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Part 8
Call me a country hick, but this place is a fucking freak town. I am…well, I actually don’t know where I am. Still somewhere in Seattle, I guess.
Not that you could tell from the way this place looks.
The houses are dumps, just like everywhere else in this shit-hole of a city, but there’s graffiti practically everywhere – and when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. That actually includes the street. And the people…well, let me just say that they make the Dupes look like nice little catholic school girls.
Jesus Christ. And I thought Ava had a lot of piercings.
But hey, to each their own. I’m not complaining. Not after finally finding a place where I can actually picture Ava settling down.
Now, since Plan A, which consisted of cluelessly running around the city while praying for a wonder, didn’t quite work out the way I’d hoped it would, I came up with Plan B.
No wait. Plan B was going through the official channels.
So this is Plan C. Or is it? Did I even call Plan A Plan A? Because if I didn’t – which wouldn’t surprise me, seeing how Plan A wasn’t actually anything you could call a plan – Plan B would actually be Plan A, and this would be Plan B. And don’t you just hate it when people go on and on about some minor detail you don’t give a rat’s ass about instead of getting to the point?
So, to my point. Yes, I actually have one. Drum roll please. Plan C consists of actively looking for Ava.
Well, you might say, and what exactly is the difference between looking for Ava and actively looking for Ava? That’s easy. This time I’m gonna ask random people if they know her, or if she at least looks familiar to them, if they’ve seen her around.
Okay, so you might say that that’s a tad bit difficult without some sort of visual aide. And I would have to agree with you but – where is that frigin drum roll? – I actually have a picture of her.
Well, not exactly of her. It’s a picture of Tess.
I simply stopped by at an internet café, logged on to my high school’s homepage and browsed through the pictures of various school activities. Found one of the queen-bitch, printed it out and I’m all set.
The downside is of course that I’ll be forced to spend my days looking at the witches face, but considering that I scorched my sheets last night and almost set my bed on fire while I slept, I don’t think I have much of a choice. I’m getting sort of desperate here.
So here goes nothing. First I approach a girl about my age, one of the more normal people, who has less than a dozen piercings in her face. Before I can even get two words out she tells me to stick it where the sun don’t shine.
Charming, really.
A bit fazed, I decide to approach a guy next, but he somehow seems to think that what I want is to have an threesome with him and the girl on the photo. Um, no? Since I can’t convince him otherwise, I decide to move on. Oh, and can I saw ‘Eww’?
Okay, so maybe I’m quick to give up, but I don’t think this is getting me anywhere. Instead of asking people on the street I decide to go into the shops and ask the people working there if they know Ava. If she really lives in this area someone is bound to recognize her. Right? Right.
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Jesus, this is a drag. On it goes, through the door and into the next shop. What is this place? A tattoo parlor, backslash supermarket? Charming, really. What an amazing business idea. I wonder why no one has copied it yet. I’m sure this would be a hit in Roswell.
Looking around, I spot the counter, or at least I think it’s the counter. It’s actually a giant scull with a wooden panel on top. But there’s a guy standing behind it, and something that might be a register on top. Guess I might actually be right.
I head over to it, and the guy behind it glances up. He’s black, as big as a house with rippling biceps and a very well developed chest that’s on the brink of making his shirt pop.
Damn scary-looking if I may say so.
His hair is shaved off and replaced by tattoos that wind their way down over his neck and then disappear in his black t-shirt which, by the way, has a scull surrounded by green flames on it that’s eating a naked woman.
He has more piercings than I can count, and his irises are red. Yes, red. Contacts, of course. Jesus Christ, I hope they’re contacts. All in all not the kind of guy I’d want to run into in a dark alley.
He flashes me a smile that looks more menacing than friendly and looks me up and down. “You lost, dollface?” he asks in a deep, booming voice that makes me flinch. “Or you’s want a nice little tattoo somewhere? Maybe on your cute lil’ white ass?”
I swallow and gather my courage, fighting my instincts that tell me to just run, run, run! “Um, no. I’m looking for a friend of mine. Her name’s Ava. Here’s a picture,” I say, annoyed with the tremor in my voice that just won’t go away. Wonder why.
He stares at the picture for a long time. “Um, you have to imagine her with a few more piercings, and colorful hair. She had pink streaks the last time I saw her,” I add.
“I’ll be damned,” the guy says. “What the hell’s got into my girl to dress up like that? Got her lookin’ like a freak! Didn’t think Ava used to have the Miss-Prissy-look going on.”
“It was for Halloween,” I say quickly. “So you know her?” I ask, not daring to believe my luck.
“Sure do,” he answered with a drawl, and this time I almost don’t flinch. “Used to work here. One of the best people me ever had, drew male customers like honey draws bees.”
“Do you have an address?” I ask hopefully.
“Dollface, we’s in Seattle,” he tells me chuckling. “No one’s got no address here, people’s livin in these dumps illegally. Cheaper to bribe them cops than to pay rent.”
“And you haven’t seen her lately?” I ask, discouragement washing over me. “You have no idea where I can find her?”
“Sorry dollface, she ain’t been around to see good old Joint.”
“Joint?” I ask.
“’S my name,” he explains grinning. I don’t even want to know…
“Well, thanks anyway,” I say and turn around to leave.
“Second there, dollface,” he yells, making me stop and back turn around again. “Just remembered something. She used to hang at this dive, name’s Crash. Might wanna check that out. Just three blocks down the street, dingy little place, easy to overlook from the outside.”
“Thanks,” I say smiling, relieved that this hasn’t turned out to be another dead end.
“My pleasure, dollface,” he replies grinning at me. “And come back when you change your mind about that tattoo. You’s ass is prime.”
I guess that was supposed to be a compliment, I think while heading out and making my way down the street to the place called ‘Crash’. Then I realize that it’s too earlier for a bar to be open, and so I decide to find something to eat instead. I’m starving.
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By the time I push open the doors of the Crash it’s almost eleven pm. It was still early after I’d eaten, and realizing that I wasn’t too far away from Joshua’s I decided to go home and change. I really need to get myself a new wardrobe for Seattle, I’m way too stand-offish in my old clothes from Roswell.
Digging around in my bag I found black jeans, black boots and a black top. And because I felt like it, I added some dark eye shadow and eyeliner. I considered doing something to my hair, but since I hate it no matter what I do, I just left it open. Everything else would be too much trouble. It looks boring either way.
The Crash is in the basement of the building, and so I head down the stairs and push my way through the crowd to the bar. I find an unoccupied space and wait for the bartender to come over to take my order so that I can ask him about Ava, maybe have a drink too cause I’m thirsty, and tired. I’ve had one hell of an exhausting day.
While waiting I glance around, taking in my surroundings and the people hanging out here. Most of them are in their mid-twenties and look pretty normal, but quite a few look anything but. There’s actually a guy that looks like a freaking lizard – I kid you not. He has green tattoos of scales covering his whole face and arms, his eyes are yellow and even his tongue is split at the tip. Jesus Christ, what some people are willing to do to themselves in the name of fashion…if you can even call that fashion.
Turning back to the bar I start tapping my fingers impatiently on the rough wooden surface beneath them. I hate waiting. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the most patient person in the world. Feeling the in the mean time familiar tingle under the skin of my hands, I force myself to take deep breaths and calm down. I really don’t want to blow anything up here. Too many witnesses. I’d hate to have to kill them all.
Just kidding.
Anyway, so I’m standing here still breathing, feeling like a woman in labor doing those silly exercises the doctors believe will help them through the pain, when a guy suddenly comes up beside me and drapes his arm around my shoulder.
“Hey pal,” I begin while turning to him, ready to smack him, when my gaze falls onto the smirking face of Alec.
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