Bikini Baristas: Ted Higuera Series Book 4

by Pendelton Wallace

  “Thanks,” Ted took a sip. “I’ve missed your coffee. Always tastes as good as you look. I couldn’t get that in LA. ” Ted put his computer bag down on Jeff’s desk. His desk now.

  “Can I have a minute alone?” he asked the large black woman.

  She patted Ted on the shoulder, turned and left without another word.

  Ted sat in the swivel chair and checked out his new digs. There were some boxes of computer equipment on the floor in front of the book case. The two chairs opposite his desk actually matched, a rarity in Catrina’s office. The cherry-wood desk and credenza matched too, a testament to Jeff’s taste. Everything else in Catrina’s business looked like it had been liberated from some flea market.

  Sitting on the desk, his desk, was a brightly wrapped package. Ted picked it up and shook it. Not very heavy, it made a slight rattle.

  “Morning, Higuera.” Catrina leaned against his office door with arms folded across her chest.

  She looked her usual wonderful self, a tall middle-aged woman with short blonde hair and piercing steel-gray eyes. She wore black jeans and a tight black turtle-neck sweater that showed off her generous curves. As always, she wore black boots with three-inch heels. At five foot nine, she was an inch taller than Ted, but with her boots, she towered over him.

  “I thought Christmas should come a little early this year.” She smiled as Ted picked up the package again.

  “What is it?” Ted asked.

  “Open it.”

  Ted tore open the wrapping paper.

  “A gun?”

  “A Glock 17. Nine millimeter. Seventeen-shot magazine.”

  “You know I hate guns.”

  “Ted, it’s time you faced reality. After our little adventure in Mexico, I decided I needed to arm you properly and teach you how to use it. Get your coat; we’re going to the gun range.”

  ****

  McQuire’s indoor shooting range was only a few blocks from Catrina’s office. Construction workers shared space with men and women in business suits. The office smelled of sweat and gun oil.

  The glass counter displayed an assortment of firearms. Hand guns from .22’s to an Israeli Desert Eagle .45 sat next to shot guns, rifles and assault weapons.

  Mac was doing a brisk business.

  Catrina led Ted to an empty stall. All he knew about firearms was the little she’d taught him in Mexico after he bought an antiquated .38 special the black market. Today she needed to teach him how to use a real gun.

  “Okay, let’s start with the basics,” she said as she opened the box. “This is a Glock 17 semi-automatic pistol.” She pushed the lever and dropped the magazine from the handle. “Always insure that your firearm is not loaded before working with it.” She slid back the slide to check that there wasn’t a cartridge in the chamber.

  “The magazine holds seventeen rounds. I chose this weapon because it’s light weight and simple. Over sixty-five percent of the law enforcement agencies in the U.S. use this pistol. It has a polymer frame and is easy to draw and holster. There’s nothing protruding from the gun to get caught on the holster or your clothes.”

  Catrina proceeded to give Ted a lesson on striping down and cleaning the weapon.

  Ted stood and watched in amazement.

  “I got you an “Equipping the Workers” holster and mag pouch.” She produced a slim black molded holster and a smaller black pouch. “This has a spring steel clip that slides onto your belt.”

  She turned Ted around. “Wear it here, next to your kidneys.” She slid the holster onto Ted’s belt in the small of his back. “You wear it on the inside. Always use the holster. Never just tuck a pistol inside your pants. The trigger can catch on your shirt and cause the gun to go off. You don’t want a bullet flying around inside your jeans.”

  Ted grinned. “Damn, I feel like I’m in the first grade.”

  “You are, Junior.” Catrina gave him a little shove on the shoulder. “This is firearms 101. When we get through today, you’ll know enough not shoot your balls off.”

  Ted hated guns. Growing up in the barrios of East LA and knew that whenever you played with guns someone got hurt. He had managed to avoid the gangs and stay away from guns all of his life. Yet, when his father was murdered and his brother kidnapped in Mexico, he had turned to guns to rescue his brother.

  Ted shot a man to save Chris’s life. He still had nightmares about the gun battle at the ancient site at Teotihuacán. Now, in his new role as Catrina’s partner, Ted knew he would need a gun someday. In this kind of business, you had to be prepared.

  “Drawing and re-holstering your weapon is an important part of the training,” Catrina was saying. “You don’t want it to go off before you’re ready.”

  Ted nodded his head. His heart skipped a beat. How could he possibly know when he would have to use it?

  “When I was a rookie on the force, I was assigned to a training officer, Mike Connelly, who taught me how to decide when you need to use your weapon.”

  She must have been reading his mind.

  “Most of the time, when a cop fires inaccurately, the first shot hits the ground a few feet in front of him. The cop is so scared, has so much adrenaline pumping, that he can’t separate the shoot/no shoot decision from the use of his firearm.”

  Ted looked at the Glock in his hand.

  “So here’s what Mike taught me. They don’t teach this in the Academy. They only teach you what the law says.” She holstered her weapon and looked at Ted with a steely stare.

  “The law says if a bad guy who is in a ‘dangerous state of mind,’ and threatening to kill or seriously harm you, or another, and who ‘has the present ability to carry out that threat,’ he can be legally shot.”

  Ted nodded, trying to take it all in.

  “Mike taught me to have a formula in my mind. Practice it over and over until it’s a sub-conscious reaction. It’s state of mind, threat, proximity, means, bang, bang. Got that?”

  “State of mind, threat, proximity. Yeah.” Ted nodded his head. “What do you mean by state of mind?”

  Catrina leaned against the counter and thought for a moment. “State of mind means that the perp wouldn’t hesitate to use deadly force. Drugs, alcohol, powerful emotions... mental disorder. They can all cause this state of mind, but not necessarily. It’s important to understand that only the state of mind has to be dangerous. You don’t need to know its cause. Someone who just lost his wife, or believes that you are the Devil or doesn’t believe that you’ll shoot, they’re all dead if they meet the criteria.” There was a coldness in Catrina’s voice.

  Ted looked at his partner. He never had to worry with her at his back. The only question was: would he be able to make the correct decision when he had her back?

  “And, Ted, never draw your weapon unless you’re ready to use it.”

  Chapter 3

  God-damned traffic. Dick Randall pulled his Ford Excursion SUV into the parking lot surrounding the Beach Hut Espresso stand off of Evergreen Way in Everett, Washington, at least a half hour after he planned to be there. He had to drive the fifteen miles north from Seattle in excruciating traffic, to get to his top grossing stand.

  The whole metropolitan area was littered with coffee stands. You couldn’t turn around without bumping into one. These damned Seattleites ran on coffee. You draw blood from them and you’d probably get French Roast.

  He had thought about it long and hard. Dick got the idea while he was in Vegas. Why not bring a little Vegas to Seattle?

  He needed to find a way to differentiate his coffee huts from every other coffee shack on the drag. They all had some kind of gimmick. There was the Buckin’ Bronco chain. Their baristas dressed up like cowboys and cowgirls. Why not a little T&A? Nothing sells like sex.

  So, the Beach Hut was born. It started out innocent enough. His girls wore bikinis to work. The girls themselves found ways to increase their tips and his clientele. Dick was doing a land-office business.

  The sign, with a voluptuous g
irl in a bikini lounging on a sandy beach under a palm tree matched the logo painted on the doors of his SUV.

  It was early morning and a line of seven cars filled the lot around the stand. As each of the occupants got their coffee and pulled away, another, driven by a sleepy looking man, pulled off the highway and joined the queue.

  Dick opened the door to the stand and stepped in. “Morning girls.”

  “Dickie,” Judy Wise cried and gave him a big hug.

  Dick checked Judy out. She was dressed, if you could call it that, in a red lace Teddy that left little to the imagination. Dick smiled at the memory of playing with those massive tits. He gave her a pat on the butt. Life was good.

  “How was business yesterday?” Dick asked.

  “Not bad.” Judy was the lead barista at the Evergreen Way stand. “We made your minimum.”

  Dick paid his girls minimum wage. Why not? With the tips they made, they were making twice as much as a school teacher. He required that they deposit at least three hundred dollars a day into the stand’s bank account to cover expenses. After that, he split the take with his girls fifty-fifty. None of his stands ever had a problem making his minimum.

  While Dick and Judy talked, two other scantily clad women made coffee drinks at lightning speed as cars pulled up to the drive-in windows on each side of the stand.

  “I’m thinking about doing some advertising,” he said. “They say it pays to advertise if you’ve got a good product.”

  The girls laughed.

  “I had an idea for you.” Judy put down the stainless steel measuring cup and turned to him. “I was thinking about running a promotion on Tuesdays, you know, to pick up business on a slow day.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dick picked up the red notebook that each of his stands kept with a record of daily receipts and expenses.

  “You could show a little enthusiasm,” Judy pouted.

  “Okay, what you got?” he asked.

  “Tassel Tuesdays.” Judy stood with her feet planted wide, hands on hips and smiled at him.

  “Tassel Tuesdays?”

  “Yeah, all the girls would wear G-strings and pasties. I tried it last Tuesday and by the end of the day, I had a line down the side of the street.”

  “Hmmm...not a bad idea.” Dick rubbed his chin. “The more you show, the more we make.”

  “Hell,” Tammy cut in, “there’s other ways to make more money.”

  Tammy was very young and her skinny body wasn’t exactly Playboy material, but she had that wild-child-lost-little-girl look in her eyes. She wore a plaid skirt about the size of a Band-Aid, saddle shoes, thigh high nylons and a push-up bra with red lace trim. Her brown hair was pulled back into pig-tails and she wore thick rimmed black glasses. Dick knew that middle aged men lined up to try to win her affection.

  “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

  “I have a special menu for when it’s not busy,” Tammy replied.

  She reached under the counter and pulled out a hand written placard. It said:

  Latte $3.50

  Cappuccino $3.50

  Special Latte (hold the topping) $25.00

  Hot buttered bun $50.00

  “I like the pricing,” Dick said. “What’s the gimmick?”

  “Hold the topping means I take off my bra to make their coffee.” Tammy gave Dick her wild-child smile. “If they want the hot buttered bun, I climb up on the counter, drop my panties and expose myself.”

  “You know that lewd acts are illegal. Remember that you signed an agreement when we hired you not to perform any lewd acts,” Dick said. He winked and they all laughed.

  “The last thing we need is the law coming down on us,” Judy said. “We already have the church ladies picketing us and going to the City Council to get us shut down. I don’t know about you, but I need this job.”

  “I had another idea,” Judy said.

  “Yes,” Dick answered.

  “How about Chippendales?” She smiled a dirty smile at Dick. “We could get a lot of bored housewives in here if we had one window with some hung guy in a banana hammock and the other with Miss Sweetness over there.” She pointed towards Tammy.

  “Hmm...that’s an interesting idea. I’ll do some thinking on it.”

  “Hey, can I get a little help here?” Sherry asked. “I’ve got a line down the street.”

  Sherry was a pretty blonde in her mid-thirties dressed in a Captain America red, white and blue bikini. She looks damned good, Dick thought, despite her age.

  “You know,” she said, “we’ve still got a business to run.”

  Tammy turned back to her espresso machine and brewed up a cappuccino for the young man in the yellow Mustang convertible.

  While Tammy and Sherry’s hands flew around their work stations, Judy restocked their supplies.

  “How’s your boy doing?” Dick asked Sherry.

  She stopped and turned to him.

  “You know, he has good days and bad days.”

  “Not getting any better, huh?”

  “I talked to the school counselor. She says that I need to get Tommy special help.”

  “What kind of help?” Judy asked.

  “She says Tommy has ADHD. He can’t sit still in the classroom. He’s always disrupting class so the other kids can’t learn. They threatened to pull him out of the school if I don’t get him counseling and fill him full of drugs.”

  “I can relate,” Dick said. “I never liked school much myself.”

  “I can’t afford it. I’ve found a child psychologist that charges on a sliding scale, but still with that cost and the drugs, I won’t be able to pay the rent.”

  Dick stared into the red notebook for a moment. What the hell. Sherry was one of his best producers.

  “Take it easy, Sher. Maybe I can help. Give me a call when you get off work. We’ll see what we can work out.”

  Sherry dropped her spoon and threw a big hug around Dick’s neck. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. I knew you would help. Judy said all I needed to do was ask. You have such a good heart.”

  ****

  The grand opening of the Nuevo Chaparral was a big deal. Hope and Mama had done an exquisite job of remodeling the old building. The slightly pink stucco walls with fresco murals and brightly colored Puebla tiles screamed “Old Mexico.”

  Rustic handmade tables and chairs were covered in bright Mexican colors. Oil paintings of Spanish dons and señoritas graced the walls, alongside blown-up photos of Mexican revolutionaries.

  From the outside, the building resembled La Capilla de la Virgen de Guadalupe, the chapel of the Virgin, on the outskirts of Mexico City. In the center of the building was a round dining room with a windowed dome, exactly like the chapel. Rooms extended east toward Lake Union and north from the rotunda. The entryway was in the north wing; with dining space and the bar with eight big screen TV’s. Ted made sure that they would have all the NFL and college games available. The east wing was all dining, with floor to ceiling windows that opened onto a stucco-walled deck. From the east room and the deck Lake Union opened up below, with marinas, Gas Works Park to the right and the Seattle Skyline to the left.

  The Higuera family had lots of experience in running an up-scale Mexican restaurant, but the Hardwick family provided the connections.

  Harry invited the mayor and the chief of police to the big opening party. The place was lousy with judges and lawyers. Two members of the Nordstrom family munched on antojitos at the bar. Harry held court in the circular dining room with the CEO of PACCAR, the president of Starbucks and the owners of the largest jewelry chain in the northwest.

  Catrina invited Allison Clarke, the CEO of Millennium Systems, the largest computer company in the world. Allison brought friends from Microsoft, Intel, Adobe Systems, Amazon and many of Seattle’s other high-tech companies.

  The crowning glory though was Ted’s old University of Washington team-mate. Germaine Washington, fresh off a season as the NFL’s MVP and sporting a nifty new Super Bowl ring, was
the belle of the ball. Germaine dragged his entire offensive line, as well as his quarterback, the man who could be elected King of Seattle on one ballot, to the party.

  “Hey, man,” Germaine poked Ted in the ribs with his elbow, “You didn’t tell me your sister was H-O-T.” He pointed towards Hope with his champagne glass.

  Hope was decked out for the event in a low-cut peasant blouse with a brightly colored Mexican skirt and red cowboy boots. Gold rings dangled from her ears, matched by the lavish gold necklace at her throat. She braided her silky black hair into giant loops on each side of her head.

  “You like, huh?” Ted asked. “Well, you better get in line. I have a feeling that her dance card is filling up.”

  Mama came through the swinging doors from the kitchen, still dressed from head to foot in black. A striking woman, short like her daughter, she also had deep dark pools for eyes and lustrous black hair.

  Allison Clarke immediately descended on her.

  “Mrs. Higuera, It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Allison Clarke.” The petite brunette extended her hand to Mama.

  “Thank you, and please call me Mama.” Mama shook Ms. Clarke’s hand. “Everyone does.”

  “I know your son well,” Allison said. “He got me out of some very deep trouble a few years ago. I owe him a lot.”

  “Teddy, he’s a fine boy.” Mama still had her heavy Spanish accent. “Where eez he? Have you seen him?”

  “Oh, he was hanging out with some football players.” Allison put her glass of sangria down and took both of Mama’s hands. “I want to tell you how very sorry I am about your husband. Ted told me a lot about him. He sounded like a fine man.”

  Mama wiped a tear from her eye. “He was my life.”

  “Well, I hope you adjust to your new home. I wish you all the happiness that having family around you can bring.”

  “Thank you. My middle son, Guillermo, he stayed in L.A. He wants to own a mechanic shop. He’s working with my brother, Ernesto, een his shop. Ernesto is reelly old-fashioned. He only has daughters, so he theenks he should leave his business to Guillermo, even though his daughter, Celi, eez twice the mechanic that Guillermo eez.”