It was Friday night at Bandit’s Cantina, the hottest joint in town. The old Spanish style rough stucco building with red tiled roof looked out at the Los Angeles Harbor. The night was a cool, Southern California 60 degrees as two Asian men pulled into the parking lot on the edge of Harbor Boulevard in Steve’s, black Corvette. He had only been the day shift bartender for a short period of time. They pulled up behind a massive thorny Bougainvillea plant, standing 8 feet tall, separating them from the street.
Marko, the one man security force, recognized Steve’s Corvette. He moved closer and saw that there were two Asians inside and not Steve. He didn’t like what he smelled. Marko stepped into the Cantina where Nyla was the bubbly bartender with closely cropped dark hair. She was smiling sweetly as she moved with ease around the horseshoe styled bar filling drinks and taking care of Mandy’s and Tina’s orders. Tina was wired to the stops. Marko had been close enough to her to hear her teeth grinding and see the muscles in her jaw twitch. Her pupils were like pinheads darting around the room, but she was doing an admiral job. Her second shift was winding down.
Jimbo sat on a barstool at the corner of the bar and watched Tina as if he was a father figure. After their encounter in the afternoon for lunch, he would kill anyone who touched her. Marko understood human nature, was fascinated by it, but avoided the foibles of relationships like the black plaque. If he got laid, cool. If not he could care less. He had his heart broken severely once. That was enough. The bar was crowded with bikers and the spots reserved for bikes outside were jammed.
Marko stepped over to the bus boy stand adjacent to the Chinaman’s galley and picked up a small red phone to Bandit’s office up stairs. “Yeah,” came Bandit’s voice.
“We may have a problem brewing in the parking lot,” Marko said.
“It hasn’t reflected on the interior. Something to do with Steve.”
“Do you have your cell phone?” Bandit asked.
“Yeah,” Marko answered.
“Keep me posted,” Bandit said and hung up.
Marko took one final look around the large cantina. The band had taken a break and the polished hardwood dance floor was empty. The bar tables were full of longshoremen, bikers, truckers and locals listening to jukebox music and shooting the shit. He could see that there wasn’t any problem developing inside the Cantina. He went back outside.
It was nearly 11:00 when a lowered ’52 Chevy pickup rumbled into the parking lot and pulled up two parking spots from the Corvette. Marko looked at the cab with his small binoculars. He recognized Gomez and put two and two together. Gomez was not alone. A massive animal of a Mexican got out of the other side of the car facing the Corvette. Hanging at his side was a coach shotgun with dual exterior hammers. He stepped out of the truck and pulled the gun to waist height aimed it at the two men getting out of the Corvette and cocked the hammers. Gomez got out of the driver’s side and rounded the bed of the lowered truck. He had on dual shoulder holsters, both containing glistening stainless .357 mag revolvers. He was wearing fingerless gloves and his hands twitched. It was turning from an OK coral scene to a Mexican showdown right in the Cantina’s parking lot.
Gomez knew that sooner or later he would face down the Asian Tong gang that thought they had some territory in the region. He also thought they were bullshit punks and Pedro and Wilmington were Hispanic communities and they had no business in his area. “Fuck ’em,” he thought reaching under his arms for the pistols.
Han who was riding in the passenger side spotted the pickup first and pulled his nasty Uzi automatic weapon, checked the 30-round clip, cocked the action and checked to make sure the safety was off. He spun out of the car and got to his feet behind it while holding the weapon at his side.
The driver pulled his semi-auto Browning out of his shoulder holster and started to get out of the driver’s side facing the giant of a man in a white t-shirt holding the shotgun leveled at him. It was after 11:00 yet he was wearing narrow sunglasses.
Marko watched the Mexican standoff materialize right before his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. He was standing at the corner of a van. He also was wearing his modified .45 under his left armpit, but who the hell would he shoot? This was going to be the shits. A part of him was excited as hell. There was fear mixed with his duty to keep shit from happening at the Cantina when his cell phone began to vibrate at his side. It jolted his senses as if someone had stuck a gun in his ribs. “Hello?” he whispered dipping down behind the van he was using for protection.
“Marko,” Bandit said, “Give the phone to Gomez.”
“You got it,” Marko said and started to step out from behind the black mid ’70s van. Then suddenly he realized that he was walking into an armed hornet’s nest. He held the phone to his ear knowing full well the answer to his question. “You got a plan?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bandit said.
“Never mind,” Marko whispered then cleared his voice loudly distracting the men in the midst of a sweaty palm standoff, less than ten feet from each other. Gomez recognized Marko as Bandit’s main man for years and no slouch or bullshitter. His guard, the mammoth Mexican stayed transfixed on the two Asians.
“I’ve got a call for you Gomez,” Marko said walking briskly to the scene by not stepping between them. Gomez slipped one of his glittering weapons back in its holster and took the phone. “This better be good,” he said.
“I’ve got Steve,” Bandit said. “So you can go home.”
“Not sure I want to,” Gomez said.
“You know that your world will turn to shit if you fire one round,” Bandit said, “now let me speak to Han.”
Gomez put his other gun away lifted his hands above his head and stepped forward. He knew Bandit was right. He had a good thing going, a good ol’ lady, all the sex he wanted on the side and he was living fat. He handed the phone over the roof of the Corvette to Han and stepped back.
“Who is this?” Han said.
“Never mind,” Bandit said, “Just listen to this.”
“He is here,” the Asian waitress said her voice quivering, “he has released Steve and has taken me. He wants you to leave Steve’s keys in his car and walk back to the restaurant. Also leave your weapons in the car. He will return them. If you don’t do what he say…” her voice was high suddenly and fearful.
“We gotta deal?” Bandit said. “I’ll send Steve back to Hollywood where he belongs. I won’t have drug dealers working out of the Cantina.”
Han didn’t know whether to be respectful or mad. He also knew the implications of a war. “Okay,” he said reluctantly.
“I’m going to let this settle for a week,” Bandit said, “Then I’m putting you and Gomez together. I gotta get back to the Cantina. Give the phone back to Marko.”
“Yes sir,” Marko said standing next to the big Mexican.
“I cut a deal. Help them out of the parking lot,” Bandit said.
“I’ll see you at the shop in 10 minutes.”
The phone went dead and Marko clipped it to his belt. “Alright men, it’s all over,” Marko said and put his index finger under the barrel of the shotgun and press upward. The big Mexican scowled at him and looked to his boss who nodded. The two Asians uncocked their weapons put them on safety and slipped them in the back of the Corvette behind the seats and covered them with papers. They stepped out of the car, shut the door and Marko made a point to shake each man’s hand, thank him and look him directly in his eyes.
He offered the same condolences to Gomez and his partner as they got back in the pick up and headed for Harbor Boulevard.
Marko sighed deeply as he slipped behind the seat of the Corvette and started it. It was black on the outside and the inside with black leather seats. There was a dusting of cigarette ashes that looked and smelled like crap as he put it in gear and drove it slowly to the back of the Cantina where the shop was. He pulled up, opened the garage door and took the weapons inside as Bandit’s truck pulled up and Steve got out. As soon as he did the flamed truck pulled away.
Steve stood in the doorway to the garage. He was a mess. He had pissed himself. His face was bloody, bruised and his hair was a mess. Marko’s phone jiggled on his waist again.
“Yes boss,” Marko said.
“Pay him off and send him down the road. He almost destroyed our lifestyle. Hopefully he learned something.” Bandit said and hung up.
Marko closed his phone and looked at tall Steve standing there visibly shaking. Marko had Steve’s car keys in his pocket. “Don’t move,” Marko said, went in an interior door to the Cantina and returned in five minutes.
“Here’s your pay,” Marko said handing him an envelope and pulling Steve’s keys out of his pocket. He looked at Steve and estimated that Bandit had given him a couple more lessons before they returned to the garage. The man was a bag of nervous bones. Tears and slobber were all over the front of his cheap white dress shirt and he smelled of urine.
“Can I clean up?” Steve said almost pleading.
“No,” Marko said and threw Steve’s keys in the driver window of the car. “Get the fuck out and don’t ever call or contact us. I don’t care if you need the time of day. Forget it. If you ever deal drugs in this territory again, you can expect that we will put and end to it and you without hesitation. Get the fuck out of here.”
Steve turned toward his car and got in. Marko watched as he closed the door, started the car and drove to the edge of the lot, before disappearing onto Harbor Boulevard.
Marko was relieved to see him go, and thought that for the first time in several weeks he would look forward to fishing off the dock in the morning.
