Bandit's Cantina - The Series

In Chapter 49, Sheila’s pimp returned to the Cantina to collect his property, but it didn’t work out as he planned. On a crisp harbor night, his thugs were surrounded in the darkened parking lot and sent down the road by the well-trained Cantina Security Crew. “This isn’t the end,” Dwight, the big black drug […]

The Chinaman watched as the entire staff leered at Cinderella, the young gorgeous Hispanic girl, who suddenly found herself without a home but surrounded by the Cantina family. She had five husbands, and a couple of slippery wet lesbians breathing down her soft neck, and the family of Cantina staff at her wispy back. But

As the sun set over the Los Angles Harbor, Bandit’s Cantina took on a celebratory aura. The gang finally relaxed, as if the evil matron in a boarding school was transferred to another facility. Kenny, the junkman, was thrown out on his ass, never to return. Left behind was Cinderella, a delightful Hispanic youngster with

The summer breezed into the harbor like a Valium cocktail, as mellow as a morning kiss. Heat waves never erupted; the cool afternoon offshore breeze calmed every evening. The skies were radiant blue with pure, wispy, milky white clouds. Each afternoon, the reflecting setting sun captured the compliant clouds and set the sky ablaze in

It was another cold, windy winter, rainy day on the coast. The economy forced patrons to stay home with six-packs, and the girls were dragging ass, protesting dismal tips. A crack like a gunshot split the mood and everyone in the Cantina looked around. Then they heard it again, like a gang war erupted in

Holidays were just around the corner. The economy sucked and the holiday blues crept into the Cantina. It was Wednesday evening before Thanksgiving and the joint was dead. “I swept the parking lot again,” Frankie said bundled up, which wasn’t customary for SoCaL. “There ain’t shit out there. I trimmed the bushes twice, I’m bored.”

Mandy Yeah, they closed the Cantina last October, almost a year to the day. Bandit went to work for the VA while going to court every couple of months fighting for his liquor license, and Marko packed up and flew to Iraq to train security forces. Some of the girls were forced to take jobs

Marko “Watch out,” Bandit?s gravely voice warned over the phone. “It’s the season.” Marko hung up the Cantina hot line in wonderment. He only spoke to Bandit on rare occasions or during an emergency. Marko handled security, Bandit ordered inventory and he checked in the shit when it arrived. Marko could never figure out how

Sheila and Bandit rode up to the Cantina together. She was a bundle of excitement and trepidation with a full stomach of Ruby?s Roadhouse chow. For the first time she rode LA freeways and faced a new clean life ahead. The excited staff waited in front of the massive Oak Cantina doors, as if lined

Sheila woke up in the middle of the night with the Diary of Ann Frank opened on her chest. Startled, she looked around like an abandoned puppy. There were no guards. No Harleys rumbled up the driveway to relieve the watch. That?s what it was. It must have been midnight, and she prayed earlier that

Illustration by Chris Kallas Bandit sent a copy of Sheila?s recorded tape to the slick drug dealer and told him to take a powder, and he did. He still needed to handle the girl. Marko and Frankie cornered her in the change room, tied her up and drug her into an SUV. Bandit knew a

The Cantina was aglow with Christmas lights. The crowds were steady and the Cantina?s Christmas Party a wild hit. Marko looked over the parking lot with satisfaction and mild concern. He watched the Cantina business grow, but wasn?t sure he liked it. Ambition carried an ugly side, and he knew he?d come face to face

The wind whipped up around the old rusting ?59 Cadillac rotting on a half-acre of sand, outside Indio, near the Coachella Valley. Bandit remembered back in the ?70s when outlaws were at war after the Indio run in the desert. Sheila dried out sequestered in the adjacent sand blasted mobile home. A crew of old

The Cantina biz grew all summer. The city of Los Angeles shifted gears from a sprawling port authority gobbling up outlining land whenever possible to expand refineries and container parking to a harbor seeking a balance with the community. San Pedro hosted five miles of coastline with less than a mile accessible to the public.

Spring dried up the heaviest winter wetness in the history of Califa. Some 30-plus inches of rain pummeled the coast living on a drought ridden average of 10 inches a year. A handful of Spanish tiles were ripped from the Cantina roof and shattered on the cracked asphalt parking lot. The fluorescent lines in the

Spring dried up the heaviest winter wetness in the history of Califa. Some 30-plus inches of rain pummeled the coast that lives on a drought ridden average of 10 inches a year. A handful of Spanish tiles were ripped from the Cantina roof and shattered on the cracked asphalt parking lot. The fluorescent lines in

Tina It’s slow around the holidays as if folks want to be seen by god as good blokes, so they slow the party aspects down. The staff kept the fires burnin’ for the local loyal customers and folks who don’t have anywhere to go but the Cantina during the holidays. Clay’s rolled in everyday to

Photo from Wino Joe Mandy and Nyla slithered into Bandit’s upstairs apartment as 3:00 a.m. struck a bell and Marko locked the joint down. He watched as the two voluptious asses ascended the stairway bouncing against each other with arms entwined. It was a sight so sensual that it would cause an irate warrior to

Cantina business was flush. Rumors, newspaper reports and local radio spurned Cantina profits. It was jammed day in and day out. Marko worked overtime. Frankie a rambling part-time helper at many Pedro businesses took on full-time doorman duties. Even rumors of lesbian waitresses sparked a nasty reputation that helped crowd the barstools. Clay, a relationship

Bandit’s Cantina opened at 5:00 sharp, like a Broadway Play curtain. The staff took great pride in preparation and execution as if a bank president was standing, glaring at his pocket watch, as Marko hit the lights and unlocked the mighty oak doors. The bar was restocked and spotless due to Nyla’s bubbly efforts. Mandy

Shaking off The Night Before And Rumor Control Marko’s push broom shoved brass shell-casings and beer-soaked sawdust into the corner of the hardwood deck. The dining room remained quiet as Nyla stood on a step stool and patched bullet holes with spackle. Early in the fog soaked morning the Pistoleros fired up their bikes, refueled

The real Indian John, shot by Markus Cuff. Indian John stood less than six feet. He rode an old Indian chopper with highbars, an oil-dripping flathead engine and a crystal door knob for a suicide shifter. He was old school to the bone, old clothes, old bike, weathered leathers, long hair, and no job. He

The Cantina was hopping, the cash register vibrating to the changing coin. Burnouts marked the parking lot. Bandit recently installed a big screen to entertain the troops. It was Margaritaville just 150 miles north of the border. The jute box was jammin’ the Senoritas swayin’, the booze flowing and the scooters sliding up to the

Old Skool ’70’s Photo From Bob T. Marko could feel the warm flesh of his temple being pressed cold by the icy steel barrel of the 357 magnum, as a myriad of thoughts flashed through his mind. The drama hanging over his head that seemed like the end of the world yesterday, was of little