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 middle-class neighborhood in a small suburb of Phoenix. He had never known anything except the ordinary. When he discovered that he wasn?t going to attend college, he tried the barkeep profession mostly for the women. The longer he poured liquor for women, the more likely he was going to get laid. He wasn?t much of a lover either. In most cases the girls he caught didn?t return to the bar. He lacked finesse, consideration and a romantic air.
When he discovered drugs in Hollywood, it gave him an edge with the sequined girls who frequented Hollywood bars looking for fame or a famous man to hook. If a girl had looks and a body, they thought they had a shot. Steve was unaware of the ploy. He just wanted to get laid. Slick Steve lived in a single-bedroom flat behind a home in Lomita, a lackluster, middle- class burg. He pulled off the freeway and headed along PCH to Western then south to a small side street, where he turned in and found his small pad. He parked and went inside where he showered, made himself a margarita and wondered where he could find a woman for the night. He stayed away from Hollywood after the bust, and he was generally afraid of Bandit so he didn?t hang around the Cantina after hours. He knew that if Bandit was aware that he was dealing from the club, he?d be fired post haste. A false confidence washed over Steve as he showered and dressed in his usual Hollywood attire of all black. He had a pocket full of crank and some woman would surely fall prey to his lure. He was certain that he could use one bag for bait and the rest for sales. He even had a joint in mind that he might hit.
It was a small Filipino restaurant not far from the Cantina that almost overlooked the West Basin of the Los Angeles Harbor, except for the stacks of containers blocking the view.
Steve fired up the Corvette and headed for a bar that others said was a money laundering fa?ade for a Filipino gang. Steve didn?t know shit about the gang and basically construed Filipinos as small, cute people. He drove to the bar on Harbor Boulevard and pulled into the dusty parking lot at the base of Knoll Hill. There were only a handful of cars in the lot when Steve, coated in cheap aftershave, wandered in the door. Inside the place was dark and mysterious. A two-man band plunked away on a small corner stage. Steve surveyed the room full of Asian people then headed for the bar. He pulled up a stool and sat down.
The most gorgeous Chinese girl in a form-fitting black dress turned toward Steve and her eyes brightened. The dress had a high neck collar and was slit up the side. Her skin was polished ivory smooth and she seemed to glide along the deck in Steve?s direction. She leaned close and he could see her skin was as soft as the satin material. ?Can I get you something to drink, big boy?? she said.
?Yeah, I?ll have a Gold Cadillac,? Steve said as his eyes were drained of any images except hers. ?I?m looking for some action. Does this place heat up later??
She glanced up but didn?t say anything. Behind Steve, six men at a small corner table grew silent. One of them, a young man who sat bolt upright, poked the taller Asian next to him. Four men turned and two older men paid no attention. The conversation turned to Steve as the men spoke. Then one got to his feet and buttoned his sport coat over a black turtleneck sweater. He was Korean, with hard angular features. He walked with a slight hobble in one of his knees. He was in excellent shape and moved like a man who could handle himself.
?You make this place about as hot as it gets,? the lady bartender said as she slid Steve?s drink down the heavily lacquered bar. As Steve reached for the drink, the young man slid up to the bar and rested his arm in Steve?s path to the margarita. Steve, oblivious to the move, began to reach over the young Asian?s forearm. The young man, Han, moved like the smooth snap of a bullwhip. He shoved Steve?s drink away, spun and trapped Steve?s forearm with his left arm. He turned the elbow and pushed down. ?What?” Steve whimpered in pain. ?My God.? ?Are you out of your mind?? Han said quietly, ?I believe you are.? ?What, what?? Steve stammered. ?You?re hurting me.? Han turned his elbow slightly and pressed his wrist against the bar. Steve whimpered some more. ?Does Bandit know you?re a dealer?? Han said. ?No, no he doesn?t,? Steve said. ?Let me go.? ?Did you know you were dealing in our territory?? Han said as the other three Asians surrounded the action and the tallest of the three said, ?Let?s take him into the private office.?
Steve was sweating as the three guided him into the back room and tied him to a chair in the middle. The four men in black moved around the office. Steve was scared and confused. He just wanted to deal drugs and fuck as many women as would have him. The outside of the restaurant/bar may have looked unkempt but the office could have been in any downtown Los Angeles high rise. The nature and artifacts were Asian and the office was as clean as a polished pin with a black pearl fastened to the head. The young men dimmed the light until only one shone in Steve?s face. The duct tape held Steve securely in his wooden armless chair. Behind Steve, one of the men held a varnished stick about ?-inch in diameter and a yard long.
?Do you know what you?re doing, Steve?? Han asked. ?I?m not doing anything,? Steve said. He saw Han nod at the man behind him. The tallest of the four stood almost 6 foot, with short black hair and a thin but athletically trimmed form. Steve could hear the stick sing through the air like whip. It seemed to pass by his head several times before it contacted his right trap with its first strike. Another man stepped forward and shoved a rag in Steve?s mouth a split second before he attempted to scream. The varnished weapon continued to surround Steve?s head with jet-like speed.
?Either you?re an idiot,? Han said, ?or you don?t know what the fuck you are doing. Did you expect to come to Los Angeles and start dealing drugs and not tread on anyone?s turf? Does this look like a new neighborhood, new ground ripe for the taking? This is Los Angeles motherfucker, and as of tonight, you are out of business.?
Sweat ran all over Steve?s face while the Korean martial arts weapon sung past his head with lightning speed and struck Steve?s left trap. He grimaced with pain and tried to fold away from the strikes, but couldn?t. He began to cry behind a mouthful of cloth.
?Steve, I?m going to ask you a few questions. If you answer honestly, I may allow you to live.? Han motioned for his brother to stop his uncanny display of Filipino weaponry. The man stopped abruptly, bowed and took a step backward. ?Does Bandit know?? Steve shook his head. . ?Where are you getting your supply?? Han questioned. ?Is it Gomez?? Steve nodded. Han motioned for another soldier to get on the phone. ?Call him!? ?Do you have any other contacts?? Han asked. Steve shook his head adamantly. ?Do you deal anywhere else?? Han asked, getting close to Steve. Steve wrenched his head back and forth to say no again. Piss was running down his leg. ?You don?t have any business being in this deadly racket, do you Steve?? Han asked and turned toward his brother on the phone.
Snatching the receiver from his brother?s hand, he said into the phone, ?Gomez, how are you? We have a problem. I have your sleazy white boy Steve over here. I need to talk to you.? Han?s voice was as cold as frozen fish. ?In an hour, in front of the Cantina. If you don?t make it, neither will Steve.? He hung up.
