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?”

It was late afternoon in the Cantina. A quartet of flies circled above some dirty lunch dishes on one of the tables. The slow tempo affected the few customers and the staff behind the bar. Slick Steve glared at the few customers that remained, hoping to hasten their departure by some street level ESP he imagined he had. Tina was inert, slouched against the cooler doors behind her. Marko had been absently wiping the same spot on the bar as he watched two Asian guys at a table in the middle of the room.

There was nothing unusual about the two men. Their manner was casual, but to Marko it seemed a little too casual. He was tense and alert to anything that might hint at a resurgence of the shooting of the last few days. Marko was the only one in the Cantina who had a clue about the potential violence the impending clash of drug warlords could spark. Slick Steve was oblivious to the tension Marko felt. For all his involvement in the drug trade at the street level, he was na?ve about the big picture. He never questioned who brought the drugs into the area, how the price was determined and who controlled the distribution. For Steve, selling drugs was the only way people would relate to him, and he controlled the people to whom he supplied drugs, like Tina.

He got his dope from a guy named Cousin Gomez in the harbor town of Wilmington, just north of the Cantina. He never asked where Cousin Gomez got his supply. As far as Steve was concerned, Cousin Gomez was just a foul smelling, old fart that had a used hubcap shop as a front and a flea-bitten, gray-muzzled old dog that smelled as bad as the old man. Steve never stuck around to make small talk with him.

Had he done so, he might have found out a lot about the drug trade in the harbor area. The old man had been around a long time, which in itself is remarkable in a business that values the young, violent and desperate. Cousin Gomez was a major figure in the process of moving drugs and laundering money, an important cog in the mechanism of harbor contraband. The volume of cargo that moved in and out of the L.A/Long Beach Harbor made any effort to control the movement of contraband nearly impossible. Drug busts were made but they never stanched the flow. The drug business was street level and big-time; it involved the dregs of the street and the highest levels of political power.

Steve was street-level slime. He was one of the bottom-feeders of society. He would supply Tina with drugs until she ran out of money or became a burnt-out, crank hag. At the moment, Tina was trying to get away from the groping hands of one of the Asian guys. Steve moved to help her just as a young Hispanic guy blocked his path. Marko watched the barroom drama play out before he made his move.

The Hispanic guy was mumbling something about “getting well” and something about “?a guy told me you had the drugs.” The two of them were close enough to the bar where Marko stood for him to sense there was something wrong with the Hispanic guy’s demeanor. Red flags were waving in Marko’s street-smart brain. The Hispanic guy was wearing the appropriate street-hype clothing, but he had on highly polished black dress shoes. Marko didn’t wait to analyze the situation further.

He quickly moved around the bar, walked between the two men and as he passed, he hooked Steve’s arm, dragging him along as Marko moved toward Tina. Halfway to Tina, Marko turned to Steve’s dumb, questioning face and hissed one word between his clenched teeth, “Narc!” Steve stumbled a bit when he heard Marko, but kept moving toward the Asians and Tina. By the time they got to the table, the two Asian guys had risen, turned and were walking toward the door.

“Are you OK?” Marko asked Tina, keeping his eyes on the retreating men.

“Yeah, it ain’t nothing,” Tina said, counting the large tip the two men had left. “He just wanted to know when I get off work.”

Steve watched nervously as the two Asians left the Cantina. Marko turned to see where the Hispanic guy was, but he’d vanished. Marko tensed. “That guy’s socks were too clean to be a speed freak,” Marko mused to himself.

“Steve, man the bar. Tina, clean up that table, the next shift will be here shortly. I’m going to check what’s going on outside.” Marko turned on his heel, military fashion, and headed for the exit in the kitchen.

It was late afternoon in the Cantina. A quartet of flies circled above some dirty lunch dishes on one of the tables. The slow tempo affected the few customers and the staff behind the bar. Slick Steve glared at the few customers that remained, hoping to hasten their departure by some street level ESP he imagined he had. Tina was inert, slouched against the cooler doors behind her. Marko had been absently wiping the same spot on the bar as he watched two Asian guys at a table in the middle of the room.

There was nothing unusual about the two men. Their manner was casual, but to Marko it seemed a little too casual. He was tense and alert to anything that might hint at a resurgence of the shooting of the last few days. Marko was the only one in the Cantina who had a clue about the potential violence the impending clash of drug warlords could spark. Slick Steve was oblivious to the tension Marko felt. For all his involvement in the drug trade at the street level, he was na?ve about the big picture. He never questioned who brought the drugs into the area, how the price was determined and who controlled the distribution. For Steve, selling drugs was the only way people would relate to him, and he controlled the people to whom he supplied drugs, like Tina.

He got his dope from a guy named Cousin Gomez in the harbor town of Wilmington, just north of the Cantina. He never asked where Cousin Gomez got his supply. As far as Steve was concerned, Cousin Gomez was just a foul smelling, old fart that had a used hubcap shop as a front and a flea-bitten, gray-muzzled old dog that smelled as bad as the old man. Steve never stuck around to make small talk with him.

Had he done so, he might have found out a lot about the drug trade in the harbor area. The old man had been around a long time, which in itself is remarkable in a business that values the young, violent and desperate. Cousin Gomez was a major figure in the process of moving drugs and laundering money, an important cog in the mechanism of harbor contraband. The volume of cargo that moved in and out of the L.A/Long Beach Harbor made any effort to control the movement of contraband nearly impossible. Drug busts were made but they never stanched the flow. The drug business was street level and big-time; it involved the dregs of the street and the highest levels of political power.

Steve was street-level slime. He was one of the bottom-feeders of society. He would supply Tina with drugs until she ran out of money or became a burnt-out, crank hag. At the moment, Tina was trying to get away from the groping hands of one of the Asian guys. Steve moved to help her just as a young Hispanic guy blocked his path. Marko watched the barroom drama play out before he made his move.

The Hispanic guy was mumbling something about “getting well” and something about “?a guy told me you had the drugs.” The two of them were close enough to the bar where Marko stood for him to sense there was something wrong with the Hispanic guy’s demeanor. Red flags were waving in Marko’s street-smart brain. The Hispanic guy was wearing the appropriate street-hype clothing, but he had on highly polished black dress shoes. Marko didn’t wait to analyze the situation further.

He quickly moved around the bar, walked between the two men and as he passed, he hooked Steve’s arm, dragging him along as Marko moved toward Tina. Halfway to Tina, Marko turned to Steve’s dumb, questioning face and hissed one word between his clenched teeth, “Narc!” Steve stumbled a bit when he heard Marko, but kept moving toward the Asians and Tina. By the time they got to the table, the two Asian guys had risen, turned and were walking toward the door.

“Are you OK?” Marko asked Tina, keeping his eyes on the retreating men.

“Yeah, it ain’t nothing,” Tina said, counting the large tip the two men had left. “He just wanted to know when I get off work.”

Steve watched nervously as the two Asians left the Cantina. Marko turned to see where the Hispanic guy was, but he’d vanished. Marko tensed. “That guy’s socks were too clean to be a speed freak,” Marko mused to himself.

“Steve, man the bar. Tina, clean up that table, the next shift will be here shortly. I’m going to check what’s going on outside.” Marko turned on his heel, military fashion, and headed for the exit in the kitchen.

Jimbo smiled at Slick Steve like a hungry crocodile. Slick Steve was tall and rangy. His size usually was intimidation enough for most people, but Jimbo wasn’t most people. Jimbo was not only big; years of hard labor at the docks had made him as dangerous as a crazed bull. The only hint that he was about to explode was the twitch in his left eye every time his jaw clenched. The twitch was the result of a deadly brawl at the docks.

Jimbo’s left eye was nearly closed shut from the spasm of his anger at Slick Steve. Jimbo didn’t like the effect Steve’s meth was having on Tina and it was beginning to get under his skin. Slick Steve had long ago learned the lesson of Jimbo’s angry twitch and it scared the livin’ shit out of him. He moved around to the other side of the bar. The distance afforded little protection from Jimbo, who could easily reach across and yank Slick Steve over the bar. But it gave him some time to try and cool down the situation.

Slick Steve didn’t have much going for him except the gift of gab. “Look, Jimbo,” he said cautiously, “we don’t need to create a scene here. Bandit don’t like it. Hey, Tina, why don’t you pour our friend here a beer on the house.” Slick Steve busied himself with cleaning glasses as Tina nervously spilled beer into a frosted mug. “Oh, shit,” Tina spat as half the beer foamed over the top of the mug.

Jimbo spotted a ring of crank powder around her right nostril and pulled a clean bandanna from his hip pocket. “Clean up that nose,” Jimbo said, turning his attention to the shaking speed freak. She nodded and took the bandanna, handing him the tall brew. His voice changed to a softer tone. “What the hell are you doing hanging around with that loser?” Jimbo jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Slick Steve. The motion made Slick Steve jump almost as much as the crashing trash can had earlier.

“Jimbo, I gotta’ pull two shifts. I need the money for rent. I’ll be working ’til closing.” Tina said it as if it were an excuse for using the drugs.

“Look, I don’t mean to mess in your business. It’s your fuckin’ life, but if you need me…” Jimbo knew he wasn’t going anywhere with Tina. She was lost in her own destruction. All he could do was hope she would come to her senses.

Jimbo knew that if Steve wasn’t around she’d find another source of speed, but he still couldn’t stand the bastard. There was something about the loser that gave him the chills.

“I ain’t got nuthin’ to do with her problems. I got problems of my own,” Slick Steve butted in. Thinking better of it, he moved to the other end of the bar, busying himself with stacking mugs in the cooler.

“What the hell is that weasel talking about?” Jimbo jerked his head toward the retreating Slick Steve.

“I don’t exactly know, but a lot of weird stuff is going on around the Cantina lately.” Tina was glad the conversation had turned away from her. “I mean, Slick Steve got shot at last night by some kind of sniper with a bad aim.”

“Too bad he missed.”

“That and them Chinese guys and Marko acting a little more on edge than usual,” Tina said as she cleaned the tables.

“I know,” Jimbo said since he had been around during a couple of the daytime shootings. Something deep in his marrow told him that Steve was at the core of the problems, but he couldn’t pinpoint anything and didn’t care to. His concern was the girl bending seductively over the checkered table, wiping it down.

The feeling of tension had eased a bit for Tina, with Slick Steve and Jimbo at opposite ends of the Cantina. A customer waved his arm at her from a table and she walked over to find out what he wanted. She took his food order and strolled into the kitchen. The Chinaman had always been like a father to all the girls and he nodded to her as she handed him the food ticket.

“Keep your distance from bartender,” the Chinaman said.

“What happened the other night, Chinaman, sir?” Tina asked.

“It may be that his business is in the wrong territory,” he said. The Chinaman showed Tina the chicken bone charm. “Do you know what this means?” the Chinaman asked softly, losing the sing-song dialect he used as a sign of deference.

“Not a clue,” Tina responded carefully. “It looks very primitive. Is it some kind of Chinese voodoo?” Tina looked from the charm to the Chinaman’s face then back at the charm.

“It may mean death,” the Chinaman said. “Yes, in a way it’s a kind of voodoo charm. Actually it’s an identification of a tong or clan and a warning. It’s not a chicken bone. It’s the little finger of one of the elder clan members. That used to be the way a man demonstrated his loyalty and dedication to the clan, by cutting off his own finger in front of other clansmen. This was one of the tests of dedication to the clan in the old days. You don’t see much of this nowadays. But traditions linger.”

“I don’t like the looks of this,” the Chinaman continued gravely. “It may mean someone is marked for death or, even more dangerous, a turf war is about to begin in the harbor.”

“What does it mean to us?” Tina interjected.

“I don’t know,” the Chinaman said as the tossed fajitas mix on the grill and stirred it with a wooden spoon. “Hopefully we find before too late. Be careful!”

The Cantina had quieted down as the lunch crowd paid its bills and went back to the docks. There was a light breeze, but nothing could dispel the weight of dread and anticipation.

Jimbo finished his beer and noticed that Tina was suddenly friendlier. She’d made some distance between her and the slippery bartender, but Jimbo also noticed Steve slipped out the back door momentarily with a couple of dock working customers.

The ‘high-classed’ hypes were appreciative of his dependability and the quality of his goods, and were bringing friends around without hesitation. Steve seemed to delight in his new business.

Officer Hernandez strolled into the Cantina and a trickle of sweat ran down Slick Steve’s back. He was an idiot who felt his business was without responsibility. He looked around the room for Marko, and even to Jimbo as if they would come to his rescue.

Jimbo smiled at Slick Steve like a hungry crocodile. Slick Steve was tall and rangy. His size usually was intimidation enough for most people, but Jimbo wasn’t most people. Jimbo was not only big; years of hard labor at the docks had made him as dangerous as a crazed bull. The only hint that he was about to explode was the twitch in his left eye every time his jaw clenched. The twitch was the result of a deadly brawl at the docks.

Jimbo’s left eye was nearly closed shut from the spasm of his anger at Slick Steve. Jimbo didn’t like the effect Steve’s meth was having on Tina and it was beginning to get under his skin. Slick Steve had long ago learned the lesson of Jimbo’s angry twitch and it scared the livin’ shit out of him. He moved around to the other side of the bar. The distance afforded little protection from Jimbo, who could easily reach across and yank Slick Steve over the bar. But it gave him some time to try and cool down the situation.

Slick Steve didn’t have much going for him except the gift of gab. “Look, Jimbo,” he said cautiously, “we don’t need to create a scene here. Bandit don’t like it. Hey, Tina, why don’t you pour our friend here a beer on the house.” Slick Steve busied himself with cleaning glasses as Tina nervously spilled beer into a frosted mug. “Oh, shit,” Tina spat as half the beer foamed over the top of the mug.

Jimbo spotted a ring of crank powder around her right nostril and pulled a clean bandanna from his hip pocket. “Clean up that nose,” Jimbo said, turning his attention to the shaking speed freak. She nodded and took the bandanna, handing him the tall brew. His voice changed to a softer tone. “What the hell are you doing hanging around with that loser?” Jimbo jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Slick Steve. The motion made Slick Steve jump almost as much as the crashing trash can had earlier.

“Jimbo, I gotta’ pull two shifts. I need the money for rent. I’ll be working ’til closing.” Tina said it as if it were an excuse for using the drugs.

“Look, I don’t mean to mess in your business. It’s your fuckin’ life, but if you need me…” Jimbo knew he wasn’t going anywhere with Tina. She was lost in her own destruction. All he could do was hope she would come to her senses.

Jimbo knew that if Steve wasn’t around she’d find another source of speed, but he still couldn’t stand the bastard. There was something about the loser that gave him the chills.

“I ain’t got nuthin’ to do with her problems. I got problems of my own,” Slick Steve butted in. Thinking better of it, he moved to the other end of the bar, busying himself with stacking mugs in the cooler.

“What the hell is that weasel talking about?” Jimbo jerked his head toward the retreating Slick Steve.

“I don’t exactly know, but a lot of weird stuff is going on around the Cantina lately.” Tina was glad the conversation had turned away from her. “I mean, Slick Steve got shot at last night by some kind of sniper with a bad aim.”

“Too bad he missed.”

“That and them Chinese guys and Marko acting a little more on edge than usual,” Tina said as she cleaned the tables.

“I know,” Jimbo said since he had been around during a couple of the daytime shootings. Something deep in his marrow told him that Steve was at the core of the problems, but he couldn’t pinpoint anything and didn’t care to. His concern was the girl bending seductively over the checkered table, wiping it down.

The feeling of tension had eased a bit for Tina, with Slick Steve and Jimbo at opposite ends of the Cantina. A customer waved his arm at her from a table and she walked over to find out what he wanted. She took his food order and strolled into the kitchen. The Chinaman had always been like a father to all the girls and he nodded to her as she handed him the food ticket.

“Keep your distance from bartender,” the Chinaman said.

“What happened the other night, Chinaman, sir?” Tina asked.

“It may be that his business is in the wrong territory,” he said. The Chinaman showed Tina the chicken bone charm. “Do you know what this means?” the Chinaman asked softly, losing the sing-song dialect he used as a sign of deference.

“Not a clue,” Tina responded carefully. “It looks very primitive. Is it some kind of Chinese voodoo?” Tina looked from the charm to the Chinaman’s face then back at the charm.

“It may mean death,” the Chinaman said. “Yes, in a way it’s a kind of voodoo charm. Actually it’s an identification of a tong or clan and a warning. It’s not a chicken bone. It’s the little finger of one of the elder clan members. That used to be the way a man demonstrated his loyalty and dedication to the clan, by cutting off his own finger in front of other clansmen. This was one of the tests of dedication to the clan in the old days. You don’t see much of this nowadays. But traditions linger.”

“I don’t like the looks of this,” the Chinaman continued gravely. “It may mean someone is marked for death or, even more dangerous, a turf war is about to begin in the harbor.”

“What does it mean to us?” Tina interjected.

“I don’t know,” the Chinaman said as the tossed fajitas mix on the grill and stirred it with a wooden spoon. “Hopefully we find before too late. Be careful!”

The Cantina had quieted down as the lunch crowd paid its bills and went back to the docks. There was a light breeze, but nothing could dispel the weight of dread and anticipation.

Jimbo finished his beer and noticed that Tina was suddenly friendlier. She’d made some distance between her and the slippery bartender, but Jimbo also noticed Steve slipped out the back door momentarily with a couple of dock working customers.

The ‘high-classed’ hypes were appreciative of his dependability and the quality of his goods, and were bringing friends around without hesitation. Steve seemed to delight in his new business.

Officer Hernandez strolled into the Cantina and a trickle of sweat ran down Slick Steve’s back. He was an idiot who felt his business was without responsibility. He looked around the room for Marko, and even to Jimbo as if they would come to his rescue.

Mandy was gently grinding her hips against Nyla’s body while the two stood behind the dark, musty bar, when they heard voices outside. Both blushed as they broke eye contact and returned to their duties. Marko came in the door sighing. “The last one’s in a cab and his bike is locked in the garage. Everything is secure, girls. All you have to do is alarm and lock the front doors.”

In unison, the two knockouts behind the bar said, “OK, we’ll get it.”

Marko looked from one girl to the other. The were both a bit flushed and their eyes were darting around the top of the bar as if a rat were running free over the Cantina countertop. Marko had a natural analytical air about him. Extensive military training drilled the power of observation into his tough skull. He consumed body language, eye contact, words. Deciding that whatever they were up to was harmless, he said good night and walked out the door. Standing outside in the cool harbor air, he scanned the parking lot and noted the position of Nyla’s van and Mandy’s sportscar. He also noted the dark blue Ford Taurus outside the lot against the curb. There was no reason for anyone to park along Harbor Boulevard unless their car broke down. It had to be a cop watching the Cantina.

Marko wasn’t concerned. He continued to scan the parking lot behind the Cantina facing the main channel of the harbor nearly under the Vincent Thomas expansion bridge, a smaller version of the Golden Gate.

“What do you want to drink?” Nyla asked as Mandy headed toward the massive oak doors, locking them securely in three places.

“B and B on the rocks,” Mandy said and turned toward Nyla. Nyla mixed a double White Russian, and headed to the back of the bar, to the stairs leading to Bandit’s apartment. Mandy caught up with her, watching her tight seductive ass up the stairs. She spanked her gently and a tingle filled Nyla from the tips of her toes to her pert nose. “You almost made me spill the drinks.”

“As long as you spill them all over you, so I can lick it up,” Mandy said, cupping Nyla’s ass with the palms of her hands. “Nice,” she said.

Bandit’s apartment was his ship’s bridge overlooking the Cantina. It was one large room. The pad faced the harbor with a broad expanse of windows overlooking the main channel. The floors were hardwood with an occasional throw rug. At one end was his Panhead motorcycle desk and in the center was a king-sized bed scattered with pillows, with a ceiling fan overhead. Behind the bed was a wall of closets and between the bed and his desk was a small sitting area with antique furniture and couches. He also had a large conference table made out of a cell door with glass over it. The seats were all bike seats on small pedestals.

The girls sat together on the couch and toasted, “Here’s to something special,” Mandy said and they clinked their glasses together and sipped. Mandy couldn’t keep her eyes off Nyla’s smooth form. Nyla was older by six years, but in wonderful shape. She seemed to flow like a dense liquor in a small sipping glass when she wasn’t bubbly. “I like you,” Mandy said.

“You mean you like my body,” Nyla returned.

“That too,” Mandy said, putting her drink down and moving closer to Nyla.

They kissed again. Mandy’s right hand ran down Nyla’s form to cup one of her breasts and squeezed softly. Mandy sighed as she let the supple shape of the breast rest alluringly in the palm of her hand. Mandy could sense that she was getting wet and wanted more. She pulled Nyla’s top out, exposing two luscious, large nipples that seemed to strain to reach her lips, throbbing their intentions. Nyla’s head went back and she spread her legs slightly as Mandy’s lips kissed along the top of her breast and surrounded her nipple.

“I want you! Goddamn, I want you!” Mandy said. She sat back, yanked off her blouse and unsnapped her bra, throwing it to the polished floor. Nyla could sense her own need rising like a Tsunami reaching a coast. Mandy watched intently as Nyla’s sizable breasts swelled. They were pendulous, but perfectly shaped with gentle slopes to each gorgeous nipple. But the touch was everything. Nyla had skin like nothing Mandy had ever touched, as if for one instant she could caress the surface of a cube of warm butter.

“Let’s take a bath,” Nyla said, “I want to be fresh for you.”

Mandy reached forward and let one of Nyla’s breasts float in the palm of her hand. She was panting heavily as her mouth circled one of Nyla’s nipples, then kissed up her chest to her mouth. Nyla wasn’t as experienced with girls, but the attraction was deep and she pulled Mandy against her until their nipples were touching. The sensation was overwhelming and Nyla laid back on the couch as the redhead climbed on top of her. Nyla ran her hands down over Mandy’s supple breasts, which weren’t as large as hers but just as soft. Then her hands ran up Mandy’s athletic ass and squeezed just as Mandy’s mound pressed against the warmth of hers. Suddenly Mandy whimpered, gasped and screamed into a rocking orgasm.

Nyla held Mandy close as each gasp was followed by a long moan of delight. Nyla pulled at her ass trying to connect the two and she could feel Mandy’s every reaction. She kissed her cheek and whispered, “This is just going to get better.”

Mandy couldn’t speak for long moments. She finally sat up and took a sip from her drink. “I’m ready for that bath.”

“But you came,” Nyla said.

“If that’s any indication of the way you can make me feel,” Mandy said, gulping another swallow of her liquor, “I’ll come many more times tonight.”

The two stumbled to their feet and into the only other room of Bandit’s apartment, the large bathroom with a massive tub and two- headed shower. The counter was strewn with candles, which Mandy lit as Nyla ran the bath.

Outside, Marko went to his guest quarters, pulled out a fishing rod and headed for the edge of the dock. Just before baiting his line, he looked up at the Cantina behind him. He could sense the candlelight flicker in the bathroom windows…

Mandy was gently grinding her hips against Nyla’s body while the two stood behind the dark, musty bar, when they heard voices outside. Both blushed as they broke eye contact and returned to their duties. Marko came in the door sighing. “The last one’s in a cab and his bike is locked in the garage. Everything is secure, girls. All you have to do is alarm and lock the front doors.”

In unison, the two knockouts behind the bar said, “OK, we’ll get it.”

Marko looked from one girl to the other. The were both a bit flushed and their eyes were darting around the top of the bar as if a rat were running free over the Cantina countertop. Marko had a natural analytical air about him. Extensive military training drilled the power of observation into his tough skull. He consumed body language, eye contact, words. Deciding that whatever they were up to was harmless, he said good night and walked out the door. Standing outside in the cool harbor air, he scanned the parking lot and noted the position of Nyla’s van and Mandy’s sportscar. He also noted the dark blue Ford Taurus outside the lot against the curb. There was no reason for anyone to park along Harbor Boulevard unless their car broke down. It had to be a cop watching the Cantina.

Marko wasn’t concerned. He continued to scan the parking lot behind the Cantina facing the main channel of the harbor nearly under the Vincent Thomas expansion bridge, a smaller version of the Golden Gate.

“What do you want to drink?” Nyla asked as Mandy headed toward the massive oak doors, locking them securely in three places.

“B and B on the rocks,” Mandy said and turned toward Nyla. Nyla mixed a double White Russian, and headed to the back of the bar, to the stairs leading to Bandit’s apartment. Mandy caught up with her, watching her tight seductive ass up the stairs. She spanked her gently and a tingle filled Nyla from the tips of her toes to her pert nose. “You almost made me spill the drinks.”

“As long as you spill them all over you, so I can lick it up,” Mandy said, cupping Nyla’s ass with the palms of her hands. “Nice,” she said.

Bandit’s apartment was his ship’s bridge overlooking the Cantina. It was one large room. The pad faced the harbor with a broad expanse of windows overlooking the main channel. The floors were hardwood with an occasional throw rug. At one end was his Panhead motorcycle desk and in the center was a king-sized bed scattered with pillows, with a ceiling fan overhead. Behind the bed was a wall of closets and between the bed and his desk was a small sitting area with antique furniture and couches. He also had a large conference table made out of a cell door with glass over it. The seats were all bike seats on small pedestals.

The girls sat together on the couch and toasted, “Here’s to something special,” Mandy said and they clinked their glasses together and sipped. Mandy couldn’t keep her eyes off Nyla’s smooth form. Nyla was older by six years, but in wonderful shape. She seemed to flow like a dense liquor in a small sipping glass when she wasn’t bubbly. “I like you,” Mandy said.

“You mean you like my body,” Nyla returned.

“That too,” Mandy said, putting her drink down and moving closer to Nyla.

They kissed again. Mandy’s right hand ran down Nyla’s form to cup one of her breasts and squeezed softly. Mandy sighed as she let the supple shape of the breast rest alluringly in the palm of her hand. Mandy could sense that she was getting wet and wanted more. She pulled Nyla’s top out, exposing two luscious, large nipples that seemed to strain to reach her lips, throbbing their intentions. Nyla’s head went back and she spread her legs slightly as Mandy’s lips kissed along the top of her breast and surrounded her nipple.

“I want you! Goddamn, I want you!” Mandy said. She sat back, yanked off her blouse and unsnapped her bra, throwing it to the polished floor. Nyla could sense her own need rising like a Tsunami reaching a coast. Mandy watched intently as Nyla’s sizable breasts swelled. They were pendulous, but perfectly shaped with gentle slopes to each gorgeous nipple. But the touch was everything. Nyla had skin like nothing Mandy had ever touched, as if for one instant she could caress the surface of a cube of warm butter.

“Let’s take a bath,” Nyla said, “I want to be fresh for you.”

Mandy reached forward and let one of Nyla’s breasts float in the palm of her hand. She was panting heavily as her mouth circled one of Nyla’s nipples, then kissed up her chest to her mouth. Nyla wasn’t as experienced with girls, but the attraction was deep and she pulled Mandy against her until their nipples were touching. The sensation was overwhelming and Nyla laid back on the couch as the redhead climbed on top of her. Nyla ran her hands down over Mandy’s supple breasts, which weren’t as large as hers but just as soft. Then her hands ran up Mandy’s athletic ass and squeezed just as Mandy’s mound pressed against the warmth of hers. Suddenly Mandy whimpered, gasped and screamed into a rocking orgasm.

Nyla held Mandy close as each gasp was followed by a long moan of delight. Nyla pulled at her ass trying to connect the two and she could feel Mandy’s every reaction. She kissed her cheek and whispered, “This is just going to get better.”

Mandy couldn’t speak for long moments. She finally sat up and took a sip from her drink. “I’m ready for that bath.”

“But you came,” Nyla said.

“If that’s any indication of the way you can make me feel,” Mandy said, gulping another swallow of her liquor, “I’ll come many more times tonight.”

The two stumbled to their feet and into the only other room of Bandit’s apartment, the large bathroom with a massive tub and two- headed shower. The counter was strewn with candles, which Mandy lit as Nyla ran the bath.

Outside, Marko went to his guest quarters, pulled out a fishing rod and headed for the edge of the dock. Just before baiting his line, he looked up at the Cantina behind him. He could sense the candlelight flicker in the bathroom windows…

Marko, who never took a break, watched the last remaining patrons saunter towards the door. A few members of the local ABATE group worked with Bandit to escort or take drunk bikers home. Bandit kept a garage out back for guys who couldn’t ride. There was always a rider or two who were down in the dumps and tried to drink the Cantina dry. There was always a girl or two who needed some affection before leaving the bar. It was Marko’s bennies for being at the Cantina 24/7.

Bandit never asked Marko to hang, he just took it on himself. The Cantina on the Harbor was his home. He couldn’t imagine a better place. When they shut down for holidays, he’d go for a ride or fish off the edge of the Cantina landing casting his line under the Vincent Thomas bridge.

Bandit had built a guest house onto the back of the Cantina for Marko and shared his garage space with the bouncer.

Mandy scurried around the building cleaning tables and sweeping up. Occasionally she would look at the Jade chicken bone in her apron pocket and wonder what it meant. The Chinaman had disappeared suddenly after he was scorned by the vision of the bone on the leather tether.

There was always a couple of guys hanging around to the last minute hoping that Mandy would choose one of them for the night. It was a lonely existence for some of the local riders. Mandy never went for the bait. She stayed focused on her duties and chummed around with Nyla, who restocked the bar and waited for Bandit to return.

The kitchen had been closed since 11:00 p.m. The crew had cleaned and mopped the floors, then slide out the back door. They were mostly Hispanic, legal aliens. They were tiny people, and Bandit referred to them as miniature human beings. The Chinaman spoke Spanish in addition to his native language and broken English. He usually stayed on later, going over the books and checking supplies, but tonight he slipped out the back door and into the night.

Mandy and Nyla had their spats, but there was another dynamic working between the too. She watched Nyla finish up wiping the bar and washing out the myriad of different sized glasses. Nyla was nearly always bubbly, and her tits bounced seductively in the frilly Spanish-styled gathered top. For the first time Nyla sensed, when she was leaning over, that Mandy was checking her out. Nyla smiled, a flirtatious grin and pulled down on the elastic top revealing her nipples then let the top snap back into place. Nyla was attracted to the macho Mandy and sensed since she didn’t have guys taking her home on a regular basis, that she had a chance.

Mandy got the hint, wiped off the final thick oak table replace the deep green table cloth and fresh white napkins then slipped behind the bar.

“You checking me out?” Nyla said.

“Have you ever seen me with a man?” Mandy said directly reaching under the bar for her Mac 10. She wiped it down suggestively stroking the barrel, then replaced it under the counter.

“I thought you and Bandit…” Nyla said.

“That was a long wonderful time ago,” Mandy said, “Before you came along I would go back there once in a while. I switched tracks, though.”

“You know, Bandit likes his lesbians,” Nyla said and moved closer to Mandy. Marko had turned the lights down and was outside. The bar was empty as Nyla reached behind her head and unleashed the plastic monster that held her dark curls off the back of her shapely neck. They tumbled about her shoulders as Mandy, just slightly taller than Nyla cupped her waist and kissed her.

“I was hopping…” Mandy said looking down at Nyla’s throbbing cleavage, pulling the elastic out so she could kiss her nipple.

“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Nyla said sighing deeply. “I’ve been told that in any threesome, someone gets jealous.”

“Who said anything about a threesome, just yet.” Mandy said crushing her throbbing body against Nyla’s. “Let’s have a nightcap upstairs. I’ll bet Bandit won’t be back for awhile.”

Marko, who never took a break, watched the last remaining patrons saunter towards the door. A few members of the local ABATE group worked with Bandit to escort or take drunk bikers home. Bandit kept a garage out back for guys who couldn’t ride. There was always a rider or two who were down in the dumps and tried to drink the Cantina dry. There was always a girl or two who needed some affection before leaving the bar. It was Marko’s bennies for being at the Cantina 24/7.

Bandit never asked Marko to hang, he just took it on himself. The Cantina on the Harbor was his home. He couldn’t imagine a better place. When they shut down for holidays, he’d go for a ride or fish off the edge of the Cantina landing casting his line under the Vincent Thomas bridge.

Bandit had built a guest house onto the back of the Cantina for Marko and shared his garage space with the bouncer.

Mandy scurried around the building cleaning tables and sweeping up. Occasionally she would look at the Jade chicken bone in her apron pocket and wonder what it meant. The Chinaman had disappeared suddenly after he was scorned by the vision of the bone on the leather tether.

There was always a couple of guys hanging around to the last minute hoping that Mandy would choose one of them for the night. It was a lonely existence for some of the local riders. Mandy never went for the bait. She stayed focused on her duties and chummed around with Nyla, who restocked the bar and waited for Bandit to return.

The kitchen had been closed since 11:00 p.m. The crew had cleaned and mopped the floors, then slide out the back door. They were mostly Hispanic, legal aliens. They were tiny people, and Bandit referred to them as miniature human beings. The Chinaman spoke Spanish in addition to his native language and broken English. He usually stayed on later, going over the books and checking supplies, but tonight he slipped out the back door and into the night.

Mandy and Nyla had their spats, but there was another dynamic working between the too. She watched Nyla finish up wiping the bar and washing out the myriad of different sized glasses. Nyla was nearly always bubbly, and her tits bounced seductively in the frilly Spanish-styled gathered top. For the first time Nyla sensed, when she was leaning over, that Mandy was checking her out. Nyla smiled, a flirtatious grin and pulled down on the elastic top revealing her nipples then let the top snap back into place. Nyla was attracted to the macho Mandy and sensed since she didn’t have guys taking her home on a regular basis, that she had a chance.

Mandy got the hint, wiped off the final thick oak table replace the deep green table cloth and fresh white napkins then slipped behind the bar.

“You checking me out?” Nyla said.

“Have you ever seen me with a man?” Mandy said directly reaching under the bar for her Mac 10. She wiped it down suggestively stroking the barrel, then replaced it under the counter.

“I thought you and Bandit…” Nyla said.

“That was a long wonderful time ago,” Mandy said, “Before you came along I would go back there once in a while. I switched tracks, though.”

“You know, Bandit likes his lesbians,” Nyla said and moved closer to Mandy. Marko had turned the lights down and was outside. The bar was empty as Nyla reached behind her head and unleashed the plastic monster that held her dark curls off the back of her shapely neck. They tumbled about her shoulders as Mandy, just slightly taller than Nyla cupped her waist and kissed her.

“I was hopping…” Mandy said looking down at Nyla’s throbbing cleavage, pulling the elastic out so she could kiss her nipple.

“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Nyla said sighing deeply. “I’ve been told that in any threesome, someone gets jealous.”

“Who said anything about a threesome, just yet.” Mandy said crushing her throbbing body against Nyla’s. “Let’s have a nightcap upstairs. I’ll bet Bandit won’t be back for awhile.”

?Jimbo, you?re a sweetheart and I hate to see you break your heart over her.? Nyla tried to consol the big guy.

?I don?t know what to do,? Jimbo groaned mournfully.

?Let me see if I can find her,? she sat another beer in front of Jimbo. Nyla walked over to the waitress station. She needed some breathing room. Jimbo?s regular agonies were hard to tolerate. He was smart enough to see through Tina?s manipulations. He was a sap for her and his brains flew out the window every time she screwed him over.

Mandy was at the station looking at some thing in her hand. ?Hey, what?s that?? Nyla leaned over the bar to get a better look revealing deep clevage. ?S?matter, somebody stiff you on a tip??

?Nah,? Mandy spoke trying to keep her eyes fixed on the palm of her hand. She poked at the thing with a long lacquered fingernail, as if it were road-kill she was poking with a stick. ?I got the tip okay. It was left on the table when I went to clean up. I dunno? what the hell it is. Maybe just an old chicken bone.?

As Nyla leaned closer, her right breast rubbing Mandy’s forearm the China appeared. He too bent over looking at Mandy?s treasure.

?Where you get?? He looked at both the women. ?This not good. Where you get?? As he spoke he became more agitated. ?This very, very bad. Bandit need to know about this.? He shook his head back and forth.

?What?s the matter with you,? Mandy said sarcastically to the cook. ?Ain?t ya? never seen an old chicken bone before??

?What do you think it means?? Nyla turned to the Chinaman. As she spoke she took the object from Mandy?s palm and held it between her two fingers. It appeared to be an ordinary dried chicken leg bone except on one end a hole had been drilled, through the hole was threaded a piece of rawhide. The length of rawhide contained a brass coin with a square hole in the center and Chinese writing around the outer edge. There was also a gem tied to the rawhide. The gem was probably jade, Nyla thought. Jade like those expensive pieces she had seen in the Chinese jewelry shop at Ports o’ Call, a series of international shop farther up the channel.

?Maybe we can ask the jeweler down at the port?? She turned to the Chinaman. But before he could respond, Mandy grabbed it out of Nyla?s hand.

?Hey, that?s mine. It?s part of my tip,? Mandy pouted.

?Look Mandy, there are some strange things going down around here. I mean, those guys that tried to blow us away in the alley the other night. Then the Asian guys asking about Bandit. Then this?.,? she pointed to the chicken bone amulet in Mandy?s hand. I?d like to know if this is a sign of trouble to come. Mandy you can have it after we find out what this is all about. She turned to the Chinaman, but during her tirade to Mandy, he had vanished.

Nyla walked to the kitchens swinging doors. Looking to the inside of the kitchen, he was no where to be found.

?You seen the Chinaman?,? she asked of the Mexican busboy. He just shrugged, either from ignorance, avoidance or fear…