Chapter 14

"Get off the highway! Get off the highway now!" Anya yelled with excitement.

After an interminable drive across the fields of Illinois, they were coming close to the east bank of the Mississippi and had entered the city limits of East St. Louis. Travis recalled from his only Poli. Sci. course that Hunter Thompson had remarked back in 1972 that if God were to give the world an enema, he would insert it in East St. Louis. The only other claim to fame of this seedy hole was the strip joint Larry Flint owned that launched his career as publisher of "Hustler" magazine. Nothing much had changed and the town was still a pit of poverty and sex for sale in various pathetically conventional forms.

"Are you sure?" Travis asked as he slowed down for the ramp.

"She is close. Her aura is nearby and it is undeniable. What is this place?"

Travis went through the recitation of the ignoble past of the town. When he brought her up to date he was reminded of his first days with Anya, "Remember the porno movie and your reaction to it? How you labeled the actors as soulless. East St. Louis is one of those places where the soulless gather. This is not a safe place to be, especially after dark."

Already the shadows were lengthening as the sun moved closer to the western horizon on the other side of the river, beyond the metropolis of St. Louis. Travis was nervous and the rundown buildings didn't help his rising concern. The homeless shelter had a line forming out front, of drunks, junkies, old prostitutes and probably their old johns. Anya gasped once but continued to direct Travis through the streets.

After one more right turn, she directed him to a strip club, demanding he stop there. Travis pulled down the block and parked the car. He pushed his baseball cap down on his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets as they both exited the car. He double-checked that the doors were locked before taking the long walk down the sidewalk.

"They aren't going to let you in, Anya. You look too young," Travis worried.

"Use your imagination, Travis. All I need is to get close enough to that big man guarding the door. If my sister got in, then I should be able to enter as well."

The big ape at the door fixed Travis with an icy stare and took a suck on the toothpick hanging out of his mouth. The bouncer grasped his hands in front of himself and blocked the doorway. With a politeness that Travis did not expect, the bouncer announced when they pulled up close, "she is cute, buddy, but I'm afraid that it would be inappropriate for the young lady to enter the club."

"Please, sir" Anya produced with Dickensonian authenticity, "my sister is in there and I've come to fetch her home."

The bouncer was taken aback by her plea and let out a laugh that left him shaking his head. He replied, "I ain't heard that one before; that was damn good. What's your sister's name?"

"I don't know what name she is using but I'm sure she changed it. She looks like me but her hair is blonde."

The bouncer stared at her face with a certain intensity. Travis thought he could actually see the tumblers turning in the man's head. "Misty: You look like Misty, only younger."

"I'm older than she is," Anya replied and she put her hand on the bouncer's clasped hands and asked again, "please, sir."

He just wilted and his shoulders drooped along with his chin as he stepped aside. Travis could taste her power in the air and took the opportunity to bring his own to the forefront. They stepped into the darkened club but Travis, properly forewarned, could see the room clearly.

The bartender had on short sleeves that showed off the beautiful tattoos on both arms. Travis guided Anya over to the bar and called for the bartender. When he sauntered over, Travis leaned in, "Is Misty here? Her sister wants to talk to her."

The bartender took his time, giving Anya a thorough examination with his eyes. Travis felt the thump-thump of the bass piercing his bones as the rock music blared through the speakers. The dancer onstage looked so bored on stage that even the bartender looked more animated.

"She danced a set about a half hour ago, but I haven't seen her since then. Does her sister want to come dance here too?" he asked with a bit of a leer.

He showed his yellow teeth to Anya, "I figured that I had seen most things in life but your sister is something else. She is living, breathing Viagra and people swear that she can bring back the dead, if you know what I mean."

Anya was a bit taken aback and denied with horror in her voice, "Sister doesn't raise the dead."

Travis hastily explained, "It's just an expression, Anya. 'Raising the dead' means guys who can't get their cocks hard anymore who suddenly get an erection."

The bartender gave her look that could only mean 'fresh meat', "Go through that door to the left of the stage and ask for Misty. Don't wander around back though, the boss doesn't allow strangers in back, if you understand what I'm saying. Wait inside the door until someone comes and finds you. Okay?"

Travis took a strong grip on Anya's arm and led her through the room towards the door. He had no problem ignoring the skuzzy customers who sat at tables or hunkered up to the lit stage; however, Anya made it a point to check out every person's face as she passed. Her expression was stone cold and gave no hint of what she was thinking.

Inside the door, the music became a dull roll of the bass line. The small hallway was painted a garish yellow which failed to hide the holes, dents, and water stains in the drywall. The concrete floor was stained with a wide variety of substances that left no doubt that only the foolish walked around barefooted. Travis felt the cold anger that was flowing out of Anya in waves. Whether it was power or sisterly bond, Anya was working herself into a rage.

Another minute passed and a bald guy with a pot belly stepped out of a closed office. His shirt was buttoned two buttons too low and his cigar was large and smelly.

"Can I help you?" he asked with his cigar still in his mouth.

"This is Misty's sister," Travis began and the guy took out his cigar and waved Travis to silence.

"Your sister is one twisted piece of work. She just went postal on me and stormed out with her shit-brained boyfriend. When you see her, tell her she can pick up her last paycheck from the bar 'cause I don't want to see her holier-than-shit face again."

"She's gone?" Anya squeaked.

"Yeah, about ten minutes ago," he absently answered as he fished in his pocket for his keys.

"Do you know where she lives," Travis followed up.