Bandit's Cantina - The Series

Marko had a code about women: Don’t get involved. But Martha intrigued him. She was so very different than most of the women he met, in extremely positive ways. She was tall, 5’8” yet curvy. Her tits weren’t small, but not monsters, perfectly shaped and natural. She was in shape and took very good care

Martha rolled up in her all-black Ford Ranger pickup right on time for her second interview. Marko met her at the door. She dressed as if she came to work, wearing soft bar shoes. She eyed the girl’s uniforms last time, and came close to mimicking their Cantina gathered skirts and Spanish, cleavage-enhanced tops. “You

Marko fished off the dock under the Vincent Thomas Bridge. It spanned the wide channel between San Pedro and Terminal Island, which once housed the Long Beach Naval Base and still was home to the Terminal Island Federal Prison. Bandit sat on a rusting galvanized bucket and tossed a line in the briny water. “Just

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

As the summer sun glistened on the harbor, the warmth and clear days brought out additional Cantina customers. San Pedro city fathers cut a deal with the Los Angeles Harbor commissioners and the city of LA to allow the USS IOWA, a refurbished WWII battleship, to be permanently moored against nearby docks. Another draw to

A lull hung over the Cantina starting in March. Maybe it was the calm before the summer storm. Folks came and departed like clockwork, as if on tranquil drugs. They drank their booze, ate nachos and shrimp enchiladas, and paid their tabs. No drama. No kidnapped women or unusual sex on the docks or in

Toni, the petite Italian bombshell, blistered, standing in the center of the Cantina dining room surrounded by the custom motorcycle industry elite, over 100 nervous jealous wives, and more than a handful of intrigued bi-sexual broads. She quickly sensed all eyes on her and darted for the head. The Cantina women’s bathroom was large, spacious,

Shirley rolled to her humble apartment on the edge of Hollywood where the folks who wished they were elite lived. It was an old section of town housing secretaries, delivery boys, has-been actors, bit players and extras, always hoping for a break.   Shirley drove her mid ’90s BMW up the narrow driveway, passed the

It all started when Bandit 86’d his long-bed Ford F-150 with the extended cab. It was getting long in the tooth with over 160,000 miles on the odometer. The lowered monster with rally wheels and stripped body never blinked, only requiring brake pads every 50,000 miles. The truck was a mechanical dream, but he sold

Slick Steve burst through the Cantina’s front door to go to work on the day shift, then slowed his pace as he moved around the bar. He quickly scanned the front door and the tables scattered around the Cantina. Seeing no immediate threat, his body relaxed. Tina came to the edge of the bar. “What’s

It was just a boring Thursday night in the Cantina. Saint Paddy’s day passed without any major catastrophe. The party was green and everyone smiled and had a good time. Life at Bandit’s Cantina had mellowed. Even the bouncy lesbians got along. Nyla took a night off and hired a bartender from Wilmington to stand