Rain and two wheels just don't make me feel easy. It's bad enough trying to stay out of the oil and grease from all those four-wheelers when the sun's got it baked into the asphalt. Put the first southern California winter rain down on the city streets and it's like driving on glass smeared with fresh come.

The fuckin' water coming out of the sky is black with L.A. smog. It feels just like someone is driving needles into my face. I can't handle it any longer; my leathers weigh closer to a hundred and fifty pounds than the thirty or so they normally do. I got enough coke in my pocket to put me in jail for a long time and don't know this neighborhood for shit. I got to find a place to hole up.

This is an older part of town, back a ways from the beach, and when it was new it was probably a ways to most anything. This neighborhood was on the outskirts of the gasoline refining trade back then. The good part about it is there's several small taverns with friendly names like Rocky's, Sherry D's, and Antoine's lining the streets. I pick the one with the side lot. The bar shares the parking spaces with a laundromat and T.V. repair shop. My scoot might not cause as much interest from the law setting up against the back of the building.

Antoine's is dim with a long dark bar off to the left of the side door. Directly in front of me is a small pool table that has seen better days. The cuts on the green felt let the eight ball slide into the corner pocket from a strange angle. The hard looking broad holding the pool cue was either lucky or knew the table well enough to count on the imperfections in the surface to win. If the rain keeps up long enough I might even learn which one.

Taking a bar stool close to the pool area, I slip a ten on the bar top and wait. The broad's hair flips off the front of her shoulder in a wide arch, flaring out into the dim light and showing off a full tit cuddled in stretch cotton. The shirt is slashed in several places from her shoulder, across the swell of her breast and into the right lower rib cage. Her every move makes the size of her hooter more evident. I'm not complaining.

"Beer?" she asks. The lady's voice is smoky. Too many cigarettes and too much whiskey? Her eyes are wide spread and the brows above them shaved or plucked into an exaggerated arch. Her waist pinches in nicely and the butt cheek she raises and settles onto the bar stool is prime. I just might enjoy the afternoon after all.

"Yeh, beer will do. Get busy around here?" I want to find out what this place will be like in an hour or two. If it fills up with guys from the refinery at quittin' time, this was gonna be the wrong place to lay low.

"Not that ya'd notice. We get excited by the plants growing in the flower boxes," she smart mouths.

"House ever play dice with a person for the music?" SYou bet. Horses?" She jumps down off her stool, her pointed tits bouncing with the action.

"I don't care. Just so you play some music." I watch her back side slip down the bar toward the darkened end of the room, swayin' a lot more than it would to walk over yonder most times. I take a moment to check things out. I've been places only to find people there I didn't know about. Things like that can get disconcerting. But the place is almost empty this time, far as I can see. There's one rummy propped against the wall at the back. At the moment he's snoring. Loud. Not another soul in the joint. The juke box sets at the end of the building in a corner and the bar itself makes a horseshoe sweep, only going as far as the beer cooler in the center of the room.

Miss Beer Tender picks up the dice cup and sashays back toward me. She ain't moving fast, but the body language is making my cock hard. She's got on a pair of jeans so tight

I'd be willing to bet she sat in a tub full of water while wearing them and then dried them right on her butt, 'What's this chick want? I hope its my cock?' The thought puts a smile on my mug which she picks up on in a heart beat.

"What's so funny?" she wants to know.

"Nothin'. Forget it. Best out of three?" I ask about the game. My tone is automatic. This chick's got to know I don't take kindly to noisy.

"Sure." She ain't too happy getting told to hold her mug, but she keeps her mouth shut about it. All I see to confirm her mood is a little pout flicker across her face.

I slam the dice cup down on the bar surface and watch her eyes. No eye action from this lady. Not even a flutter. She just looks up into my shiny blue eyes with a slight question in her own. I pull three sixes out of five dice and by stopping now she only gets the first roll to beat 'em. Her threes aren't worth a lot and we go on to the next round. My eyes drift to her half exposed tit as she brings the dice cup down on the bar top. I see the darkened skin at the very end of her tit slide into view and disappear as quickly as it showed itself. When my eyes look up into hers again, she's watching mine. The smile crossing her face wasn't put there to have me stop watching.

I stand up momentarily to strip my leather from my body. I fold the heavy coat on the bar beside me and ease back into the barstool.

"Last chance," she says.

My next roll is all fours. She simply slips off her stool and prances to the cash register. On the way to the jukebox her hand sweeps down the bar, then lifts to run the back of my shoulder. In moments the country song about being a 'Diamond Some Day' rolls out of the speakers. I walk down the bar behind her, enjoying the sight of her bent over the jukebox, the cheeks of her ass making a smile across her butt. Maybe she knew I was coming up behind her, then again maybe not, but the sight of her running her hand up from her waist and cupping her own tit stops me. I stand about ten feet behind and off to one side watching her play with the nipple until it's rock hard. She seems to notice my presence for the first time as she turns back toward where we were sitting.

"Oh..." Her eyes are dilated and her mouth opens slightly, letting me see just a hint of tongue. In the dim light it looks to me like she is flushed.

"Where's the head?" I ask.

She lifts her arm in a sweeping motion that swings her finger right past her impossibly hard nipple to indicate where I thought I'd find the toilet in the first place.

"Use nose candy?" That nipple just drug that out of me. She wasn't a cop and if she liked 'go fast' I was gonna have a blast this afternoon.

"Of course, doesn't everyone?" Her reaction is not real surprising. Shit. Just about everyone uses coke. "Okay, I'll leave a line on the bathroom cabinet." "Don't use the men's. Nobody can get it clean, no matter how much we try. The women's isn't near as bad."

Her comments said it all. The building is old and has been a bar for years. How many times the walls in the men's head have received a spray of beer and puke can't even be counted. The rummy picks his head up off the table as I pass. I hear him order three whiskeys, straight up. I push open the women's rest room door and step into a sparkling white room with a remarkably clean floor. The smell greeting me is clean... right out of a bucket. I do my thing then open my stash of white crystal, tapping the lip of the glass rim to the vinyl top of the cabinet. I sure as hell don't want the broad to know how much I'm carrying. After sealing my coke back up, I remove a razor blade from my wallet and scrape the white powder into two lines. My glass straw slides from its hiding place in the cuff of my pants and I snort the poison deep.

I damn near run into the broad as I step out of the bathroom. She is standing right in the hallway, dancing from one foot to the other. She greets me with a brilliant smile, pulls her arms tight against her body, the fingers of her hands interlaced and held just beneath her chin. She's fucking quick on her feet. I can't even clear the door frame before she passes me. I hold the door open and extend the glass tube to her, watching her face as she drags in the drug lined up for her.

"Thanks! I'll be right out."

The rest of the morning goes pretty smoothly. Western music, and the bar maid giving titty shows. The rummy is nursing his drinks now. Still three at a time. He's easy to ignore. I keep the conversation with the girl pretty tame but enjoy how she's trying to get my attention with her body. Finally, after a couple hours of just her and me sitting there talking, she must figure I'm about to leave.

"Got any more of that fancy 'go fast'?" She doesn't surprise me with her direct approach. "What's it worth?"