Jan is tripping out on crack somewhere in East Saint Louis when the other whore moves in on her customer

Gwenn was wanting me to believe the lyrics from her favorite singer were some of the best poetry ever written. Probably wanted me to believe that we were on a special brain synapse that only we could understand--------a cosmic form of telepathy between us that others could not begin to tap into.

"Now Jack...I don't play this for everyone else and you can take the CD home with you," Gwenn said hopefully.

"I'm rough on CD's and records, Gwenn.  I don't think you want to take a chance on me," I replied.

Jan sat next to me on the couch in her own world, seeking the perfect high. She had her crack pipe in front of her and was once again going through the little plastic bag for a few crumbs to load into her pipe. Still high she greedily reached for more. She had long ago lost any interest or comprehension of anyone or anything else in that room.

"Jack, you understand what the music's telling us. I don't think Jan does or anyone else around here," Gwenn continued. "I want to ask you for a favor."

"Shoot."

"You are an alright kind of guy. You're smart. You drive a nice car. No one comes around here like you. Would you have any friends who are like you?"

"What do you mean?"

'

Someone I could go out with. Someone who will treat me nice."

It was the leading question...."someone like you to go out with." Not someone just like me. Me. She liked my little sports car and it was obvious to her that I was buying Jan crack. And that I was banging Jan. Gwenn always cut herself in on Jan's latest purchase and smoked it right at the apartment, but she wasn't doing it the way Jan was....at least not in front of me. Jan just couldn't get enough of it. It also had to be obvious to Gwenn that I wasn't the only man seeing Jan and that I wasn't the only one paying her for sex which she immediately cashed in for the sewers of her crack addiction. After all, Jan was a dancer who had access to the men she met in the clubs, men who had money and who would not shirk at supplying her with enough crack to satisfy their erections.

Not that I wouldn't put it past Gwenn to have a paying boyfriend or two. It was obvious she saw me as a good catch, if only a temporary one. As for her friendship with Jan--------it went about as far as the drugs went before they ran out. To an older druggie like Gwenn, Jan was just a little girl to be shoved aside. Whenever Jan and I visited her, Gwenn tried to subtlety point out that Jan was just a self-centered, shallow little child who barely understood the world around her own little play pen.

But she was wrong. Although only twenty, Jan was only self-centered when the crack urge hit her. A super intellect she wasn't but she was fun. She was much more giving than most of the other girls and she was up for just about anything. A man could be himself with her and she was a ball to have around in a restaurant, in a bar, in a car, or just about anywhere. She saw the humor in the smallest things and didn't take herself very seriously.

Whereas Jan was up-front and to the point, Gwenn was devious and conniving, her trying to draw me into her favorite music only a ploy to try to draw me into her web. I could care less about the words of her favorite lyrics. Give me Shakespeare any time. And thanks--------I'll take the honest little whore who makes no pretenses about who and what she is over a bitch anytime. I couldn't wait to get Jan out of there.

A man waited outside for us. Just once glance gave him away as one of Gwenn's suppliers, undoubtably the same dealer who had left the latest care package to the apartment. Gwenn had briefly left Jan and me alone in the apartment to deal with a man outside and returned with two rocks. He was a little over six feet tall, black, and had one of the meanest looks I had ever seen on a man. He was the kind you'd kill your favorite dog over just to keep him from knowing where you lived. The man came up to me immediately and his eyes told me the rest. He was the kind who could kill someone without blinking an eye.

"Look man. You are getting the shit from Gwenn and she's getting it from me and a few others. Why not get it directly from me. It'll be cheaper this way. Here's my pager number. Just give me a call."

We didn't talk long. A few minutes later Jan and I were crossing over to the Illinois side, with the Miata's top down. I gave the man's phone number to Jan, but only after I told her what I thought of him. A few more minutes and we were on highway 157 heading out to Cahokia.

"Would you mind putting the top up? "Jan asked.

"And spoil a nice evening? This car's made to drive topless," I said.

"It's the cops Jack. They get close to this car and they are going to see what I'm doing." She was still smoking the pipe. I was playing Led Zeppelin on the car's stereo and I liked my music about as loud as I could get it. Reluctantly I pulled over and put the top up, a job that only took a few seconds. Then headed out again, thinking, "what a waste and all for that damn shit. I have a beautiful little two-seater convertible, the evening air is perfect, and she wants the top up just so she can hog down that crack. I get to watch her go in and out of her private world when I want to be around people, which is exactly where we are going, to a bar to be around people."

Suddenly Jan started to fumble around.....looking for something in the car. "Turn the light on, Jack," she asked. "Do you mind?" She continued to fumble around after I turned on the light, then reached for her cigarette lighter which she started to use as a make shift flashlight.

"I can't find it. It's my pusher. The thing I use in this pipe. Do you mind pulling over again? Over by some trees."

By then we were cruising through a residential area in Cahokia where there were houses and trees close to the road. I pulled over and we got out of the car. "Just grab a little twig growing on this tree. The straighter the better," Jan said. And there we were, standing in someone's yard dismantling a small portion of a tree just so she could keep smoking her shit.

"That'll work," she finally said, satisfied with a little twig she had just popped off the tree. Now let's get going. We have some serious drinking to do."

This time she didn't put fresh crack in the pipe, instead just pushing what remained around in the thin tube with the little twig before lighting it again. Thankfully we were soon at the bar. But before going in, she asked me for still another "favor". "I am still high, Jack. Can we just sit in the car for a few minutes before going in?" Which reminded me for the first time that the little two seater although meant for only two now had three occupants: Jan, me, and her addition to crack. And it was the addiction that was calling the shots for both of us. We couldn't drive the car with the top down because she was afraid the police might see her smoking part of a rock. We had just come from a woman's place she probably would never have associated with if it wasn't for her drug dependency. And now we had to sit outside a place waiting for her to come down.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, we walked into the bar which had always reminded me of a country bar planted in the middle of the city. This night it was karoeke night. There was a small dance floor where people took their turns singing to the crowd. For us the bar was the most important thing in the place. We had several drinks--------straight tequila to go with our beers, met a couple of new people at the bar, then sat down with them at a table next to where the wannabee vocalists were performing.

Jan's was one of those rare girls who have the special talent of getting practically everyone to like her----especially at bars. Which always amazed me since she was so good looking and unattractive women usually get jealous of trim little minxes like Jan. Must have been her genuine openness and willingness to usually be the first to start a conversation. Had to have been that and a combination of her fun loving nature and ability to be herself to the point of poking fun at her station in life.

Months later she would tell people at a country bar after just introducing herself and after being asked what she did for a living----------"I work in a titty bar. Gotta shake that ass to make a buck. You know how it is." Now....it is really hard to dislike someone like that. She had a gift and didn't even know it. She was young but had no use for younger guys, once telling me she didn't like to hang around places where the men weren't at least 30. But she never wanted to stay long-----------wanting to drink four or five shots as quickly as she could and a bottle or two.

And this time------was like most of the times that would come later. She wanted to leave. As we got into the Miata several people came out of the bar-- a couple guys and a woman. "Hey, you wouldn't have a little weed, would you?" she asked them. The only problem is, they did. So we spent another half hour in that parking lot as I watched everyone around me smoking it. And I didn't even have a cold six pack in the car.

Later that night she would tell me----------"Gwenn didn't think I could hear what she said. But I heard every word. "

"Wanted to get between us just for a dollar, didn't she? "

"It's a cruel world ain't it?" she laughed.