Bandit's Cantina - The Series

The Cantina bustled on Friday. Cinco de Mayo would rock Saturday and parties rolled all over the city and especially in the Hispanic neighborhoods. Los Angeles grew to almost 50 percent Hispanic, and Wilmington, just south of San Pedro grew to 90 percent Latino. It would glisten on Saturday night for the party. Sidebar: Saturday […]

The sun shined over the harbor like a beacon of warmth and joy. Marko rolled his stretched FXR into the sunlight for a ride to a hearty breakfast at the Pacific Diner and to tease the cute waitresses. Frankie pushed his rolling trashcan strapped with cleaning supplies. The large galvanized tin can had wheels and

Celebration planning took over the Cantina. The girls received new celebratory uniforms. The Chinaman busted ass on a new menu. Everything would be repaired, from electrical to plumbing, and then detailed by the busy staff. A strong sense of elation filled the air. The two stolen motorcycles were returned to their owners and brothers around

Sorta depressed, Marko met with Bandit about the stolen FXR and ran down all the info he had. “No word?” Bandit asked. “Nothing this morning,” Marko said. “A guy on this hot rod FXR could be in Arizona by now.” “Unlikely a drug addict will get that far,” Bandit said. “Let me make a call.”

Marko blasted back to the Cantina. Nothing bothered him more than a brother getting his bike stolen. This brother, Bart, was a big stout machinist union member who had fallen on hard times. He was once well off, but a nasty divorce and the 2008 collapse left his engineering business in shambles, so he returned

Marko rode his stretched FXR over to the Chowder Barge, the only floating restaurant in the Los Angeles Harbor, owned by a former Bandit girlfriend, Sin Wu. The Barge resided in the rat bikes of Wilmington Marinas. The marina housed the only flotilla of destitute sail and powerboats in the port channels. No one dared

  Bandit stepped through the cadre of Green and kicked in the stern sloop hatch and jumped down the stairs to the galley below. He could never understand why galleys were designed at the rear of sailboat salons where folks stepped inside with dirty, sandy or wet feet or shoes. The small area smelled of

It was just another innocent Saturday afternoon in the Cantina Parking lot. One of the cute waitresses, Tina, suggested a swap meet to drive more traffic to the Cantina on the weekends. On a cool October weekend the sky was brilliant blue with just enough billowing clouds to hold any remaining summer heat at bay.

Marko rubbed his eyes. It was almost 3:00 a.m., a bastard of a time to be awake. He turned to the phone base system and pressed the button for messages. He recognized Dr. Feng’s number and called him back. “Come in, over?” Dr. Feng said. “You called the Cantina about a girl?” Marko asked. “Yes,

Olivia woke as big Craig slipped inside her pussy and started to rock. Still dazed like a thick fog hanging over the harbor, she tried to focus in the mental cloud. Olivia sensed the restraints, but wasn’t alert enough to panic against them. Olivia’s mind attempted to focus. As if flipping through an album of

The full moon crested the harbor like an evil glow over Transylvania. The hue from the Los Angeles sky foreground turned the color of the perfect globe a dense, almost Harley Orange. It didn’t exude the aura of freedom and chrome, but maybe a darker spirit like Halloween. There was something eerie about the night.

Friday night happy hour time was in high gear as the sun began to set over the Los Angeles Harbor. The Cantina parking lot was packed with bikes, longshoremen’s trucks, and girls who rolled over from Long Beach, three bridges away with the dreaded Terminal Island in between. Halloween approached and so did the evil

  Marko opened the Cantina on a bright sunny day. The morning sun bounced off the harbor and burned off the cool morning dew. The colors glistened against the soft beige stucco exterior walls of the Cantina. The smells from the Cantina kitchen were overwhelming. The Chinaman and his crew had been hard at it

Marko had a code about women: Don’t get involved. But Martha intrigued him. She was so very different than most of the women he met, in extremely positive ways. She was tall, 5’8” yet curvy. Her tits weren’t small, but not monsters, perfectly shaped and natural. She was in shape and took very good care

Martha rolled up in her all-black Ford Ranger pickup right on time for her second interview. Marko met her at the door. She dressed as if she came to work, wearing soft bar shoes. She eyed the girl’s uniforms last time, and came close to mimicking their Cantina gathered skirts and Spanish, cleavage-enhanced tops. “You

Marko fished off the dock under the Vincent Thomas Bridge. It spanned the wide channel between San Pedro and Terminal Island, which once housed the Long Beach Naval Base and still was home to the Terminal Island Federal Prison. Bandit sat on a rusting galvanized bucket and tossed a line in the briny water. “Just

The Cantina cooked. Business was strong, but something lingered in the air like a dog howling because he sensed an earthquake or an impending storm. The new assistant bartender, Brad, work tirelessly. The young sprout bounced around the bar like a springy ball of super-dough, gleefully serving patrons and mixing exotic drinks. He spun bottles

As the summer sun glistened on the harbor, the warmth and clear days brought out additional Cantina customers. San Pedro city fathers cut a deal with the Los Angeles Harbor commissioners and the city of LA to allow the USS IOWA, a refurbished WWII battleship, to be permanently moored against nearby docks. Another draw to

A lull hung over the Cantina starting in March. Maybe it was the calm before the summer storm. Folks came and departed like clockwork, as if on tranquil drugs. They drank their booze, ate nachos and shrimp enchiladas, and paid their tabs. No drama. No kidnapped women or unusual sex on the docks or in

Toni, the petite Italian bombshell, blistered, standing in the center of the Cantina dining room surrounded by the custom motorcycle industry elite, over 100 nervous jealous wives, and more than a handful of intrigued bi-sexual broads. She quickly sensed all eyes on her and darted for the head. The Cantina women’s bathroom was large, spacious,

Shirley rolled to her humble apartment on the edge of Hollywood where the folks who wished they were elite lived. It was an old section of town housing secretaries, delivery boys, has-been actors, bit players and extras, always hoping for a break.   Shirley drove her mid ’90s BMW up the narrow driveway, passed the

It all started when Bandit 86’d his long-bed Ford F-150 with the extended cab. It was getting long in the tooth with over 160,000 miles on the odometer. The lowered monster with rally wheels and stripped body never blinked, only requiring brake pads every 50,000 miles. The truck was a mechanical dream, but he sold

Slick Steve burst through the Cantina’s front door to go to work on the day shift, then slowed his pace as he moved around the bar. He quickly scanned the front door and the tables scattered around the Cantina. Seeing no immediate threat, his body relaxed. Tina came to the edge of the bar. “What’s

It was just a boring Thursday night in the Cantina. Saint Paddy’s day passed without any major catastrophe. The party was green and everyone smiled and had a good time. Life at Bandit’s Cantina had mellowed. Even the bouncy lesbians got along. Nyla took a night off and hired a bartender from Wilmington to stand