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 be out back checking stock” Bandit barked as he passed the bar. His boots assaulted the plank floor on the way to the galley.
Nyla just finished filling an order as she looked up to see Clay come through the front doors. He was wearing a smile wider then the rear tire on a Jesse James Chopper and walking straight for her. He appeared floating toward her.
“What’s up with you Clay?” she asked while thinking about him being in total despair for the last several months.
“She’s taking me back,” Clay reported. “We are renewing our vows this Saturday to make it official. We want you all to be there and I was hoping that Bandit would walk her down the aisle.”
Bandit and the Chinaman were having a heated discussion over menu inventory. The Chinaman wheeled his shinning stainless butcher knife home to the massive cutting block table “I lun kitchen…. that our agleement……. now get out here…. chop chop.”
“If you want to run it, then do it goddamit and that means keeping inventory within budget” Bandit snarled as he spun and headed out. He rounded the bar at top speed on his way upstairs for a tall Jack or his 357 he wasn’t sure which.
“Hey, Clay is renewing his vows and wants ……..”
“I’m not wearing a tux ever again” Bandit snapped. He was half way up the steps to his loft when Nyla tried again “but he wants you too……”
“I’m not wearing a goddam monkey suit” he shouted as he looked over his left shoulder to see a pair of blazing green eyes staring at him from the darkened shadows of the corner booth. Suddenly caught in their trance he started slowly back down the creaking steps. His fixed gaze set the course toward the looming target.
Grabbing his arm as he piloted by, Nyla turned him to face her , “Are you listening to me?” He could see her lips moving but, no words registered, his mind was elsewhere as he pulled away. He looked again to the cloaked booth…. it was empty… how could she have gone so quickly? He stepped outside but there was nothing, no cars leaving, not a sound.
Clay clutched Nyla’s hand “I wanted a biker wedding but she wouldn’t hear of it. She agreed to let us all ride to the church. That was as close as I could get.” Nyla leaned back against the booze rack and pondered the situation, “I’ve got it! If your wife will let me pick the tux style I can get him to do it.”
“Actually, she told me I could pick what ever style I wanted as long as the groom’s men wore black and the ushers were in white” said Clay. Nyla stretched, then an evil grin crossed her ruby lips, “I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s great Nyla, thanks a million!” Clay said and headed toward the doors.
In the meantime Bandit asked Marko to check the grounds, sensing something was up. Finding nothing on his patrol Marko took post at the front door.
“Hey Marko, what’s up” Clay announced as he exited the Cantina.
“Oh nothing, I just needed a little fresh air”
“My wife and I are renewing our wedding vows on Saturday,” Clay exclaimed again, “Would you please help me out? I need one more usher.”
“I don’t know,” Marko stammered riddled with wedding day fear. “I’ve never done that before. What do I have to do?”
“It’s very simple. Just seat the guests and roll out the white carpet before the bride walks up the aisle.”
“I suppose I could handle that” Marko replied.
“The ushers are also there to look over things and keep order in the proceedings.”
“Security is what I do best,” Marko said his eyes brightened. “That’s what I live for. I’m in!”
“Man, you’re a life saver,” Clay mutter joyously. He was like a kid going to Disneyland for the first time. “Thanks Marko!”
Bandit found his solitude in his quiet, secluded, upstairs apartment. After enjoying a couple of Jacks in peace, his face was now buried in the latest biker rag to find it’s way to his mail box.
“Bandit” Nyla purred as she slithered from the bed room.
“No!”
Nyla just grinned a knowing ivory-white smile and waited for the aroma from the exotic oils she doused herself with to do their magic. As the seductive sent of jasmine filled his senses The Horse Magazine ever so slowly lowered until his eyes peered over the edge of the page to sneak a peek. In full glory showing through the sheer black teddy were Nyla’s swelling nipples perched upon their soft curving globes. The magazine lowered a bit more as Bandit’s eyes tracked down to the transparent black panties trimmed with lace, burying his conscious mind and pulling him into the vortex of her smooth shaven honey pot.
The solemn frown that hung between his eyes all day smoothed away. His eyebrows raised in suspicious approval as the magazine slipped from the grips of his fingers tips and longed to touch her silken flesh. It was impossible for him to conceal the simper growing across his face.
Nyla stealthily moved toward him, placing crossing over each step and gracefully alternating the profile views of her voluptuous body. Adding a precisely calculated force in her gait to produce a seductive amount of jiggle.
Bandit snatched her silky arm and pulled her down into his lap and started to slip his hand up her leg.
“Hold on their big boy. If you want some of this you have to give me two minutes of your attention first.”
The frown started to return….. but he knew he was screwed…. or at least he would be in two minutes. He said not a word, simply crossed his arms and waited. After all, he could easily block out the sounds of a few words for what he was about to receive.
“If you would please open those ears, I just heard slam shut, you might really like what I’m about to say. We are going to use long, black western-cut jackets. The cramped patent leather shoes will be replaced by boots. The goofy cummerbund is history, a handsome vest in its place, and finished with a very comfortable 1870’s style plantation tie. A look that Wyatt Earp or Doc Holliday would have been very pleased to wear.
Bandit rolled his eyes. His furrowed face was intrigued by the image of walking the streets of Tombstone with Doc Holliday. Nothing more was said, the expression on his face didn’t answer any question specifically, but she knew when to shut up a move onto more pressing business.
The next morning Nyla stopped to special order 19th century suits on the way to the Gary’s Tux Shop. Two days later Bandit picked up the outfits. Surprisingly, he couldn’t wait to get it home and see how it looked with his antique colt strapped on and a black Stiletto hat.
Leaving the tuxedo shop he glanced through a sun glared car window and spied those fiery green eyes again. He quickly strolled through the heavy traffic on Bellflower Boulevard and nearly grasped the door handle when the light changed and she pulled away. He knew the only woman to possess those illuminated emerald eyes are true redheads. Redheads have always been his Achilles heel, the blaring car horns awoke him in the middle of the street, while he day-dreamed.
Snapping back to reality he jumped to the curb and looked around, as if the car-people should have known his thoughts. He spotted Marko in the tux shop window pointing and laughing his ass off.
“Here is your suit sir” the perky girl at the counter squeaked in Marko’s direction. “Would you like insurance on that sir?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I need to inform you these custom tuxedos are worth over $2500 and you will be responsible without insurance.”
“Nothing is going to happen to the damn tux” Marko snapped. Still snickering from the site of his boss playing in traffic. He snatched the tux off the counter and left.
All the way back Bandit’s mind whirled with images of gorgeous redheads with piercing eyes. What the hell is she up to? Why is she stalking me? He had to find out… and soon!
The next morning Nyla was busy restocking the bar as Marko came in wearing an irritated expression. Nyla new something was wrong as Marko rarely showed any emotion in his face. Part of his special forces training, she thought.
“What’s the problem Marko?” she asked. “You ordered the wrong tux for me, that’s what. When I picked it up they had it covered in black plastic and I didn’t look at it until I got back. The damn thing is white!” Marko snorted.
“That is right, the ushers have to be in white” Nyla answered.
“WHITE!….. How the fuck am I gonna ride my sled to the church wearing a white tux?”
“Relax Marko, it’s just up the street at the Seaman’s Church on Pico. You can make it that far can’t you? Just make sure your bike is spotless the night before and cover that greasy leather saddle with this,” she calmly said while tossing him a roll of shrink wrap.
Marko spends all day Friday meticulously cleaning every inch of his bike. All the while remembering the words of the counter girl at Gary’s Tux Shop. 25 hundred bucks… there was no way he could afford a bill like that. He grabbed the aquarium filter brush, he uses to scrub the bugs and road grime from between the jug fins, and continued to dig out every possible speck of dirt he could find. Marko always kept his sled in top condition, but he never cleaned his bike with this level of detail before.
Saturday arrived and Bandit sauntered down the Cantina steps all puffed up in his Wyatt Earp duds. He enjoy the gun fighter image he portrayed. The code of the west filled his thoughts as kicked his bobber to life and lead the pack over to the church.
Soon the music started and bride turned to touch Bandit’s arm. They walk down the aisle to the awaiting groom. His gun fighter image faded as he stepped somberly onto the alter of the church. Thoughts of traveling this path five times before forced a struggle of willpower to keep him from running out of the building. They turned together to face Clay and Bandit scanned the church full of guests. He suddenly stopped his pan of the room. Jerking his head back to the right, he spotted the glow of green eyes cutting through him, like a razor sharp blade to his heart.
Even though dimly lit, he saw the long flowing red hair. ‘I knew it’ he thought. His body instinctively began to move from the alter, but his responsibility to Clay over shadowed his urge to run. The preacher’s words echoed so slowly that several seasons surely must have passed. Bandit placed the brides hand on the arm of her beloved and made his exit quickly. He knew what he’d find at the back of the church–nothing. He quietly escaped to have a look outside. He patrolled of the asphalt parking lot but found no one. Slowly climbing the granite steps he was startled as Marko popped the doors open and kicked the stops into position, preparation for the end of the ceremony.
Bandit knew she was near. He could feel her watching. There was someone just out of sight, patiently waiting to reap revenge.
Tune in next time to see what happens with the ongoing adventures of Cantina Crew.
FTW,
–Stroker
