Marko closed the Cantina down after the last drunk had moseyed out of the parking lot. A couple of Softail riders were too hammered to straddle their black scoots. Marko slipped them into the Cantina garage and called them a cab. Bandit had a regular account with Yellow Cab of Long Beach. Marko scratched his short graying waves as the last car pulled out of the lot. He watched a fighting couple depart, pick-ups with new girls or guys, new affairs blossoming and wished he was in one of those cars.
He needed a woman rarely and usually just for sex. They were generally too much trouble and not good at being male companions. He was a loner who moved fast and enjoyed being free to do whatever he wanted whenever, but he felt alone. As the fog pushed on shore from the west at 2:30 in the morning, he wanted a woman to touch, just for the night. He wandered through the parking lot picking up trash and looking for drunk strays. There was one van still in the parking lot empty. He checked it out and wandered on.
Inside Nyla wondered about the flirtatious girl at the bar and what it would have been like to make love to her. She was seriously attracted to women, but a novice at being a lesbian. She grumbled to herself as she wiped down the bar with a wet soapy cloth and followed it with a dry one. She took a great deal of pride in the Cantina and her relationship with Bandit. In general, she disliked and distrusted men except for Bandit and Marko. Bandit rescued her from an abusive marriage and allowed her to pursue her penchant for women unabated. She went to the back of the kitchen into the supply room and put a handful of bar rags in the rusting washer along with aprons and table cloths. The washer rumbled and it reminded her of a motorcycle firing to life. Something disturbed her and she spun in the empty storage room just off the galley. She peered in the darkened kitchen of tile and stainless steel but couldn’t see anything and didn’t notice that the door leading to the trash containers outside the Cantina was ajar. She could smell the wafting disinfectant used to clean the kitchen and a dampness filled the air with dense humidity. Everything was still wet from the cooks cleaning the kitchen.
Nyla sighed thinking about Sparkle’s tender cleavage. She pulled her card out of her breast pocked and reviewed the line, “Your Fetish Is Mine”. It made her tingle and she grazed one of her own soft breasts with her hand. Her nipple hardened and she thought about the girls pierced nipples and her smile that said she wanted Nyla to do anything to her she desired and boy did she. She could still smell the girl’s soft feminine perfume as she turned back to the washer and slipped the card into the pocket on her skirt. She heard something again and began to turn. It was too late.
The sticky-backed duck tape blurred her vision in a instant and lit on her lips sealing her voice for ever more. She instinctively reached for the tape tearing at the edges with her manicured nails, but two muscular hands snatched hers away driving her pelvis against the washer causing it to jump then continue to vibrate beneath her. He yanked her hands behind her waist tearing her limbs at her shoulder joints and snapped a tie-wrap around her wrist pulling it painfully tight, then another matched the first one only tighter. The silent intruder shoved her face against the warm porcelain coated washer top and pushed her short ruffled skirt up over her ass. He spoke for the first time as he yanked her panties down. He huffed like a valve releasing steam, “Oh, nice ass, bitch.”
She could hear the fly of his pants opening. She attempted to stand and push away from the jiggling washer. He cracked her along side the head with a blunt instrument. “Don’t fight me bitch, if you want to live to see the morning,” he snapped. “You should have been a better bartender. I like my Jack quick!”
