Friday night happy hour time was in high gear as the sun began to set over the Los Angeles Harbor. The Cantina parking lot was packed with bikes, longshoremen’s trucks, and girls who rolled over from Long Beach, three bridges away with the dreaded Terminal Island in between.
Halloween approached and so did the evil party atmosphere. Marko usually felt laid back on Fridays. Full moon Saturday nights led patrons down a violent, conflict-riddled path, behind too much whiskey, flavored vodkas, or Margaritas.
Martha came to work early and bounced from patron to patron in a constant jovial state, while attracting the stares of all the male customers, as her considerable boobs danced in her gathered soft white Spanish top. Her moves made waiting on a Gold Cadillac Margarita an entertaining delight. No one was ever impatient when Martha mixed a drink, and she never made anyone wait for long, around her super-efficient nature.
Clay, planted on his corner barstool, sipped icy Coronas, and even Speed-E-Shift dared the crowded barroom and parked in the motorcycle-only spaces next to mostly Dynas and some classic FXRs. Speed-E puffed his chest out as if he just returned from Bonneville and readily pointed out his performance upgrades to anyone who would listen. Marko began to see a new-model Indian from time to time.
The Nighthawks, a blues band from back east, set up on the narrow stage and started to rumble deep blues tunes into the crowded dining room. The packed joint rocked and the lights dimmed as darkness crept over the harbor, like a dirty blanket over a homeless wino drenched in Red Mountain wine. Marko sniffed at the air and noted someone smoking herb in a corner. He didn’t care. Pot shops popped up on every street corner as the marijuana trade became more legal.
The rotund Chinaman created incredible appetizers, including nachos smothered in cheese, red onion, diced jalapenos, and olives, and the myriad of drinkers were damn happy. Marko checked over his security elements and stashed weapons. The moon was nearly full and glimmered in the dark sky, and the Cantina rocked. He had just settled into his observation corner when Frankie scrambled in the front door, waving his arms frantically.
Marko told him a hundred times not to panic or alarm the guests. The skinny, homeless-looking ex-drug addict didn’t draw any serious attention. Most were happy he ran at Marko and wasn’t hitting them for spare change.
“Some kids are trying to heist Martha’s pickup,” Frankie panted between words. He spent most of his life doing one drug after another. His guts were probably bonded together with strands of cocaine and spun Thai sticks.
Marko reached behind his access panel and threw a switch, which turned on a series of outdoor lights. Immediately the entire parking lot was bathed in light, but three kids jimmied Martha’s door open, scrambled into the extended cab Ford Ranger, fired it up, and started to peel for the exit. One customer reacted to Frankie’s report. Speed-E-Shift, the little graybeard, grabbed his shit and headed toward the door in a panic to avoid any conflict.
Marko flipped another switch and a steel barrier dropped over the exit. The kid at the wheel spun, clipped the chrome bumper on a steel post filled with concrete and started to make a run at an island with low, dense shrubbery. One of the kids in the truck, a young teenage girl wearing sweats and a hoodie, screamed as they bounced over the concrete curb and into the carefully landscaped island.
Under the dense shrubs and low palm plants was a carefully designed iron apparatus, sort of like the barriers on the Normandy beach during WWII. The truck split the deep green shrubs and slammed into the iron barrier. It stopped dead as a police cruiser slid to a stop on the street directly in front of it, and Marko approached the battered pickup.
The passenger side door popped open and out stumbled the slender teenage girl, shaken. “On your knees,” shouted a female LAPD officer in all blues uniform, her service revolver pulled.
“Step out of the vehicle,” her male counterpart shouted at the young driver.
Martha’s son, Billy, stepped out of the driver side and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Hands in clear view,” the officer shouted. “On your knees.”
“What for?” said Billy. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Now,” the young uniformed officer demanded.
Marko stepped up behind the kid, put his hand on his shoulder, tapped the back of one knee and pushed him to the pavement. “Do as your told, asshole.”
“I don’t have to do shit,” the kid spat, but he knew Marko wouldn’t put up with him. “Mom won’t charge me.”
Marko returned to the Cantina, made arrangements, and out came bubbly Martha running into the parking lot to rescue her son.
“What happened?” she said to the young female officer.
“This is your vehicle?” Officer Lopez said, making notes.
“Yes,” Martha responded. “What happened?”
“Can I see your registration?”
“Yes,” Martha said and reached into the glove box. “What happened?”
“Seems these two tried to steal your car,” Officer Lopez said. “We will need to have it towed and for you to come to the station to file a report.”
Martha turned to the other side of the Ranger and spotted Billy on his knees, and ran to his side.
“I told you to give me your keys,” Billy said smugly.
“So you tried to steal my car?” Martha said.
“Yeah, what of it?” Billy snapped. “It’s your fault. Give me what I want and this won’t happen.”
“Ma’am,” Officer Kern said, “We need to call a tow truck and fill out a report. Can you come to the station?”
“I’m working,” Martha said, shaking.
Marko stood back as the hot rod twin cam pulled up along side of him. “Can I go?” Speed-E-Shift said, almost shaking. “I need to get the hell out of here.”
“Relax,” Marko said and turned toward the Cantina. “Gimme five.”
“She’s not going to charge me,” Billy snapped.
“Tow it to Butch’s for repairs,” Frankie said.
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“Madam?” Officer Kern asked again. “If this happened on public grounds, I would be arresting him for reckless driving plus car theft, but he wasn’t. It’s your call, and you will need to discuss the damages with the property owner.”
“No, no charges,” Martha said and the officers closed their books and uncuffed the two kids. They returned to their cruiser as the tow truck arrived and started the towing process.
“Maybe you’ll buy me a car, now,” Billy said smugly. “And I need some cash so we can get the hell out of here.”
Martha reached in her purse and handed him a twenty.
“This all you have?” Billy snapped.
“I’m not working, not making any money because of you,” Martha said. “How am I going to get home, and who is going to fix my truck, you?”
The kid shrugged his shoulders and headed for the street with his girl.
Marko watched Martha from across the lot as she signed the tow truck invoice and then started to walk back toward the Cantina. He cringed, but this wasn’t his battle. He opened the gates and turned the parking lot lights off. The hot rod Twin Cam peeled out of the lot. Glancing at the brilliant full moon, Marko wondered whether this minor ordeal would be the end of the near full moon Friday night upheaval.
No sooner did the thoughts cross his mind than several more riders rolled into the parking lot with pipes blaring. It was just another group of locals with no club affiliations. Their bikes were clean, mostly Dynas, but one broad caught his attention. She was tall, slender, almost muscular looking. She played grab-ass with a couple of guys, and overtly made out with one.
That was cool, but she kept looking around, as if she was expecting someone to appear. They sauntered into the Cantina and the party started with tequila shots all around.
About 20 minutes later, another rider flew into the parking lot on a strange motorcycle, a 650 ATK cruiser. No one had ever seen one of these black beauties before. It was sorta long and lean. The man was small wearing a tattered all-black trench coat adorned with Buddhist amulets. He wore Biker’s Choice chaps, but they were well worn, since he was a certified welder and wore his chaps every day on the job. He wore the chaps everywhere.
Behind him, another tall brunette wearing a full face held on tight. The two riders almost dwarfed the motorcycle, but not quite. The bike had hearty lines, a thick frame, sizeable upside down front end and dual floating disc front brakes. The massive two-into-one exhaust system slipped into a giant muffler reminiscent of a chromed WWII torpedo. It look like the rider could flip a switch and the canister would drop off the side of the bike and launch toward any target.
The owner, a scruffy looking rider nicknamed Dr. Feng, stepped off the bike, after the tall slender girl and bowed with grace toward the motorcycle, as if to thank it for delivering them to Bandit’s Cantina safely. He immediately lit a Canadian cigarette.
The girl, obviously athletic, sported a gold mermaid pin on her leathers, looked at him with disdain. Her forced smile was brilliant, but untrue. She apologized, bowed slightly and disappeared into the Cantina to use the head and freshen up.
As she crossed the broad expanse of the dining room of tough pecan hardwood floors, she spotted another tall sandy brunette heading in a similar direction. She immediately sized this woman up, as they could have been sisters in many respects.
They were almost the same height. Their mildly wavy hair was a similar density and hue, with streaks of blond. Both girls had mid-length hair, and it was unaltered, no fucked-with dyes or highlights, just naturally natural. The mermaid, who had a bisexual tendency behind the correct drug cocktail, studied the other girl’s form. Maybe this girl’s ass was more voluptuous, and when she turned slightly, her tits seemed sizeable.
The mermaid was a swimmer, and an underwater diver. She was slightly more slender and maybe ten pounds lighter. Maybe this girl trained with weights. They both wore tight form-fitting denims, a snug sweat of different colors, a scarf, tall leather boots and thick leather jackets. The mermaid still had on her jacket, but the other girl already peeled out of her jacket and scarf, and she made he tight wool gray sweater look fine.
The gray sweater girl entered the massive fully tiled head and steered straight for the polished stainless sink and mirror. Less than a minute later, the mermaid blasted in the door. It was a defining moment. Gray sweater looked in the mirror as the Mermaid entered and their eyes met. Gray sweater’s crystal blue eyes glistened in the mirror as she connected with the emerald green gaze from the mermaid. Gray sweater turned to eye the mermaid from her silver stud encrusted boots to her substantial hips, narrow waist and tall slender physic. “Howdy, tall and good-looking,” the buzzed broad said. “I’m Melody, what’s yours.”
“Olivia,” the mermaid said and walked straight up to Melody, as if she had known her for a decade. “Are you here to party?” She sniffed at Melody’s perfume.
“You damn right,” Melody said. “The party has started.”
Olivia lifted her purse and yanked out a glass vial loaded with white crystalline powder. Spinning off the black lid, she tapped out a small mound onto the tile, drew lines with a knife and handed Melody a silver straw. “Be my guest.”
Melody snorted a couple of lines and the meth hauled ass into the back of her throat, then sang its mind-altering song into her blood stream. “Let’s have some fun tonight.” She handed the polished metal straw back to Olivia.
Olivia did her lines quickly, and with a damp finger, her nails painted with metal flake emerald green finish, she wiped the tile clean, and stuck it in Melody’s mouth, who sucked the digit clean. Then they kissed, a deep sensational mouthwatering connection.
“What a night this will be,” Olivia said. “You could give me a hand.”
“Melody slipped up beside her, kissed her neck, slipped one hand around her waist and the other between her legs. “Like this?” she whispered in her ear.
“Not just yet,” Olivia said panting. “I came with a guy who I want to ditch. Maybe you could distract him.”
“I’m sure I can,” Melody said.
“Do you have a distraction for me,” Olivia continued.
“I sure do,” Melody said and explained her situation with the three guys she rolled in with. She wasn’t connected except to party. She worked at a local H-D dealership and these were three customers, who liked to tease and flirt with her regularly. She finally took them up on a night on the town.
Melody and the Mermaid left the head arm in arm and headed directly for Dr. Feng, who was drinking Captain Morgan and cranberry at a table near a window, so he could sneak a cigarette too often.
“Hey, Dr. Feng. I would like you to meet Melody,” the Mermaid said smugly. “Since I’m not your type, she might be.”
Melody looked at Dr. Feng, who got to his feet bowed slightly and took Melody’s hand. “This is my pleasure. Please sit down.”
An awkward moment engulfing them, Dr. Feng, a streetwise road racer, who grew up in Canadian trade schools and in the oil fields, faced numerous female gambles in his 55 years. He recognized the psychotic behavior in the artistic mermaids eyes, and felt her wrath on several occasions. He was also a student of Buddhism and knew what it was to follow the right path.
Melody was no dummy at 42. She faced a couple of divorces and was tortured by an abusive relationship. There was something about her three customers she didn’t like. She sensed their efforts at best behavior because of her link to the H-D dealership, but as they became more intoxicated, the guard slipped away.
“I’m sorry,” Melody said. “I didn’t know.”
Dr. Feng got his name, by helping anyone, anytime and usually with a Feng Shui character, hence Dr. Feng. A crusty old biker, his leathers were tattered and splatted with oil field mud. He reached deep into a trench coat pocket and pulled out a small clear plastic globe and while cupping it in his hands he took one of hers.
“Maybe this will help,” he said and let the small glob drop into her hand. It contained a fortune cookie like strip of blue paper, the Dharma words from the Hacienda Heights Buddhist temple.
Melody smiled and opened the container and out popped the folded paper, which she unraveled and began to read. In the meantime, the Night Hawks struck up a new deep bluesy tune.
“In Life only at the moment of encountering darkness can the preciousness of brightness be displayed. Only when conducting oneself justly even while enduring slander, can the fragrance of character be known.”
Melody looked up at Dr. Feng as if he answered all the questions of the night and said, “Thank you.”
“Relax,” Dr. Feng said.
“I need to introduce Olivia to the boys,” Melody said.
Olivia was on her way when Melody caught up. “I didn’t realize,” she said.
“Fuck him,” Olivia said. “I need younger blood.”
“But not bad blood,” Melody thought to herself. “Be careful with these guys.”
“I can handle myself,” Olivia said smugly as they reached the table and all three guys stood up.
“Olivia,” Melody said, “here’s my favorite three musketeer customers. This is Kraig, Kyle, and Carl.”
They all said something smart-ass and shook Olivia’s hand while thoroughly checking out the package. “I have a mission on the other side of the room for Olivia, so take care of her.”
As Melody stepped away and the three buffed late 30s brothers offered Olivia shots of high-dollar tequila, she was slightly relieved, and wondered what the hell could have made the last two encounters come together on this night.
Marko watched the exchange. Dr. Feng watched as Melody returned to his table. He sensed the relief in her demeanor as she sat next to him and sipped her gold-Cadillac margarita. “I’m not sure I understand what’s happening,” Melody said.
“Worry not, my child,” Dr. Feng said. “You’re in good hands.” Suddenly, out of nowhere a large figure emerged at the Doctor’s side.
“It’s good to see you Doctor,” Bandit said, and placed a large hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. The gesture caused Dr. Feng to regain his confidence. He sat up straight in his chair. Bandit reached out and took Melody’s hand. “Let me know if you guys need anything.”
As quickly as he arrived the big man, wearing all black disappeared. “That was the owner,” Dr. Feng said. “I said you’re in good hands.”
The Cantina was packed, and Olivia was having a grand time with the three toughs. They were all body builders, and one reached into his leather and withdrew a small bag. While Olivia slipped to the head to relieve herself of some of the shots, the brother smiled at his dark-haired clan and dropped a tab in her drink.
After he dropped the tab, he handed Kraig a vial, who slipped into the head for a pick-me-up blast. The brothers stopped drinking, and they all took a turn at the head. Olivia returned to the table, equally exhilarated and gulped at her drink. The alcohol, the meth, and the date drug grappled with her senses, and at first she loved it. She dug the attention by three good-looking bikers.
Another hour passed and her meth monster gave up the ghost. She was beginning to hug and kiss all three guys and the suggestions started. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Kyle said
“You want to fuck with your boyfriend,” Carl said. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Leave him wondering.”
Between the tequila and the drugs, she was beginning to lose all inhibitions. “Fuck him,” Olivia said deliberately. “Let’s hit the road. This is going to be a night to remember,” she said, running her hand up Kraig’s leg.
They donned their gear as the clock struck midnight, the bells tolled and they marched toward the door.
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