The Cantina cooked. Business was strong, but something lingered in the air like a dog howling because he sensed an earthquake or an impending storm. The new assistant bartender, Brad, work tirelessly. The young sprout bounced around the bar like a springy ball of super-dough, gleefully serving patrons and mixing exotic drinks.
He spun bottles like a carney juggling bowling pins to lure customers into his tent. His hot little Asian pistol juggled him like a teenage prostitute plays with a rich senile 70-year-old.
She was a sexual time bomb, but something else was happening. Usually Nyla was the tower of bi-sexual strength and the Cantina family leader, mentor, and guide. Marko noticed a change, as she started to snap at patrons. But she wasn’t the only one who felt the psychological shift. Maybe it was her age as she pushed into her late 40s and pre-menopause was rearing its near insane head. She refused to take medication that might have calmed her nerves.
Friday morning, Bandit called an unusual mandatory staff meeting at 9:00 a.m. The Chinaman came in early, as always, but spent 45 minutes making special Panini’s appetizers with basil, heirloom tomatoes, and a very special Mozzarella cheese. The bread was made with olive oil and spices. He also made single egg benedicts on wheat-based English muffins, Asian style. Brad stirred tall pitchers of Bloody Marys and served them over tall stalks of celery, coupled with toothpicks stabbed through garlic soaked olives.
The entire staff devoured the munchies and sipped spicy Bloody Marys and Mimosas while Bandit discussed the line-up for the weekend, the entertainment, and any special parties. Only Nyla was missing in action, until the meeting wrapped up. Then she tiptoed into the dining room, looking disheveled and Marko noted an air of arrogance, when he inquired about the meeting.
“I don’t need to be here for these goddamn things,” Nyla said and made her way to the girls’ change room. An hour later, Marko officially opened the Cantina and the first patron was a 60- year-old graying truck driver sort, He found a corner table in the back, where he could watch the bar and sip white wine.
At first Marko nodded to the man with the full beard and offered his usual host-like greeting, but he only received a slight disconnected nod in return. A few weeks passed and Marko noticed the average height elderly man became a regular patron, but didn’t show much interest in any of the other bubbly Cantina crew, just Nyla.
It was a busy time, and the staff moved like well-oiled machinery through their duties. Every Saturday night, a new private party filled the conference room overlooking the harbor, and Mandy and Tina delivered one massive pitcher of Gold Cadillac margaritas after another.
But Marko noticed that Nyla took on a more professional air. She sneered at Clay, the long-standing regular, and delivered his Corona before he asked for it, so she wasn’t force to converse with him. “He’s not worth the powder to blow him to hell,” she said to Sheila in the back. “I can’t stand that bastard.”
Clay was the dismal Dan of the bunch. He lived in an aura of perpetual blues, and needed the conversation he was afforded from the Cantina girls; specifically, the usually bubbly and bouncy Nyla, but she had changed.
A week later, jovial Jerry rolled up on his bobber Shovelhead, strolled into the bar and began to rattle off stories of delivering fish to local markets. Jerry was a stocky fire-plug biker. In his mid 30s, he was still an unlicensed contractor and handyman with no career, other than being a full-time biker coupled to lots of kids by multiple moms. He struggled from job to job, mom to mom, and their constant demand for child support payments. Several times he dodged the opportunity to become a longshoreman, a tugboat captain, or any other Pedro union gig. His focus was directed toward chasing split-tail frail and being a biker to the bone. No security or retirement there.
Finally, as gray touched his temples he woke up and discovered a lack of property ownership, just a fleeting bank account, and two Harleys to his name. He needed a regular source of income and discovered a shot with a buddy, who drove a truck for a local fish processing plant. He survived the interview process and found himself with regular employment. For the first time in his adult life, he received bi-weekly paychecks. He rode into the parking lot on cloud nine, as he strolled into the Cantina on a payday.
Nyla had known Jerry since she was a kid, as he once was one of the bullies down the block, always street-wise and pushing other kids around. He was a biker in elementary school. He learned from the toughest of the bunch, his dad, a former clubber, who never allowed anyone any quarter.
Nyla, usually the bastion of bubbly, scowled at Jerry as he strolled to the bar. “What bit you in the ass, bitch?” he spouted before she opened her mouth.
“I don’t need your bullshit, Jerry,” Nyla snapped and turned her back to him.
“What pulled her chain?” Jeremiah wondered as he ordered an ice-cold Corona from Brad, who popped the cap and stuffed a fresh slice of lime in the frosty neck.
Marko watched from his security perch and started to notice the glances to the graybeard in the corner.
“I don’t need this shit,” Nyla said, glaring at Jerry untied her apron and tossed it in the corner. She strolled around the bar just as the happy hour crowd was pouring in, and jogged deliberately up the stairs to Bandit’s office.
She pounded on the door, then strolled in unannounced. Bandit poured over the books and was on a call to one of his beer distributors when she grabbed a chair and plopped down her cute ass. “We need to talk,” she blurted and pulled on her top anxiously.
Bandit’s office overlooked the harbor, and he spun in his chair to meet her stern countenance. “I’m on the phone, goddammit,” he said, pulling the receiver clear of his stern words.
“I’m quitting,” Nyla said. “I’m giving you a month to replace me.”
“Okay, goddammit,” Bandit said. “Put it in writing and give it to Marko.” He spun in his chair back to his tasks. “Don’t slam the door on your way out.”
It wasn’t as easy as that, but on a moment’s notice, and under the current situation, he had little choice.
Nyla and Bandit had a long history, but lately something ate at her, like rust through paint on metal in the salt air. They once had a fiery sexual relationship, but it had transformed into a big sister thing, and Nyla liked to dabble with the girls from time to time. It was all fun, and Bandit had his share of other women. Nothing was ever etched in stone. It just rolled on like a smooth polished Chinese Jade ring, like good Feng Shui* for almost a decade.
Marko took the written commentary from Nyla as she closed out her shift. He folded it neatly, without a response and shoved it into his back pocket. She didn’t want to discuss it, so Marko let it roll.
As soon as she departed, so did the graybeard in the back. They acted as if they were doing something wrong, like they were sneaking around. Marko set the resignation slip on Bandit’s desk after the Cantina closed. He wasn’t sure how the old man would take it.
Bandit recently turned 65 and still trained on a regular basis, but age was taking its toll on the big guy. It was as if the Cantina was linked by a large 6-speed transmission and someone shifted it from a high-revving 4th gear into neutral. The Cantina idled smoothly as if a long chopper at a 5-points intersection, trying to decide which way to turn.
The staff went about their duties, although there were some hush-hush discussions between various groups.
“Did you hear Nyla quit?” Frank said to Mandy in the parking lot.
“Yeah, I don’t know what to make of it,” the springy redhead said, reaching for her car keys. “I’m sure it’s all going to work out fine. I hope.”
Frank leaned on his giant push broom and watched the young waitress peel out of the parking lot. Marko walked up beside him and visually followed the sports car as it turned right onto Harbor Boulevard then onto the on-ramp to the freeway.
“What do you think?” Marko said.
“I don’t know,” Frank said, looking up at the big man. “You know Bandit better than I do.”
“Yep,” Marko said. “This is an interesting one. Bandit never had a long-term relationship last, but this was the longest. He’s not the kinda guy who goes to pieces over a broad. But he’s helped support her for a decade and a half.”
Sheila moved around the dining room more cautiously, and Tina didn’t talk to Nyla much during her shifts. Nyla continued to scowl daily at the staff and customers. The only person she seemed interested in was the graybeard who sat in the corner at some point during every shift, sipped white wine, and watched.
Marko began to investigate the relationship. “Frankie,” have you noticed what that guy drives?” Marko asked. “Take note of it.”
“It’s a crappy white faded van,” Frankie said. “It shows rust everywhere, but there’s something more. It has a logo on the side for a restaurant.”
“What restaurant?” Marko quizzed.
“Berth 54 Seafood,” Frankie said.
Marko took a ride on his next day off into Long Beach, on the port. Berth 54 was an historic out-of-the-way spot on the edge of the port, and just out of town enough to be left behind when all the new franchise restaurants opened along the coast near the downtown Pike area and Seaport Village. Marko ordered a bowl of chowder and sat where he could watch the fish market’s staff activities.
It was an old facility in a non-descript blue building sporting large white faded wooden letters with the name Berth 54. A couple of sport fishing boats were docked next to the market/restaurant and the two businesses shared the same building. Only a few patrons sat in the sunlit patio and ate chowder or fish and chips. The so-so thick chowder filled Marko’s stomach as he watched the predominately Hispanic crew hustle around the kitchen.
Marko watched for a while and noticed the rusty white van with black lettering rolling into the parking lot and park behind the building. He sat quietly and watched as some of the crew acknowledged the graybeard as he entered the stern of the restaurant and sized up the activities. He was obviously the manager or owner. Marko finished his disposable bowl of chowder, and walked to his FXR for the ride back to the cantina.
Another week passed uneventfully, with Nyla remaining sorta disconnected to the staff, acting with impunity, like a kid about to be transferred to another school. Just halfway through her resignation period, she approached Marko at the end of her shift.
“I can’t hang here any longer,” she growled as if he had stepped on her foot daily for a week. “I’m not coming back tomorrow.”
Marko had about had it up to his bushy gray eyebrows. He watched the graybeard size up the Cantina for almost three weeks. He might as well have been taking copious notes. Marko wanted to tell her to pound sand, but he held back.
“I’ll let the boss know,” Marko said. “It will be sad to see you go…”
“This is his passion, not mine,” Nyla blurted. “It’s my time to be able to fulfill my dream.”
Marko looked her directly in the eyes and just bowed slightly. “I understand,” Marko said.
Just then the front door to the Cantina dining room burst open and in marched Brad’s Asian slut with a massive longshoreman on either arm. She stomped directly into the center of the dining room and stopped.
“Hey Bradie,” she said, obviously drunk and slurring her words. “I won’t be home for dinner tonight. In fact I won’t be home at all. She turned sensually toward on of her brutes and began a lingering French kiss while running her hand below his belt line to his crotch.
Marko left his corner security station and approached the two heavy bruisers. They were big but not bad. As he approached, one nudged the other, quickly.
“Let’s go.”
“And don’t come around here again,” Marko said, leading them out the massive oak front door, sporting a massive brass porthole. “And take that with you.” Marko nodded to the little broad in a tight mini-skirt hiked up enough to reveal some of her pert ass cheeks.
Just then, Bandit came out of his office and jogged down the stairs and into the women’s changing room. Two seconds later, he burst out the door with Nyla in tow and headed toward the graybeard in the corner.
“You motherfuckers are done!” Bandit snapped. He leaned over the table and grabbed a handful of gray beard and pulled the man to his feet. “You want your passion, go to it. You are both beginning to disturb my Wa**. Get the fuck out.”
Bandit pulled both toward the door and kicked Nyla in the plump ass as she departed. Marko came up beside Bandit as the two lovers headed for the rusty van.
“Maybe now we can shift back into high gear,” Marko said.
“Run an ad on Craig’s list,” Bandit said. “Make sure the next one knows something about loyalty.”
*A Chinese system of geomancy believed to use the laws of both Heaven (Chinese astronomy) and Earth to help one improve life by receiving positive qi. The original designation for the discipline is Kan Yu (simplified Chinese: traditional Chinese: pinyin: kanyú; literally: Tao of heaven and earth).
The term feng shui literally translates as “wind-water” in English. This is a cultural shorthand taken from the passage of the now-lost Classic of Burial recorded in Guo Pu’s commentary.
** It’s oriental for not disturbing your space, or your Wa. It means harmony, peace or balance. Here’s some more background: Japanese Wa (“Japan, Japanese”, from Chinese Wo, Hangul Wae ) is the oldest recorded name of Japan. Chinese, Korean, and Japanese scribes regularly wrote Wa or Yamato “Japan” with the Chinese character until the 8th century, when the Japanese found fault with it, replacing it with “harmony, peace, balance.”
