Bandit couldn’t wait to peel back to the Cantina. He had a ton on his mind, but the ride felt good. The bike and his mental load lifted without the yipping Melody around, but there was way more. The highway up the Grape Vine blistered with heat but contained mild traffic. He leaned through the curves as if he floated on air unincumbered by the world around him.
All the crops in the valley below appeared extra green and vibrant. The roads felt open and inviting as he crested the ridge and stopped to refuel in Gorman. He ran into the same dismal mix of folks as he pumped gas into the long FXR tank, and a hippy approached. “The governor is going to ban those things in 2045,” he said smugly.
He was tall and over-confident. “What if you’re wrong?” Bandit asked. It caught the hippy off guard.
The kid sported a frizzy mop of hair and a tie-dyed t-shirt. His mud brown eyes searched for answers. His confidence waned.
“What if fossil fuels saved the planet in more ways than one,” Bandit continued. “And what about this governor?”
“What about him?” The kid asked.
“Two things,” Bandit said returning the nozzle to the pump. “If the planet is dying today, what’s 15 or 25 years from now going to accomplish?” And what if I called you tomorrow and said I was coming to kick your ass, but I wouldn’t arrive for 20 years? Give that some thought. I’m going to enjoy this ride and I hope Nirvana works out for you.”
The big man tossed a leg over Marko’s FXR and fired it to life. “This is freedom (the chopper) and so is C02,” Bandit said and clicked the transmission into gear and released the clutch.
The ride down the hill and back into the city was effortless and a release from Covid restrictions, financial upheaval and governmental stress. It was like a mental massage or deep meditation. The rumble of the Harley, the bends in the roads and the way he slipped in and out of traffic patterns and mounting city congestion, felt like a wire through a block of his favorite Jalapeno Jack Cheese—smooth and effortless.
The heat diminished as he reached the cooler coastline and swung south on the 110 Harbor freeway toward San Pedro and Wilmington. Vast pressure loomed over the Governor after months of state covid lockdowns and his recall. Between growing homelessness and Covid lockdown, the mayor of LA was dragged into court numerous times for his lack of success. The Cantina no longer looked inviting with plastic signs indicating drive-throughs for food pick-up only.
The parking lot was empty, no liquor sales allowed, no patio dining and no indoor seating. Bandit pulled up to the garage and Marko immediately opened the roll-up door and greeted him. “How did it go?”
“Just like everything else our lovely government is up to,” Bandit said and took off his mandatory helmet and tossed it into the garage where it bounced off the concrete deck. “But it’s good to be back. How’s everyone.”
“Dismal and anxious,” Marko said, but we’ve been hanging in there. “You heard about the governor’s recall and now the Major is being dragged into court over the growing homelessness in LA.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bandit said. “How about a Jack on the rocks. Let’s have a crew meeting.”
Tired and dismayed, Bandit sat at the head of a thick oak dining room table and watched as the anxious staff pushed another table against his, then another. “Let’s get everyone in here for this one,” Bandit said and the girls added two more tables.
Bandit stood up and went to the kitchen. Margaret followed him. Her questioning eyes said mountains. “Don’t sweat a thing,” Bandit said.
He approached the Chinaman. “What do you have?” Bandit asked. “Chips and salsa, anything. Something light. Never mind. Get your crew together. We can eat after we meet.”
Even Clay brought a fresh Corona and lime over to the table. He appeared more scrawny and older. “What’s with you?” Bandit asked.
“What isn’t,” Clay muttered and sipped his beer. “I don’t have a job, and life isn’t much fun anymore.”
“Maybe you and I should do something about it,” Bandit said.
The Chinaman brought a giant plate of nachos. He set it gently in the center of the tables and his crew brought three versions of his special salsas, Jalapeno, Habanera and chili verde.
Bandit looked at Juan, Maria and Jose and said, “Did you like the Badlands?”
The entire crew glanced over at the galley crew as they beamed, smiled and nodded.
“What a minute,” Margaret said. “You don’t fuck around do you? I’ve got a kid here.”
Most of the staff sat dazed. “Can I go,” Clay said and Mandy rolled her eyes.
“I need to think about this,” Tina said. “Are you thinking about moving us all, lock-stock and barrel to South Dakota?
“Not much fun here anymore,” Bandit said.
“And the homeless want to set up camp in the parking lot,” Marko said. “According to the city that’s okay.”
“My meth connection is here,” Sheila said.
“Fuck your meth connection,” Bandit said. “You’re going to get over that shit or I’m leaving you in the desert. Your teeth are already coming apart.”
Shiela, a sharp looking hottie as a youngster was tall, 5’6”. She could do anything but chose sex, drugs and rock and roll. Bandit knew it wouldn’t last.
“Look,” Bandit said. “This was only meant to be a discussion. I’m not loading boxes or putting the Cantina up for sale. Kick it around, ask lots of questions, and discuss it with your pals and peeps. Then we’ll discuss it again. Besides, I’m open to other options.”
Bandit looked around the room and at Margaret, and then Marko. He glanced at Juan and his family. Juan the little Hispanic hard-working sort folded his arms over his chest and carefully gave Bandit a thumbs up.
Bandit knew this would be a daunting task with lots of cards and dice in play. He needed to see how the news settled in with the Chinaman and the girls. Tired, he asked the Chinaman for a couple of Salmon tacos and another Jack on the Rocks from Margaret. He retired upstairs to his penthouse office.
The staff tried to make busy, while kicking around a potential move. Tina, who was tiny with dark straight hair, short like someone who was compact was pals with the voluptuous redhead Mandy. “What do you think? Tina said clearing the table. Mandy’s full head of hair was the opposite of Tina’s dark lustrous slick dark hair like the barrel of a blue pistol. Mandy’s hair was radiant auburn and as curvy as her body.
“This is my family,” Mandy said. “These folks have been better to me than anyone in my life. I don’t know what I would do without them.”
“But South Dakota?” Tina asked.
“It’s not cold unless you go outside naked,” Marko said passing the two girls.
The big oak front door flew open as Ricky stormed in the door. “Where’s my mom?”
The redheaded enabler returned from the kitchen carrying supplies for the bar.
“Mom,” Ricky snarled. He deserved everything and worked for nothing. “Gimme your car keys and some money.”
Marko pushed the red button behind his security stand to alert Bandit.
Margaret reached under counter for her purse and the 20-something snatched it from her grasp before she could open it. “Gimme a beer,” he ordered as he spun and headed to a table.
“Where’s your car?” Marko said and snatched the purse from the tall lanky kid with reddish blond hair.
“What the fucks it to you?” the kid snapped. “This is between my mom and me.”
Margaret was a lifesaver for the Cantina, organized, prompted, caring, a helluva barkeep, and good with the customers. There were only a few like her on the planet and she had to have a bastard son. Bandit had an eye on her, but he couldn’t get close with the son constantly fucking up and she continually giving in. He didn’t want anything to do with her train wreck plus the shit he was dealing with regarding the business and the rest of the family.
His hands were tied keeping the whole crew safe and financially viable. If he got in the middle of her deal, he could lose her. Women are like that, when it comes to their kids, and he knew the drill.
Margaret, a tiny human being was a warm redhead, all cuddly and put together with big green eyes and soft straight hair, more like a pumpkin. She came around the bar with a beer for her kid and Marko handed her the large leather satchel-like purse.
“What happened Ricky?” She said in her constantly helpful tone.
“Nothing,” Ricky said. “Just gimme the keys and the money. I gotta go.”
“Okay,” Margaret said, “but what happened to your car.”
“I don’t need any of your bullshit whinning about what I’m doing,” Ricky snapped. “Just gimme the fucking shit.”
Marko stood near Margaret and stared at the kid. Marko fumed, but stood stoically watching and waiting.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” Ricky said to Marko glaring. He was grinding his teeth. The kid was on meth.
Bandit came down the stairs wearing a white T, black sweats and sandals. He walked right up to Margaret and put his arm around her tender shoulder. She was shaking. “Son, you’re upsetting your mother, and when you upset your mother, you rankle everyone who works here.”
Bandit and Marko knew exactly what they wanted to do to this fuckin’ loser. They also knew that anything they did to the kid would blow up their relationship with his mom. Bandit moved around Margaret toward the kid and so did Marko.
The kid stressed as he sat fidgeting in his chair. “You can’t do anything to me,” he said and started to lunge for his mom’s leather purse again, but Bandit and Marko blocked any attempt.
“You’re high,” Bandit said. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” the kid said and started to get up.
Marko pushed him down in the seat again. “Not so fast.”
“You need to explain a few things,” Bandit said, and he knew the kid wanted to bolt. He couldn’t put his hands on him, and if the kid ran there wasn’t much they could do. This was one of those fucked up situations and he studied the kid for weapons.
Just then the big oak doors burst open and in stormed two officers weapons drawn. They immediately spied the kid in the chair surrounded. “Back away from the kid,” the big black officer announced.
“Ricky Jones, or whatever your name is,” The shorter female officer with bright eyes barked as she drew a set of handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for drug trafficking of meth amphetamines, rape, hit-and-run and weapons violations.”
Bandit gently pulled Margaret back from her kid as the officer pushed him off the chair onto his knees and cuffed him behind his back. He held her close as tears welled up in her eyes and slipped down her soft compassionate cheeks. She knew something of this nature was bound to happen. She hoped not but felt it coming for years. She felt honor-bound to support the kid until the end. But in the end the decision was his.
After the officers hauled Ricky to their patrol car, Margaret pulled herself together enough to speak to the young female officer and give her some info.
Bandit held Margaret tight. The staff huddled and muttered caring words to Margaret as she hugged Bandit and tried to pull herself together. The staff started to return to their lack-luster duties, since there were only a few drive-up customers who needed little customer service. Tina masked up and helped them at the window.
The galley crew returned to the kitchen and prepared a few meals. Bandit put Mandy and Margaret together. “Just take it slow and easy. This will all sort itself out.”
Marko secured the front door, because they were no longer allowed walk-in traffic or even outdoor seating. He turned toward the interior where only one patron, Clay remained at the bar. He was slumped over the thick glossy varnished oak surface at usual, but Marko touched his shoulder and he was warm. He touched his neck, and knew exactly what happened.
Clay lifted his head slightly, “I don’t feel so well.”
“Fuck,” Marko said and Bandit turned. “Let’s make up one of the garage stalls as the infirmary. We need to get him out of here and sanitize this joint. Everyone needs to wear masks for a while. Open all the windows.”
Mandy and Margaret immediately became the Cantina redheaded nurses. They set up a cot in one garage after Marko moved choppers into the other stall and cleared the area. They masked-up Clay and lead him to his clean-sheet cot with his Corona. “Lay down here,” Margaret said. “We are going to need to quarantine you and us. But we also need to figure out how to test you.”
“Tell me about your symptoms,” Margaret said and started to write on a bar receipt tablet. Mandy checked his temperature, 99.8.
“I just feel bad, maybe a headache, like a sinus cold,” Clay said, “but I can’t taste my Corona.”
For hours they monitored Clay and disinfected the Cantina. Tina peeled to the CVS Pharmacy on her bicycle and returned with several test kits that purportedly were 90 percent accurate. Everyone on the staff tested negative except Clay.
Bandit returned to his digs above the Cantina. His tacos were cold and his drink watery. He picked it up and moved to one of the massive brass portholes over- looking the main channel. He thought about the good times tearing up the streets of Long Beach and the girls. He thought about the times when cops disliked bikers and pulled them over for anything. In general they deserved it.
Now cops don’t pay much attention to bikers. They are pushed around constantly and more recently threatened. Citizens are threatened because they work hard and own homes. Bandit looked at a long line of trucks that the government wants banned. Fun and freedom were under fire. Save the planet and park drug addicts in your front yard.
Bandit didn’t like considering the negative waves. It was against his code. There had to be a place where bothers could still ride free, feel free, and work for a living. He hoped his staff would come around to something, even if it was wrong…
