It struck 10:00 in the morning in the Port of Los Angeles and a ship’s air-horn blasted the morning. Immediately the Cantina front door opened, and skinny, downer Clay walked in. He missed the naked Chinese broad tied to the chair, the outlaws, the dead dude and the mountain man, still fuming.
Clay ignored all the action and strolled slightly to his right into the bar and pulled out his corner bar stool and sat. Margaret, who dressed the wounds on the female cop in the dining room returned to her position behind the bar and smiled at Clay, “The usual?”
“Yep,” Clay said.
She reached for a Corona and a slice of lime and wrote huevos rancheros and a side of guacamole on a meal ticket. Tina dashed it into the galley.
The Cantina was open for business, whether they liked it or not. Fridays are big days and Bandit couldn’t afford to shut it down, besides it was too late and a couple of longshoremen strolled in and looked for a table. They saw what looked like trouble, but they were tired and hungry. Steering clear of the dining room, they sought a table in the corner of the bar. They murmured amongst themselves and nodded in the direction of the action.
Bandit looked at Marko. Marko shrugged. They both didn’t know what to do next or what would happen next, but Bandit had a code: Do something, even if it’s wrong.
“Take the Wim whatever to my office,” Bandit said, “and secure her.” Marko moved to the naked Chinese broad with an evil snake tattoo scrolled around her silky thigh and the leering snake’s head aimed at her shaved smooth pussy, with its long narrow crimson tongue aimed directly at her clit.
“This is your last chance to lick her pussy,” Bandit said to the female detective laying on the deck sorta pale, bandaged and propped up with seat cushions.
“Fuck you,” Officer Olsen said and reached for her cell phone over her massive boob and under the lip of her suit.
“Don’t bother,” Marko said and held up her phone. “No calls downtown right now.”
Bandit watched a couple more longshoreman stroll in the door and gaze around the dining room and then move to the bar area. Bandit was reading a book by a Japanese warrior called the 5-Rings and wondered how Miyamoto Musashi would handle this situation.
Suddenly, the club members second prospect could no longer handle the situation unfolding before him. He peeled off his prospect patch and handed it to the big dark member. “That was my best friend,” he stuttered. “I can’t deal with this shit anymore, violence constantly.” He bolted for the door still holding his semi-auto in his right hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
He was just a young Hispanic kid who wanted to ride with a brotherhood and feel the power and comradery of the patch. Bandit met him at the door just as it started to open. “You don’t want to end it like this,” Bandit said. “And you don’t want to step out there holding this.”
The 5’8” kid who seemed in good shape, stopped and looked up at Bandit. Bandit took the vest back from the member and put it over the kid’s shoulders once more. “You need to see this through, and then you can step away.”
The door pushed open and Jimmy strolled through the door. He was a toothless wharf rat, who lived on a boat in the Pacific Marina and drank constantly and didn’t eat much. He was a physical wreck, but he had long thick surfer blondish hair pulled into a bun at the back of his head and held there with wooden chopsticks. He looked up at Bandit with brilliant blue eyes and said, “How about an iced cold Corona for breakfast?”
Bandit shrugged, “You know the source. She’s waiting for you.”
“Are you expecting someone?” Jimmy asked. “There’s a limo outside with a bunch of slick-looking Asians hanging around it.”
“Thanks Jimmy,” Bandit said. “A private party. This beer is on me.” He nodded to Margaret who scolded him. Jimmy was always trying to milk a free drink out of the crew. Usually, Bandit didn’t give in.
Bandit signaled to Marko, and Marko made a gesture in the direction of Frankie. “They’re here,” Bandit said. Bandit pushed out of the big oak doors and spotted four Asians in all black standing outside a stretched limo.
Bandit’s mind raged with options and quotes from The Book of 5-Rings. “In large scale strategy the superior man will manage many subordinates dexterously, bear himself correctly, govern the country and foster the people, thus preserving the ruler’s discipline.”
He was beginning to wonder if this was going to turn into a scene out of a Jackie Chan movie. He turned slightly and looked toward the Cantina roof. Marko was poised in his high-security location holding an AR-15 loaded with a 30-round magazine.
Like in Buddhism’s 8-fold path to Nirvana, Miyamoto had a 9-fold code:
1. Do not think dishonestly
2. The Way is in training.
3. Become acquainted with every art.
4. Know the Ways of all professions.
5. Distinguish between gain and loss in worldly matters.
6. Develop intuitive judgement and understanding of everything.
7. Perceive those things which cannot be seen.
8. Pay attention even to trifles
9. Do nothing which is of no use.
Bandit approached the glossy stretched Cadillac limo directly. Within 5 feet the rear passenger window declined, and a soft alabaster elderly face came into view.
Bandit eyed the dark glasses gazing back at him. He looked at the guards and sensed their tension. Bandit stopped. Anxiety surrounded him like a dense fog hanging over the harbor hindering movement in the port. An eerie presence permeated the lot.
He thought about the Wildman, the club guy and the wounded detective in the Cantina, and now these guys.
Bandit took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was all about the little naked Chinese broad, Wim whatever, tied up in his office. He thought about Musashi’s four oaths:
1. Never be late with respect to the way of the warrior.
2. Be useful to the community or family.
3. Be respectful to your parents.
4. Get beyond love and grief: exist for the good of man.
Just then, a battered white van screamed into the parking lot and slid to a stop. Bandit turned to Marko on the roof, “Get the shit.”
The van door burst open and five tough looking white guys burst out of the Ford Econoline doors armed with automatic weapons. It was almost 75 degrees, but the leader wore a long fur coat. They had to be Russian mob. Bandit took a step back from the limousine.
“Where’s the girl?” the Russian demanded.
“Who the fuck are you?” Bandit responded.
The guy pulled an semi-automatic pistol out of his coat and aimed it at Bandit. Suddenly all the Asian guys in crisp black suits pulled polished automatic weapons and aimed them at the Russians across the lot. There was maybe 50 feet between the two groups.
“Is this business or love?” Bandit said in no particular direction. Suddenly there was a quiet air about the moment.
“It’s all business,” the Russian said. “I don’t know the broad.”
Suddenly, from the roof top a large bundle of clothes landed near Bandit’s feet. Marko stood tall holding his AR-15. On the other corner Frankie stood with a sawed-off stainless Mossberg 12-gauge pump shotgun.
“So, what’s your business?” Bandit said. “Is it jewels or dope?”
The limousine passenger door opened and out stepped an elderly Asian.
“If this is all about business,” Bandit said. “Let’s do business and everyone gets to go home to their families without harm. But we need to move. The authorities can’t be far away.”
“It is business,” the Chinese elder said and approached. “We need the drugs.”
“So, I’ve got your shit,” Bandit said. Where are the briefcases?”
There was a pause in the action. Bandit didn’t want to ask for the money. He didn’t want to have anything to do with this entire mess. But he couldn’t let all the shit go for free, and what about the Chinese broad? She would want her loot for all the risk she took to get it here, even though she was a piece of shit that unfortunately floated to these shores.
He faced a number of obstacles and challenges and was about to face another one.
“She’s been paid,” the Chinese leader said as he approached and gathered his burlap sack full of heroine.
“Same here,” the Russian leader said, “and it better be all here or I’m coming for her.”
Bandit thought about the broad, her demeanor, and immediately suspected a problem. He glanced up at Marko standing on the roof like a gargoyle watching over the Cantina lands.
Both groups returned to their vehicles to check their respective stashes. Bandit suddenly realize his worsening situation. If she screwed all the players in the Cantina, the same slippery scenario was likely to occur in the parking lot. His mind raced with options.
He had to keep this mob out of the Cantina. He had to do something to get the Chinese miniature human being with a silky shaved pussy away from the fray, quick.
He looked up at Marko and said, “Where’s a fucking tugboat when you need one?”
Bandit started to back away from the parking lot toward the Cantina Spanish tiled front entrance. Marko disappeared from the roof security location and Frankie stayed in place to keep an eye on the parking lot.
The Russians scrambled into their rusty white Econoline van, but it didn’t move. The Asian group slipped into their limousine, but it didn’t move. Bandit wondered why the Asian mob drove a limousine and the Russian mob had a battered van. Weren’t they both part of the gang mystique? They both had bags of cash.
Bandit made it inside and dashed up to his office. The Chinese broad was still tied to a chair, but the female detective was licking her pussy and playing with her massive exposed tits.
Tina stood over them, enjoying the action.
“What the fuck!” Bandit snapped. “Get her dressed in something. We’ve got to move.”
“But,” Officer Olsen stammered as she removed her mouth from the young Chinese girl’s ultra-smooth cunt. “I think I can help her out.”
“I can see that,” Bandit said, “But I will roll the dice and say you may be sadly mistaken.”
The officer’s arm was bandaged, and her boobs were magnificent sloping orbs of pleasure. Bandit was taken by them, but on a mission. “I’ll tell you what. Get dressed, quick. You can escort her to her next stop. Although, I’ll bet it’s going to be dicey.
Tina found a T-shirt and some shorts for Wim to hustle into. Bandit led them down the stairs to the Cantina bar. The stairwell met the large deck of Spanish tiles leading to the massive oak front door. Just as they stepped off the stairs onto the thick tiles the door burst open and two armed Chinese guards and the boss stepped inside.
“Fuck,” Bandit said to himself and turned to the detective. “Got your badge?”
Mary grabbed her badge and thrust it toward the Asians. “She’s going with me downtown,” she said deliberately. The Chinese mob hesitated for a second, just enough time for Marko and Frankie to step forward, weapons drawn.
“The drugs aren’t what she claimed,” the elderly gentlemen snapped, and he sneered at Wim whatever, who smirked in return. There was something so wrong about this broad.
“Take her to the galley,” Bandit said and turned to the well-dressed man who wasn’t happy. “I don’t know what the hell to tell you. I came in this morning and she stood at the bottom of my stairs looking tired and frail. Ever since, everything’s all wrong about her. She seems to desire hurting everyone she comes in contact with. I don’t know what to tell you.”
The Chinese gentleman looked after Wim as they started moving toward the galley and then back to Bandit. “You know, this is not over.”
“I suspected that,” Bandit said and followed the girls through the broad swinging stainless steel lined doors through the crisp, clean stainless-steel galley and out the back door.
The Russians waited guns drawn. Bandit looked 25 feet away at the edge of the dock, where a Manson Tug Boat backed against the tar-covered pylons. The captain saw the action on the dock and pulled the lever on his steam-powered horn capable of alerting ships captains on a bridge 300 yards away.
The blast nearly knocked all the combatants off their feet. Bandit pulled his 9mm and shot at the deck at the first Russian’s foot, missing it on purpose. “Run,” he shouted to Mary who took Wim by the hand and dashed across the hot tarmac toward the dock’s edge.
The Russians scrambled to regroup. “Don’t move,” Bandit shouted at them crouching, while securely aimed. Tina pulled her pocket Browning and aimed it at another Russian. There were two more, both seemed pale and ill. Some 50 percent of Russians held in Russian prisons have drug resistant tuberculosis and often hepatitis. The men’s eyes were ringed in red and they were sullen and sweating.
The girls only needed a few seconds to reach the edge of the dock and board the tug.
“I take it the jewels weren’t real,” Bandit attempted to distract the Russians from their target. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the Russian mob or to start a war. He prayed no-one would make a false move.
The Russian in the fur coat was a nasty bastard, but not stupid. He holstered his weapon as the girls scrambled aboard the tug and it roared its departure.
“Some fake, some missing,” he said. “That broad is nothing but trouble.”
“I just revoked her Cantina Membership,” Bandit said. “Can I buy you guys breakfast?”
