took for her. “Thank you, Jimbo, that’s very kind,” she said slipping her arm in his.

The booth was a padded horseshoe and they moved to the back to watch the sunset as they ordered dinner. Tina was rambling mentally. It was a day from some other planet. She had experienced a woman for the first time, received roses for the first time in years, got a lift on a motorcycle and for the first time got a real look at one of the good guys who came around the Cantina. She was amazed and still wired. She found comfort in talking to the big guy with kind eyes. He listened intently as she poured forth with her problems and rugged past. She only ate soup and had a glass of wine, while he had a slab of broiled Salmon and a Caesars salad. He kept and eye on his watch and made sure the tab was paid and they were walking back to his scoot in plenty of time.

When they rumbled up to the Cantina, Jimbo helped her off the bike. “I’m not going back in right now, but if you want me to come back at closing I will. I’ll take you some place where you can rest, but no drugs.” “Please,” she said and kissed him gently then strolled quickly back inside.

Slick Steve rolled south on Avalon, the center of the Wilmington corridor. It was a town that could have been taken for a small city south of the border. It was a mass of Mexican signage and people. He wondered what the hell had hit him. He was confused. He had grown up in a middle-class neighborhood in a small suburb of Phoenix. He had never known anything except the ordinary. When he discovered that he wasn?t going to attend college, he tried the barkeep profession mostly for the women. The longer he poured liquor for women, the more likely he was going to get laid. He wasn?t much of a lover either. In most cases the girls he caught didn?t return to the bar. He lacked finesse, consideration and a romantic air.

When he discovered drugs in Hollywood, it gave him an edge with the sequined girls who frequented Hollywood bars looking for fame or a famous man to hook. If a girl had looks and a body, they thought they had a shot. Steve was unaware of the ploy. He just wanted to get laid. Slick Steve lived in a single-bedroom flat behind a home in Lomita, a lackluster, middle- class burg. He pulled off the freeway and headed along PCH to Western then south to a small side street, where he turned in and found his small pad. He parked and went inside where he showered, made himself a margarita and wondered where he could find a woman for the night. He stayed away from Hollywood after the bust, and he was generally afraid of Bandit so he didn?t hang around the Cantina after hours. He knew that if Bandit was aware that he was dealing from the club, he?d be fired post haste. A false confidence washed over Steve as he showered and dressed in his usual Hollywood attire of all black. He had a pocket full of crank and some woman would surely fall prey to his lure. He was certain that he could use one bag for bait and the rest for sales. He even had a joint in mind that he might hit.

It was a small Filipino restaurant not far from the Cantina that almost overlooked the West Basin of the Los Angeles Harbor, except for the stacks of containers blocking the view.

Steve fired up the Corvette and headed for a bar that others said was a money laundering fa?ade for a Filipino gang. Steve didn?t know shit about the gang and basically construed Filipinos as small, cute people. He drove to the bar on Harbor Boulevard and pulled into the dusty parking lot at the base of Knoll Hill. There were only a handful of cars in the lot when Steve, coated in cheap aftershave, wandered in the door. Inside the place was dark and mysterious. A two-man band plunked away on a small corner stage. Steve surveyed the room full of Asian people then headed for the bar. He pulled up a stool and sat down.

The most gorgeous Chinese girl in a form-fitting black dress turned toward Steve and her eyes brightened. The dress had a high neck collar and was slit up the side. Her skin was polished ivory smooth and she seemed to glide along the deck in Steve?s direction. She leaned close and he could see her skin was as soft as the satin material. ?Can I get you something to drink, big boy?? she said.

?Yeah, I?ll have a Gold Cadillac,? Steve said as his eyes were drained of any images except hers. ?I?m looking for some action. Does this place heat up later??

She glanced up but didn?t say anything. Behind Steve, six men at a small corner table grew silent. One of them, a young man who sat bolt upright, poked the taller Asian next to him. Four men turned and two older men paid no attention. The conversation turned to Steve as the men spoke. Then one got to his feet and buttoned his sport coat over a black turtleneck sweater. He was Korean, with hard angular features. He walked with a slight hobble in one of his knees. He was in excellent shape and moved like a man who could handle himself.

?You make this place about as hot as it gets,? the lady bartender said as she slid Steve?s drink down the heavily lacquered bar. As Steve reached for the drink, the young man slid up to the bar and rested his arm in Steve?s path to the margarita. Steve, oblivious to the move, began to reach over the young Asian?s forearm. The young man, Han, moved like the smooth snap of a bullwhip. He shoved Steve?s drink away, spun and trapped Steve?s forearm with his left arm. He turned the elbow and pushed down. ?What?” Steve whimpered in pain. ?My God.? ?Are you out of your mind?? Han said quietly, ?I believe you are.? ?What, what?? Steve stammered. ?You?re hurting me.? Han turned his elbow slightly and pressed his wrist against the bar. Steve whimpered some more. ?Does Bandit know you?re a dealer?? Han said. ?No, no he doesn?t,? Steve said. ?Let me go.? ?Did you know you were dealing in our territory?? Han said as the other three Asians surrounded the action and the tallest of the three said, ?Let?s take him into the private office.?

Steve was sweating as the three guided him into the back room and tied him to a chair in the middle. The four men in black moved around the office. Steve was scared and confused. He just wanted to deal drugs and fuck as many women as would have him. The outside of the restaurant/bar may have looked unkempt but the office could have been in any downtown Los Angeles high rise. The nature and artifacts were Asian and the office was as clean as a polished pin with a black pearl fastened to the head. The young men dimmed the light until only one shone in Steve?s face. The duct tape held Steve securely in his wooden armless chair. Behind Steve, one of the men held a varnished stick about ?-inch in diameter and a yard long.

?Do you know what you?re doing, Steve?? Han asked. ?I?m not doing anything,? Steve said. He saw Han nod at the man behind him. The tallest of the four stood almost 6 foot, with short black hair and a thin but athletically trimmed form. Steve could hear the stick sing through the air like whip. It seemed to pass by his head several times before it contacted his right trap with its first strike. Another man stepped forward and shoved a rag in Steve?s mouth a split second before he attempted to scream. The varnished weapon continued to surround Steve?s head with jet-like speed.

?Either you?re an idiot,? Han said, ?or you don?t know what the fuck you are doing. Did you expect to come to Los Angeles and start dealing drugs and not tread on anyone?s turf? Does this look like a new neighborhood, new ground ripe for the taking? This is Los Angeles motherfucker, and as of tonight, you are out of business.?

Sweat ran all over Steve?s face while the Korean martial arts weapon sung past his head with lightning speed and struck Steve?s left trap. He grimaced with pain and tried to fold away from the strikes, but couldn?t. He began to cry behind a mouthful of cloth.

?Steve, I?m going to ask you a few questions. If you answer honestly, I may allow you to live.? Han motioned for his brother to stop his uncanny display of Filipino weaponry. The man stopped abruptly, bowed and took a step backward. ?Does Bandit know?? Steve shook his head. . ?Where are you getting your supply?? Han questioned. ?Is it Gomez?? Steve nodded. Han motioned for another soldier to get on the phone. ?Call him!? ?Do you have any other contacts?? Han asked. Steve shook his head adamantly. ?Do you deal anywhere else?? Han asked, getting close to Steve. Steve wrenched his head back and forth to say no again. Piss was running down his leg. ?You don?t have any business being in this deadly racket, do you Steve?? Han asked and turned toward his brother on the phone.

Snatching the receiver from his brother?s hand, he said into the phone, ?Gomez, how are you? We have a problem. I have your sleazy white boy Steve over here. I need to talk to you.? Han?s voice was as cold as frozen fish. ?In an hour, in front of the Cantina. If you don?t make it, neither will Steve.? He hung up.

Slick Steve rolled south on Avalon, the center of the Wilmington corridor. It was a town that could have been taken for a small city south of the border. It was a mass of Mexican signage and people. He wondered what the hell had hit him. He was confused. He had grown up in a middle-class neighborhood in a small suburb of Phoenix. He had never known anything except the ordinary. When he discovered that he wasn?t going to attend college, he tried the barkeep profession mostly for the women. The longer he poured liquor for women, the more likely he was going to get laid. He wasn?t much of a lover either. In most cases the girls he caught didn?t return to the bar. He lacked finesse, consideration and a romantic air.

When he discovered drugs in Hollywood, it gave him an edge with the sequined girls who frequented Hollywood bars looking for fame or a famous man to hook. If a girl had looks and a body, they thought they had a shot. Steve was unaware of the ploy. He just wanted to get laid. Slick Steve lived in a single-bedroom flat behind a home in Lomita, a lackluster, middle- class burg. He pulled off the freeway and headed along PCH to Western then south to a small side street, where he turned in and found his small pad. He parked and went inside where he showered, made himself a margarita and wondered where he could find a woman for the night. He stayed away from Hollywood after the bust, and he was generally afraid of Bandit so he didn?t hang around the Cantina after hours. He knew that if Bandit was aware that he was dealing from the club, he?d be fired post haste. A false confidence washed over Steve as he showered and dressed in his usual Hollywood attire of all black. He had a pocket full of crank and some woman would surely fall prey to his lure. He was certain that he could use one bag for bait and the rest for sales. He even had a joint in mind that he might hit.

It was a small Filipino restaurant not far from the Cantina that almost overlooked the West Basin of the Los Angeles Harbor, except for the stacks of containers blocking the view.

Steve fired up the Corvette and headed for a bar that others said was a money laundering fa?ade for a Filipino gang. Steve didn?t know shit about the gang and basically construed Filipinos as small, cute people. He drove to the bar on Harbor Boulevard and pulled into the dusty parking lot at the base of Knoll Hill. There were only a handful of cars in the lot when Steve, coated in cheap aftershave, wandered in the door. Inside the place was dark and mysterious. A two-man band plunked away on a small corner stage. Steve surveyed the room full of Asian people then headed for the bar. He pulled up a stool and sat down.

The most gorgeous Chinese girl in a form-fitting black dress turned toward Steve and her eyes brightened. The dress had a high neck collar and was slit up the side. Her skin was polished ivory smooth and she seemed to glide along the deck in Steve?s direction. She leaned close and he could see her skin was as soft as the satin material. ?Can I get you something to drink, big boy?? she said.

?Yeah, I?ll have a Gold Cadillac,? Steve said as his eyes were drained of any images except hers. ?I?m looking for some action. Does this place heat up later??

She glanced up but didn?t say anything. Behind Steve, six men at a small corner table grew silent. One of them, a young man who sat bolt upright, poked the taller Asian next to him. Four men turned and two older men paid no attention. The conversation turned to Steve as the men spoke. Then one got to his feet and buttoned his sport coat over a black turtleneck sweater. He was Korean, with hard angular features. He walked with a slight hobble in one of his knees. He was in excellent shape and moved like a man who could handle himself.

?You make this place about as hot as it gets,? the lady bartender said as she slid Steve?s drink down the heavily lacquered bar. As Steve reached for the drink, the young man slid up to the bar and rested his arm in Steve?s path to the margarita. Steve, oblivious to the move, began to reach over the young Asian?s forearm. The young man, Han, moved like the smooth snap of a bullwhip. He shoved Steve?s drink away, spun and trapped Steve?s forearm with his left arm. He turned the elbow and pushed down. ?What?” Steve whimpered in pain. ?My God.? ?Are you out of your mind?? Han said quietly, ?I believe you are.? ?What, what?? Steve stammered. ?You?re hurting me.? Han turned his elbow slightly and pressed his wrist against the bar. Steve whimpered some more. ?Does Bandit know you?re a dealer?? Han said. ?No, no he doesn?t,? Steve said. ?Let me go.? ?Did you know you were dealing in our territory?? Han said as the other three Asians surrounded the action and the tallest of the three said, ?Let?s take him into the private office.?

Steve was sweating as the three guided him into the back room and tied him to a chair in the middle. The four men in black moved around the office. Steve was scared and confused. He just wanted to deal drugs and fuck as many women as would have him. The outside of the restaurant/bar may have looked unkempt but the office could have been in any downtown Los Angeles high rise. The nature and artifacts were Asian and the office was as clean as a polished pin with a black pearl fastened to the head. The young men dimmed the light until only one shone in Steve?s face. The duct tape held Steve securely in his wooden armless chair. Behind Steve, one of the men held a varnished stick about ?-inch in diameter and a yard long.

?Do you know what you?re doing, Steve?? Han asked. ?I?m not doing anything,? Steve said. He saw Han nod at the man behind him. The tallest of the four stood almost 6 foot, with short black hair and a thin but athletically trimmed form. Steve could hear the stick sing through the air like whip. It seemed to pass by his head several times before it contacted his right trap with its first strike. Another man stepped forward and shoved a rag in Steve?s mouth a split second before he attempted to scream. The varnished weapon continued to surround Steve?s head with jet-like speed.

?Either you?re an idiot,? Han said, ?or you don?t know what the fuck you are doing. Did you expect to come to Los Angeles and start dealing drugs and not tread on anyone?s turf? Does this look like a new neighborhood, new ground ripe for the taking? This is Los Angeles motherfucker, and as of tonight, you are out of business.?

Sweat ran all over Steve?s face while the Korean martial arts weapon sung past his head with lightning speed and struck Steve?s left trap. He grimaced with pain and tried to fold away from the strikes, but couldn?t. He began to cry behind a mouthful of cloth.

?Steve, I?m going to ask you a few questions. If you answer honestly, I may allow you to live.? Han motioned for his brother to stop his uncanny display of Filipino weaponry. The man stopped abruptly, bowed and took a step backward. ?Does Bandit know?? Steve shook his head. . ?Where are you getting your supply?? Han questioned. ?Is it Gomez?? Steve nodded. Han motioned for another soldier to get on the phone. ?Call him!? ?Do you have any other contacts?? Han asked. Steve shook his head adamantly. ?Do you deal anywhere else?? Han asked, getting close to Steve. Steve wrenched his head back and forth to say no again. Piss was running down his leg. ?You don?t have any business being in this deadly racket, do you Steve?? Han asked and turned toward his brother on the phone.

Snatching the receiver from his brother?s hand, he said into the phone, ?Gomez, how are you? We have a problem. I have your sleazy white boy Steve over here. I need to talk to you.? Han?s voice was as cold as frozen fish. ?In an hour, in front of the Cantina. If you don?t make it, neither will Steve.? He hung up.

Tina staggered into one of the restroom stalls and sat on the can panting breathlessly. She had never experienced the touch of a woman. She was stunned. She leaned back against the toilet tank and ran her hands up her silky thighs until she reached her throbbing cunt. She jumped as a forefinger grazed her stimulated clit. She let go of her thighs and ran one hand inside her blouse, where she cupped one soft full breast. She was still wired, but suddenly tired after a full day on the Cantina floor followed by this climax. She pressed her thighs together and felt a warmth pour over her. The thought of Nyla’s lips pressed against hers was so tantalizing she felt as if she could never get to her feet again. Just then the door of the head opened with a screech and she heard another woman walk in.

“Tina, you in here?” Mandy said.

Tina sighed like a kid being awakened from the ultimate Disneyland dream. “Yeah, it’s me,” she said.

“I heard you were working the night shift with me,” Mandy said, combing her hair and straightening her Mexican skirt and gathered white blouse.

Tina opened her apron pocket on her skirt and pulled out a small amber vial. She didn’t want to take the chance that Mandy might hear her snort the harsh powder. “Yeah, I’ll be working with you tonight,” she said, tapping a small mountain of crank on the web of skin between her forefinger and thumb.

“Well get your ass out of there, the happy hour crowd is due to start arriving.” Mandy was happy as a clam and it was evident in every word. She whistled at herself in the mirror and headed for the door.

Tina heard it close and immediately snorted the powder off her hand. It hit the back of her throat with a blast that shook her senses. She wasn’t sure she liked the harsh flavor and the dripping sensation down the back of her throat, but she liked the itching sensation between her thighs, the wild thoughts it spurred, and the drive it caused. She was a hopping good bar waitress on the stuff, darting from table to table. When she was wired, even Steve turned her on. She didn’t mind blowing him for another bag. She’d go home, snort a couple of lines and play with her clit till dawn.

As the rush to her fried brain cells began and a new wave of energy enveloped her, she headed toward the door.

Steve got up off the gravel ground slowly. After the lashing Gomez gave him, he was just plain afraid. He?d dealt drugs in Hollywood for a year when something strange happened and all the guys he knew were arrested, so he hung low for awhile. Just before his connection disappeared, he was told about Gomez and given a number. He was used to dealing with flashy, high-rollers near the strip. They all packed weapons and acted tough, so he stayed to himself. No one ever seemed to want him around much. They gave him his stash and showed him the door. When he met Gomez and gave him his connection’s card, he thought for sure that Gomez was a lightweight. He would show Gomez how the boys did it up town, as if he really knew.

Gomez watched Steve get to his feet. He called downtown when Steve first came around but only got the answer, ?He’s alright.” Then the connection was gone, arrested in a sting that took down 284 crank dealers, many of whom owned businesses. Some were even members of the chamber of commerce, and on the board of a local charity. The key link between all of them was bikes. They all rode and some were members of a Hollywood chapter of a club. Steve didn’t know any of them. He just bought drugs from his upscale connection and sold them out of the bar.

Gomez was gracious the first couple times Steve came around, but now he had to test the goods. The 60-something Gomez had built a small seaside business and was satisfied with the profits. He enjoyed the lack of heat he felt when the uptown crew was taken down, but in short order Steve inspired him. If he could get a foothold on the other side of the bridge in San Pedro, perhaps he wouldn’t have to live in the back of a junkyard. He doubted Steve, yet sensed that the tall skinny fuck was harmless. He helped Steve to his feet. “I’ve been in business for awhile. It’s small and I don’t want to fuck with it or lose my family,” Gomez said as he pulled on his long gray beard. ?I can’t afford to go to the joint.”

“Yeah, yeah,? Steve said. ?I can dig it. I don’t want to.”

“Pay attention, Steve,” Gomez interrupted him. “One wrong move and we’re both dead or in the joint.” He slipped five small baggies in Steve’s dirty hand. “Don’t forget what I told you. Don’t come around here in that car. Oh, that supply is on the house. Don’t be a fool.”

Steve was still frightened, unaware of what he was getting into. “Yes sir,” Steve said as Gomez showed him to the gate and back to the street. He started to turn back to say something, but the short Mexican man had already disappeared behind stacked parts of a ?62 Lincoln, heading back to his home in the corner.

Nyla was as bouncy as always, jetting around the bar, cleaning up, checking her supplies for happy hour. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun behind her head, exposing her smooth neck. She was beautiful and had a gracious sense about her. Mandy marched out of the head and up to the big horseshoe bar. “Tina seems stuck in the head.”

Nyla blushed slightly. “Hmm. What’s up?”

?Something up her nose, I suspect,” Mandy said, rounding the end of the bar to get behind it and close to Nyla. She sauntered up behind her and cupped her ass.

Nyla spun to look into her green eyes. “We better watch it.”

“I want you,” Mandy whispere, leaning over to retrieve Nyla’s bar towel off the floor. Nyla watched her lean and expose her tits. The sight was tempting.

“Can a guy get a beer?” Jimbo asked as he threw his leather over the back of the bar stool. “That is, without getting shot?”

“Sure,” Nyla said, slapping Mandy on the ass. “Get that cut little ass out to the tables, bitch.” Mandy looked up and the glint between their eyes said volumes.

Just then Tina came out of the head wiping her nose and Jimbo’s attention change directions. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, but he lived in and partied around one of the baddest neighborhoods in Los Angeles. He could putt over the Vincent Thomas bridge into downtown Long Beach to nightclubs and find lots of hot babes, but not in Pedro. He could go west to Hollywood and find beautiful women on every corner, but nooo, he wanted one he couldn’t have.

“Hi Tina,” Jimbo said.

Tina seemed out of sorts, self absorbed, unable to concentrate. She looked at Nyla and bumped into one of the tables just as four dock workers burst in the big double doors. “Have a seat gentlemen, I’ll be right with you.”

She walked to the bar and picked up her tab and her cocktail tray. Her eyes roamed across the bar and up to Nyla’s. She was like an electric circuit on overload. The sexual sensations were tingling in her as if someone was beginning to open a door to her favorite fantasy, but then blocked it. She was steaming.

“Tina,” Jimbo said, trying to carve a path into her attention. “Can I talk to you?”

“Guys are waiting at tables,” Nyla said, also trying to focus Tina’s attention in another direction. Mandy sensed something Immediately. “Either she’s wired to the gills or she’s got the hots for you. I’ll get the table,” Mandy said and turned to leave the bar. She had a knack for dropping verbal bombs. Tina blushed, Jimbo stared and Nyla went to check the kegs.

Tina staggered into one of the restroom stalls and sat on the can panting breathlessly. She had never experienced the touch of a woman. She was stunned. She leaned back against the toilet tank and ran her hands up her silky thighs until she reached her throbbing cunt. She jumped as a forefinger grazed her stimulated clit. She let go of her thighs and ran one hand inside her blouse, where she cupped one soft full breast. She was still wired, but suddenly tired after a full day on the Cantina floor followed by this climax. She pressed her thighs together and felt a warmth pour over her. The thought of Nyla’s lips pressed against hers was so tantalizing she felt as if she could never get to her feet again. Just then the door of the head opened with a screech and she heard another woman walk in.

“Tina, you in here?” Mandy said.

Tina sighed like a kid being awakened from the ultimate Disneyland dream. “Yeah, it’s me,” she said.

“I heard you were working the night shift with me,” Mandy said, combing her hair and straightening her Mexican skirt and gathered white blouse.

Tina opened her apron pocket on her skirt and pulled out a small amber vial. She didn’t want to take the chance that Mandy might hear her snort the harsh powder. “Yeah, I’ll be working with you tonight,” she said, tapping a small mountain of crank on the web of skin between her forefinger and thumb.

“Well get your ass out of there, the happy hour crowd is due to start arriving.” Mandy was happy as a clam and it was evident in every word. She whistled at herself in the mirror and headed for the door.

Tina heard it close and immediately snorted the powder off her hand. It hit the back of her throat with a blast that shook her senses. She wasn’t sure she liked the harsh flavor and the dripping sensation down the back of her throat, but she liked the itching sensation between her thighs, the wild thoughts it spurred, and the drive it caused. She was a hopping good bar waitress on the stuff, darting from table to table. When she was wired, even Steve turned her on. She didn’t mind blowing him for another bag. She’d go home, snort a couple of lines and play with her clit till dawn.

As the rush to her fried brain cells began and a new wave of energy enveloped her, she headed toward the door.

Steve got up off the gravel ground slowly. After the lashing Gomez gave him, he was just plain afraid. He?d dealt drugs in Hollywood for a year when something strange happened and all the guys he knew were arrested, so he hung low for awhile. Just before his connection disappeared, he was told about Gomez and given a number. He was used to dealing with flashy, high-rollers near the strip. They all packed weapons and acted tough, so he stayed to himself. No one ever seemed to want him around much. They gave him his stash and showed him the door. When he met Gomez and gave him his connection’s card, he thought for sure that Gomez was a lightweight. He would show Gomez how the boys did it up town, as if he really knew.

Gomez watched Steve get to his feet. He called downtown when Steve first came around but only got the answer, ?He’s alright.” Then the connection was gone, arrested in a sting that took down 284 crank dealers, many of whom owned businesses. Some were even members of the chamber of commerce, and on the board of a local charity. The key link between all of them was bikes. They all rode and some were members of a Hollywood chapter of a club. Steve didn’t know any of them. He just bought drugs from his upscale connection and sold them out of the bar.

Gomez was gracious the first couple times Steve came around, but now he had to test the goods. The 60-something Gomez had built a small seaside business and was satisfied with the profits. He enjoyed the lack of heat he felt when the uptown crew was taken down, but in short order Steve inspired him. If he could get a foothold on the other side of the bridge in San Pedro, perhaps he wouldn’t have to live in the back of a junkyard. He doubted Steve, yet sensed that the tall skinny fuck was harmless. He helped Steve to his feet. “I’ve been in business for awhile. It’s small and I don’t want to fuck with it or lose my family,” Gomez said as he pulled on his long gray beard. ?I can’t afford to go to the joint.”

“Yeah, yeah,? Steve said. ?I can dig it. I don’t want to.”

“Pay attention, Steve,” Gomez interrupted him. “One wrong move and we’re both dead or in the joint.” He slipped five small baggies in Steve’s dirty hand. “Don’t forget what I told you. Don’t come around here in that car. Oh, that supply is on the house. Don’t be a fool.”

Steve was still frightened, unaware of what he was getting into. “Yes sir,” Steve said as Gomez showed him to the gate and back to the street. He started to turn back to say something, but the short Mexican man had already disappeared behind stacked parts of a ?62 Lincoln, heading back to his home in the corner.

Nyla was as bouncy as always, jetting around the bar, cleaning up, checking her supplies for happy hour. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun behind her head, exposing her smooth neck. She was beautiful and had a gracious sense about her. Mandy marched out of the head and up to the big horseshoe bar. “Tina seems stuck in the head.”

Nyla blushed slightly. “Hmm. What’s up?”

?Something up her nose, I suspect,” Mandy said, rounding the end of the bar to get behind it and close to Nyla. She sauntered up behind her and cupped her ass.

Nyla spun to look into her green eyes. “We better watch it.”

“I want you,” Mandy whispere, leaning over to retrieve Nyla’s bar towel off the floor. Nyla watched her lean and expose her tits. The sight was tempting.

“Can a guy get a beer?” Jimbo asked as he threw his leather over the back of the bar stool. “That is, without getting shot?”

“Sure,” Nyla said, slapping Mandy on the ass. “Get that cut little ass out to the tables, bitch.” Mandy looked up and the glint between their eyes said volumes.

Just then Tina came out of the head wiping her nose and Jimbo’s attention change directions. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, but he lived in and partied around one of the baddest neighborhoods in Los Angeles. He could putt over the Vincent Thomas bridge into downtown Long Beach to nightclubs and find lots of hot babes, but not in Pedro. He could go west to Hollywood and find beautiful women on every corner, but nooo, he wanted one he couldn’t have.

“Hi Tina,” Jimbo said.

Tina seemed out of sorts, self absorbed, unable to concentrate. She looked at Nyla and bumped into one of the tables just as four dock workers burst in the big double doors. “Have a seat gentlemen, I’ll be right with you.”

She walked to the bar and picked up her tab and her cocktail tray. Her eyes roamed across the bar and up to Nyla’s. She was like an electric circuit on overload. The sexual sensations were tingling in her as if someone was beginning to open a door to her favorite fantasy, but then blocked it. She was steaming.

“Tina,” Jimbo said, trying to carve a path into her attention. “Can I talk to you?”

“Guys are waiting at tables,” Nyla said, also trying to focus Tina’s attention in another direction. Mandy sensed something Immediately. “Either she’s wired to the gills or she’s got the hots for you. I’ll get the table,” Mandy said and turned to leave the bar. She had a knack for dropping verbal bombs. Tina blushed, Jimbo stared and Nyla went to check the kegs.

Slick Steve hurried to the back of the Cantina through the steaming galley, where the Chinaman was preparing for the dinner crowd. He watched disgustedly as Steve removed his bar apron and threw it into the laundry damper. He knew what Steve was up to and was curious why Bandit hadn’t thrown him out. Steve picked up a leather briefcase from his locker and headed toward the back door. A mist of nervous sweat formed on his brow as he left the building, looking both ways and heading for his black Corvette. The Asians who were hanging around the bar were making him nervous. He didn’t know why they always seemed to be nearby during his shift.

Steve was also shaken by Marko’s announcement about the narcotics threat. He thought that the small, out-of-the-way shipboard village of San Pedro wouldn’t have narcs. He fired up the Vette and headed for the exit. He had to see his source, Gomez, in Wilmington, before heading home.

Tina continued to clean tables. She was wired after a couple lines of the strong crank, and her sex drive was on overload. She wanted to be totally naked, being fondled and touching someone else, anyone… Just then it dawned on her that Nyla would be checking in to take over the bar at any minute. Tina suddenly stood upright and looked around for a mirror. She made her way to the restroom while her jaws ground to the effect of the speed. She looked in the mirror and saw the muscles in her jaw flinch with the flexing. Her uniform top was white with a mid cut and gathered edge. She pulled at the waist to expose more of her cleavage, which was nothing to scoff at. She was beautiful in a natural way. Her red hair bounced around her shoulders enticingly. She pulled up her Mexican skirt and pulled off her panties. She tossed them in the trash and, as she cleaned her mostly shaven mound, she got turned on. Her body screamed with desire. She thought about the sex mixed with other fantasies. From her toenails to the top of her head, she was ablaze with sensual sensations.

The thought of being with another woman was driving her crazy. She could still see Nyla’s large tits bounce in her loose blouse constantly, but she had never gone there. She sensed that Nyla rode both ways and suddenly the thought of her lips touching Nyla’s and the notion of her own fingertips gliding down Nyla’s back and over her ass about shot her passion to the moon. She heard a noise and dropped her skirt. Her cheeks were rosy with blush, but she touched up her makeup and headed back into the dining room/bar.

Nyla had just walked in and spotted Tina coming out of the girls’ room. “Hey sweetie, what’s happening?”

“Oh nothing…” Tina said. “Uh, let me show you something.”

“Sure,” Nyla said, following her to the bathroom.

Once inside, Tina turned toward Nyla and stammered, “I’m… ah, are you…?”

“You’re wired,” Nyla said, recognizing the clammy skin and the clenched jaw working overtime.

“Ah, yeah,” Tina said, looking at the floor then back at Nyla’s tits. “I’m horny.”

“Do you want me or do you want me to fix you up?”

“You,” Tina said bashfully. “I want to touch you.” She stood toe to toe with Nyla and began to lift her skirt.

Nyla watched her skirt reveal more of those creamy redhead’s legs and skin so soft and enticing it would melt butter on a cold day. She sensed her own arousal, but knew she needed to get behind the bar. Besides, Mandy might come in at any moment, and she already didn’t want to ruin that good thing. She put her hand on Tina’s waist and looked down to see one gorgeous pussy, lightly freckled and shaved except for a small pad of light red hairs on her mound. She pulled Tina close and kissed her on the lips, letting her right hand run along Tina’s ass, across the silky thigh and between her legs. Her palm tasted Tina’s pussy and one finger slipped between her lips. The warmth was incredible, her lips divine.

She pulled back from a kiss that could have melted her teeth and whispered in Tina’s ear. “I don’t do this kind of thing at work. Besides, my guy gets jealous, but you feel wonderful.”

“I, I, I’m,” Tina was shaking, about to fall. “I’m coming.”

Nyla was torn. She wanted the girl, she wanted to knock it off before they were busted, she wanted to satisfy her. She slipped her finger back inside Tina’s tempting pussy and moved it just slightly. Tina’s hips thrust out for more as she screamed and pulled Nyla to her. She shuttered and Nyla held her up until reality returned. “I’ve got to go to my station,” Nyla said and left Tina leaning heavily against the sink, her face flushed.

Steve pulled up to the Gomez family hubcap shop on Avalon Boulevard. The Vette stuck out like a sore thumb in the downtrodden harbor industrial area. The empty streets were lined with abandoned concrete and block buildings and ship and small boat junkyards. There were no trees to enhance, just a smattering of gang graffiti and the trash winos left behind. Drunks stood on corners and panhandled while others slept on vacant stoops.

Gomez was standing on the sidewalk with a customer as Steve approached with his briefcase in hand, his mobile pharmacy. Gomez, a short, older man, was shooting the shit with a young Hispanic who was driving a rusting ’55 Chevy pickup.

“I’ve got more customers,” Steve shouted as he approached Gomez. “I need some shit. I’m going to have all of Ports of Call wired in no-time.” Steve was smiling from ear to ear as Gomez turned to face him. Steve was still wearing black patent-leather dress shoes, slick black pants, a white dress shirt and a slick black double-breasted sport coat. He was about as out of place as a turban-wearing Muslim in a Billy Graham church.

The young, tough-looking Hispanic looked at Steve’s Corvette, his clothes, the Rolex watch he was wearing and back at Gomez, raising one eyebrow. “Adios, amigo,” he said and headed toward his pickup.

Gomez looked up and down the block and said loud enough for the young man to hear, “Your hubcaps just arrived, senor. Come inside.”

The Gomez shop was a small building on a flat lot. Like the old used car sales buildings, it had only one front room, one small office and a toilet. He opened the door and allowed Steve to enter first.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Steve said, walking into the room lined with cheap new hubcaps of all forms from fake spoked wheels to baby moons and beauty rings.

Gomez pointed to a door at the back of the uninhabited shop into the yard behind. Gomez had lived there in a house at the rear of the yard for over 20 years. Between the shop and his house was a metal-art dream of scrap auto parts. The gravel lot was lined with old bumpers, hubcaps, steering wheels, you name it. Chairs were made from car seats and barstools with hubcap seats. Hundreds of old exhaust pipes formed a lattice overhang to guard against the harsh sun in the summer and helicopter surveillance. Steve stepped down the back porch of the building and could see the small stucco home in the back some 100 feet away and began to head in that direction.

“I can’t sell crank fast enough,” he said, turning toward Gomez as he walked. “I…”

The punch hit Steve under his jaw. He stumbled backwards, tripping over a 3-speed transmission from a 1946 Nash and falling into a stack of rusting Nova hubcaps. He lost his briefcase in the rubble, almost pissing himself with fear. “What?” he tried to say when Gomes kicked him in the ribs, driving him deeper into the grease- and oil-soaked gravel. Steve pulled himself into a ball as his breath was forced from his body. He tried to think, to get to his feet, but he couldn’t. He could hear metal grating against the gravel as he collapsed against the rough surface, but he fought to look up.

Gomez pulled a chair made out of small compact bumpers and hubcaps and sat down. He calmly leaned forward with his wrinkled old elbows on his knees. In his hand was a Smith & Wesson .38, a snub- nose with a chipped handle. The chamber was open where he could check the number of bullets in the revolver’s ammunition cylinder. Steve looked up in utter horror.

“Mr. Steve,” Gomez said, the remnants of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “You have much to learn, and little time. If we are going to do business you must understand the rules. Don’t bring fancy cars into my neighborhood. Don’t bring your Rolex watch or those clothes.” Gomez spun the cylinder closed and stood up. “What if that man I was talking to was a cop? Don’t ever talk about anything here but hubcaps until no one else is around. Do you understand?”