Cantina

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

There’s Never A Dull Moment In The Cantina A blustery storm blew in along the coast of California like the black sheep of waves. Three riders pulled up to the Cantina and dismounted as the wind shifted gears and blew their gloves off their seats. They had ridden to Los Angeles to escape the northern

Barbi in the Cantina. The reflected light of the high noon sun filtered through the glass block wall of the Cantina, giving a soothing atmosphere for the afternoon lunch crowd from the harbor. Mandy busied herself polishing and hanging the oversized margarita glasses in the racks above the bar to stifle her nervous energy. “I’ll

Sweat ran down Marko’s forehead in rivulets that collected in his eyebrows before falling into his eyes, making them sting and burn as he worked on his bike in the Cantina Garage. It was mid January, yet a Santa Ana breeze blew hot winds to the coast from the desert. His wrench slipped off the

His boots echoed on the new boardwalk as the entrance grew near. It was an unusually warm New Years eve and the pungent scent of the harbor hung in the quiet fog. The heavy doors of the Cantina were opened wide leaving only the western style swinging gates to fill the space as he slammed

Episode 30 ? Misery Loves Company— The holiday season loomed around the Cantina like a priest standing outside a bar hinting at the evil doings inside. Riders and dock workers were consumed by holiday efforts, family, gift giving and nagging wives. Bandit didn’t mind. He enjoyed the break from the hectic crowds to clean and

A week had passed as calmly as the morning fog burning off the harbor. The Cantina rocked every night. Signs of winter evening chills brought the brothers out in droves. They wanted to party before the misty cold prevented all but the hard-core from riding. Some bikes were headed for teardowns and rebuilds. It was

Nyla squirmed against the hard porcelain surface of the washer as it jiggled violently beneath her. She was aware of the rapists threat to American women as they were constantly covered, analyzed and their courtroom dramas were detailed in the news. John Walsh recently was interviewed on Larry King and warned women of the rapist’s

Picking Up Love In All The Wrong Places 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

When The Stars Ain’t Right Half-hour before last call, Marko roamed the Cantina floor. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, about 6’2″, weighing 215. He was constantly in fighting shape, training and taking stunt work on the side. He had little use for women since he was dumped in his mid-20s. That was enough for

A Cocktail Mix Of Sexual Tension And The Wrong Lines It was a strange off-color night. The Cantina was packed with mostly bikers, a couple of service men, and longshoremen. The night was cool, although summer was lurking around the bend. There was a fog building on the harbor like bad news to a brother

Nyla had poured one after another on a perfect, sun-baked weekend, but Monday was different. A dense fog hung over the harbor in the morning. Marko looked out of his studio addition to the Spanish Cantina and watched the cold mist engulf the harbor like an evil spirit over Salem’s Lot. He remembered that as

It was Friday night at Bandit’s Cantina, the hottest joint in town. The old Spanish style rough stucco building with red tiled roof looked out at the Los Angeles Harbor. The night was a cool, Southern California 60 degrees as two Asian men pulled into the parking lot on the edge of Harbor Boulevard in

Nyla was working furiously behind the bar. Happy hour was in full swing. The Cantina was packed with dockworkers, longshoremen and tugboat crews. There were even a handful of bikers. There weren’t a lot of girls in the bar. The Chinaman had created some of his specialty, Mexican egg rolls and fried won ton instead

Slick Steve rolled south on Avalon, the center of the Wilmington corridor. It was a town that could have been taken for a small city south of the border. It was a mass of Mexican signage and people. He wondered what the hell had hit him. He was confused. He had grown up in a