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.
Clay, a relationship blues induced customer, returned to the Cantina fold on Sunday for brunch. He had nowhere else to go. The Chinaman and his short Mexican staff, prepared a scrumptious buffet including crab enchiladas, Red Snapper burritos, Chiriso and eggs, Cantina salads and fresh fruit. The girls slithered from table to table pouring champagne and mimosas.
Clay ate one simple cheese burrito and drank shots of Quervo Gold backed with Coronas and lime slices. Another rider, Buster, who packed a customized Evo Sporty slipped onto the stool beside Clay and kicked up a conversation.
“Whatta ya riding?” Buster said.
“Not a goddamn thing,” Clay said snivelin’ into his beer. “Another divorce took care of that.” Middle-aged Clay hosted the demeanor of a used-up crack addict. A good looking California surfer type, his long thick pony tail pulled to the back of his head revealed ruddy a tanned complexion, but his coffee-colored brown eyes told of a man who relished misery.
Buster bubbled with scooter enthusiasm. A short, stocky, tattooed from head to foot, fireplug, he was a childhood veteran of street gangs and drug addict parents. His dad still posted a rusting grocery cart on the edge of a port freeway on-ramp where he panhandled for drug money daily.
Buster loved his Evo Sporty and couldn’t wait for his next custom touch fix. He worked with heavily disabled children and raised two kids of his own at the young age of 28. Nothing got him down. “That’s too bad,” Buster said. “I just finished installing new paint on my Sporty. Wanna see it?”
“No,” Clay muttered biting on a salsa laden chip, “Maybe later.”
Nyla bubbled along the bar fixing drinks and cleaning glasses. She automatically exchanged Clay’s empty beer bottle for a fresh one that he snatched and pulled close, as if she might grab and return it to the freezer. She bounced as if the souls of her soft shoes were made from pure pressed joy. When it came to Clay her aura clashed with his negativity like water and oil. It was as if he smelled like a fighter after 15 rounds and she avoided the odor or gloom instinctively. “What can I get you,” Nyla said leaning away from Clay and reaching across the bar to touch Busters shaved skull, “Nice haircut, handsome.”
He blushed crimson, “I’ll take a diet Coke.” Buster said his bright eyes bouncing from Nyla’s sparkling gaze to her spilling cleavage.
Clay reacted to his order, as if Buster told him he arrived for bible study. He flinched.
Nyla turned and snatched an icy glass, filled it with crushed ice and Diet Coke. Just then a big motherfucker pulled up the stool on the other side of Clay and slammed his fist on the Bar, “Nyla,” he spat, “Jack on the rocks. What are you crying about now, Clay?”
“My wife left me for some rich fuck,” Clay said, although the big man wasn’t interested in the reason, just that he was sniveling. His name was Hammer, a bouncer from “The Club” tittie bar in Wilmington. A biker since he was a kid, 30 years ago, on the back streets of the port. He stood 6 foot 4 inches and 300 pounds. He wore all black and sported a black beard and thick black hair except for his salt and pepper sideburns. He was also a veteran of Clay’s romance blues.
Clay never looked up from the half eaten plate of Mexican/Chinese food and hes sacred bottle of beer. “I can’t get over it,” he said and the gloom around him intensified.
“My old lady wants to get it on with another woman,” Buster said looking at the older men for guidance.
“Yeah, so what,” Hammer said after taking a huge gulp of Jack. “Doesn’t every man want two women?”
“It’s not that,” Buster said, “I like the fantasy, but don’t think I can handle her touching a woman on her own. Ain’t foolin’ around foolin’ around?”
Nyla’s ears perked up as she brushed past the stainless steel sink.
“Whatta you think, Clay?” Hammer asked taking another gulp.
Clay buried his face in his wiry hands and cringed. Hammer knew that drawing Clay away from his misery tore at the man’s fried mental agility. He wanted only to focus on his blues.
“I don’t care,” Clay said. “A broken heart is just that, who cares how you get there.”
“Name’s Hammer,” Hammer said extending a big burly fist toward Buster. “I think most women think about getting it on with another woman. At least most of the broads I know.”
“Women are beautiful and oozing sex constantly,” Clay added as if he was discussing the plague. “They’re beautiful to men and women. It’s just the way it is.” It was out of the ordinary to hear Clay expound on anything aside from his constant misery.
“But I can’t handle the jealousy,” Buster spat while sipping his coke.
“Jealousy is a disease,” Hammer said, “I see it all the fuckin’ time. I work in a titty bar. Fuckin’ guys hook up with strippers, then they get jealous when the girls are working.
“So what should you do when your heart is breaking,” Clay muttered.
“Get laid,” Hammer said, “and keep getting laid until you get over it. You’re not alone, goddamnit.”
“I’m not sure I can handle it, either,” Buster said and his constant smile wavered.
“Do you have kids?” Hammer said.
“Yeah, two,” Buster returned
“Sorry Pal,” Hammer said, “that puts you into another league.”
“Whatta ya mean?” Buster said.
“All bets are off when it comes to kids,” Hammer said and shoved his empty tumbler toward the edge of the bar. Nyla made a bee-line to retrieve and refill it. “We can talk about chicks all night. You can say what you like about their ups and downs, running off with another chick, watchin’ your chick with another girl, whatever, but when it comes to kids the relationship needs to stay cemented. It’s one thing when two adults want to destroy their relationship, but kids don’t have a say.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Buster said.
“If your wife wants to fool with another chick, that’s cool,” said Hammer. “Tell ‘er to do her thing, bring a girl home for you once in a while, but don’t fall in love and run off. You’re in the kid class.”
Clay shook his head. “I ain’t gonna ever get over this one,” he said.
“That’s bullshit,” Buster spouted. “Someday you’ll wake up and she’ll just be a distant memory.”
“You’re right, goddamnit,” Hammer said taking a gulp of his fresh drink.
“Okay, okay,” Clay said. “I feel like shit, my joints ain’t connected and I can’t think straight, but while you were talking about girls getting it on I almost felt like a human being.”
“Ah,” Hammer said glancing down the bar. “The magic potion for any man with the blues.” He knocked on the bar like a man knocking on a door. Nyla came scurrying.
“Yes darling,” Nyla giggled. “Another Jack?”
“Nope, is Mandy working?” Hammer said.
“Yeah sure,” Nyla grinned.
Nyla looked perplexed then it dawned on her and she disappeared. Five minutes passed and she returned sporting fresh lipstick. Nyla’s pure alabaster skin glowed with a warm crimson hue, she seemed to be panting behind the bar as if anticipation swept over her and it did.
Mandy strolled out of the kitchen giggling as if she was walking on seat foam. Her cheeks were also rosy with blush and her bright red hair bounced on her shoulders. She approached the waitress stand and ducked under the hinged portion of the bar and came up face to face with Nyla albeit a couple of inches taller.
All three brothers stopped talking and watched as the two women faced each other and the gaze deepened. Their poise, two delicate forms, beautiful, clean, glowing with warmth stood inches apart and their eyes cemented longingly. Nyla slid her hands around Mandy’s waist, and the redhead melted against her. Their lips met with the richness of a deep crimson sunset and sparks flew. Tongues slithered, breasts swelled and pressed together and Clay was gone, sucked into a world of pure adrenaline induced passion. A sight so captivating, so mesmerizing and so tantalizing that his last relationship became a blur of buried bad memories.
Nyla released Mandy as if a magnet, that sought ultimate touch forever, was somehow pried apart. The heat was permeated in the corner of the bar.
“Maybe later?” Mandy questioned craving more.
“There’s no maybe,” Nyla said as she patted Mandy’s ass and glided down the busy bar. There was a dense silence along the Sunday brunch portal. Hammer, Clay and Buster sat slack-jawed.
“Fuck carpet munchers,” came a voice from behind Hammer.
“I’d slap the bitch and butt-fuck her,” another voice slammed the mystic aura.
Hammer spun on his barstool and came face to face with two out of town scum bags. As a veteran bouncer he immediately recognized two-legged trouble. He sized the two men up quickly, checking for weapons and smacked the first one without a word.
The outlaw’s partner looked around as if searching for a chair, barstool or an exit, but he was too slow. Stocky Buster tackled the bigger man mid-waist and drove him to the floor. Hammer didn’t stop with his slap and backed it with a right that would bust out a door. The man spun over a table and hit the floor.
Marko joined the scene immediately. Buster wrestled on top of the scruffy bastard and hammered a couple of punches to the man’s face.
“That’s enough,” Marko said firmly. Although Hammer had Mark by 2 inches and 50 pounds, he knew of Mark’s extensive training and experience. He also respected Marko’s responsibilities in the Cantina. The two bikers pulled themselves to their feet and dusted the peanut shells from their greasy Levis and denim vests. Mark smelled meth chemicals on their clothing.
“Okay motherfucker,” Trouble said. “This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me.”
“I hope not,” Hammer said.
The other lowlife reached under his vest and Marko trapped his hand and twisted it into submission readily. A 4-inch Benchmade, locking blade knife fell to the concrete deck. Marko retrieved it.
“That’s my knife,” the skinny dude snapped.
The skinny sonuvabitch glared, spit on the deck and the two left. “We should have finished it,” Hammer said.
Marko could see Frankie, the little ex-drug addict standing near the door. He nodded to him and Frankie followed them out the door.
“It’s not over with them,” Marko said.”We’ve got a big parking lot.”
