Night Driver

by Marcelle Perks

  ‘Yeah, he had some new business going down that she didn’t like the sound of. He left his laptop in her gaff and she had a peek,’ said Elli in high, excited tones. Gossip fuelled her.

  ‘Was it new girls coming in?’ said Dorcas, trying to push away the familiar feelings of jealousy.

  ‘I don’t know. She said she’d forwarded me one of his emails, but I never got it,’ said Elli. ‘Hey, I bet it was more Russian tarts! You remember Lassia from Kiev?’

  They both laughed. Everybody knew Hans liked Russian women.

  ‘Anna’s probably become a gang-bang porn star,’ said Dorcas with a laugh. ‘She was always very picky about her punters!’ Elli shrieked hysterically in her ear.

  Dorcas sensed a potential customer coming towards her door and hastily rang off. A well-dressed middle-aged man came towards the open window.

  ‘Business?’ she said, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Full sex,’ he said as if he were ordering a Chinese.

  ‘Forty,’ said Dorcas, and gestured him to go round to the back of the van.

  She had used the theme of the Arabian nights to make the inside of her van welcoming. Antique tapestries hung on the walls. A thick maroon rug covered the floor space, which had a raised area for sex. The quicker she got them lying down with their pants off, the faster she got it over with.

  Dorcas flaunted her young beautiful body. In her barely-there bikini she knew she looked good. Her tan was perfect. Her fingernails and toes were lacquered jet black. Her client was older but well-maintained. She liked a man who kept his pride. Then he opened the little bag he had with him and showed her what was inside.

  He handed her a pair of handcuffs. ‘I’d like you to put these on,’ he said, without smiling. In the dim light his eyes had an animal look. He also had a latex basque that presumably he wanted her to wear too.

  For now, Dorcas kept her smile. ‘If you’d like an S&M session I can organise that for you, but we don’t offer bondage out of our vans.’

  The man just stared at her. ‘I thought the customer was always right.’

  ‘I can handcuff you if you like or we can play with them, but you can’t actually put them on me here,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light. There was something about this one that gave her the creeps.

  ‘Well, that’s what I want,’ he said in a monotone. He took out his wallet and pulled out a hundred-euro note and held it to her face. ‘Will this do?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s not the money. We just can’t do that here. It’s against company rules.’

  Dorcas managed to push a button on a bleeper that was hidden behind a tapestry. It was the alarm signal they all had installed. She just hoped they would get there in time.

  Meanwhile the client, despite her protests, had laid the note on the bed, as if paying for it meant he could do what he wanted. He didn’t seem to understand that it was all meant to be consensual.

  Dorcas stiffened involuntarily. She didn’t want him to see her reaction, but it was hard when she was standing there practically naked. He seemed to sense her unease. A sick sweet look came over his eyes as if he’d been drugged.

  Dorcas struggled to maintain her composure. If she could keep on talking to him, perhaps it would buy some time. ‘I can’t do bondage here, and full sex is just forty.’

  ‘I’ve told you what I want,’ he said with a contemptuous smile. Dorcas struggled to keep him talking whilst she explained for a third time, as politely as she could, that bondage was not a service they did out of the minivans. He wouldn’t be told. With a sneer of contempt, he threw himself on her and started biting her lips as hard as he could. She let out a series of loud screams; it felt as though she had been stung and her mouth poured with blood.

  ‘Do as I say!’ he said, quietly but directly in her face, intoning every word as if he really meant it.

  She was dragged down. The handcuffs were snapped into place and he made a rough gag out of a pair of tights he had with him. Her own blood had run down her neck like chocolate and was staining her lovely bikini.

  Dorcas was too afraid to even move her eyes. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. Although he kept on talking, all she could hear was her own heartbeat, screaming.

  Without warning, the front windscreen shattered. The back door burst open. Lars jumped in, threw himself at the punter. He planted an angry fist in his face. Dorcas cowered in the corner, trying not to step on any broken glass.

  ‘Was machst du hier?’ shouted Lars. Dorcas had almost never heard him shout, he was normally so jolly and generous. His hands had found their target. That must have been the army training he talked about. He was punching like a prize fighter. The john’s face was being beaten to a pulp. If she didn’t stop him there’d be a body on the floor.

  She made a loud ‘Mmmmmhh!’ sound through her gag.

  Lars looked at her normally lively face, dripping with blood, and the sight of it seemed to enrage him further. She could see him automatically stiffening his hand into another fist. Her customer was pretty much on his knees, groaning. In the next millisecond Lars had turned again into a beast. The man was dragged to his feet. ‘And now you go!’ shouted Lars, physically pushing him out of the van. The money had vanished.

  Lars undid the gag and handcuffs, took a Kleenex out of his pocket and proceeded to wipe some of the blood off her chin. She took out a packet of baby wipes to do a proper job. He shut the door, held her tenderly in his arms. ‘My poor Dörchen!’ he said as if talking to a child. He’d often told her that she was the best, and that one day he’d marry her. She was the only one of Hans’s girls that he cared for. She usually laughed and pushed him off. Although they talked nearly every day and often cooked together, she knew he only liked boys. ‘You’re alright,’ he said to her over and over, stroking her hair. ‘I’m sorry about the window, needed to divert his attention!’

  When he was holding her, she noticed that he smelled odd, as if he’d had a wash but hadn’t been able to get rid of the smell underneath.

  ‘What’s happened to Anna?’ she said looking deep into his face. They were as close as brother and sister. If he knew something, he’d tell her, eventually. She knew he pretended to be stupider than he really was.

  He didn’t look at her directly. ‘Let’s just say she fell off the back of a lorry,’ he said, hugging her and landing little kisses on her cheek. Dorcas said nothing, but she winced. Thinking about Anna sent a dull, deep pain running through her stomach. She needed to know, one way or another, what was going on.

  Lars stroked her hair and patted her cheek.

  ‘Did Anna leave? Or was she forced?’ said Dorcas, hugging him tight to her chest.

  He just smiled at her with a big stupid grin, rubbed his hand across her face. ‘She’s getting all the attention she ever wanted,’ he said.

  ‘And is it over with Hans?’ she said, voicing her jealousy for the first time.

  Lars gave her a sideways look. ‘Everything’s over for her,’ he said. Dorcas couldn’t think straight. It was hard to stop herself thinking dark thoughts. Something funny was going on. And Hans was in the thick of it.

  Deep in her belly she had an odd feeling, a foreboding she couldn’t shake off. The last time with Hans had been a bit crazy. She always used condoms with clients, but not Hans. It was different with him. There was only a slight chance. But she could be. She closed her eyes and didn’t let herself think.

  If she was pregnant, she had to find out what Hans was really up to.

  Chapter

  Eight

  After her first night drive, Frannie could think of nothing else. She hugged the secret to herself. Every spare minute, she drank in the sensation of speeding along a neon-lit open road. Night-driving had released her from the cares of her everyday boring chores. She thought about Tomek non-stop.

  Kurt noticed her unusually bright eyes the next morning, but he didn’t say anything. At this stage in her pregnancy they were merely polite to each other. They hadn’t had sex
since the first trimester. The last time she’d tried to initiate it, Kurt had looked pointedly at her bulging stomach and turned his head away.

  ‘I just want to be careful,’ he’d said, concentrating on something on his laptop.

  ‘Is it the baby?’ she’d said, almost tearful at his rejection. She’d got pregnant much too soon, hadn’t she? Perhaps he was regretting it.

  ‘We’ve got other things to think of now,’ he’d said, trying to laugh it off.

  She was uplifted by thoughts of Tomek. In her mind’s eye he was a lone, lithe figure on a personal crusade. She wished Kurt had a bit of his drive. He’d been so sweet and attentive for the first couple of years, but now he took her for granted. She was tired of hearing him talk about what he was going to do. The baby’s room was still not ready.

  Although she was extra tired in the day, and could do little more than waddle about, she didn’t mind. It was a relief to go to bed extra-early. She wanted to be ready for tonight.

  In bed she fell into an exhausted sleep that as usual lasted until she needed to pee. Normally she would then float in a light sleep, something in between dreaming and insomnia that disturbed her more than it refreshed. This time, when she felt her consciousness hit shallow waters, she pulled herself out of it and slipped out of bed.

  Before she could stop herself, she changed her knickers and put on a little make-up. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone before. Despite her pregnant bulk, she wanted to look half-decent. She knew the tight-fitting black sweater looked good with her long blonde hair.

  She drove on autopilot to the petrol station. The dark road was clear of other cars and she found she could go a little faster. She drove round the parked vehicles without a second glance. The fact that she was not completely awake somehow made it easier. Not worrying about every little manoeuvre allowed her to build up a synchronicity with the car. It was only five minutes to the Shell station, but she seemed to slide there in seconds.

  She parked eagerly. It was a quarter to three. She was psyched: going to meet Tomek in the middle of the night was the most exciting thing she had done for years.

  A short, fat guy was devouring a schnitzel with chips, but other than that the dimly lit restaurant was empty. It was a very small space, with film posters on the walls and cute hanging lanterns. It was the German idea of what a diner might be. It was one of the few twenty-four-hour places around, so they tried to cater for anybody that might come through the doors after midnight. The schnitzel-eater ignored her.

  On impulse, Frannie got herself a real coffee. As she hadn’t had it for so long, she got a little jittery from the caffeine kick. Would he really turn up to meet her? The clock slid to one minute past three and when she looked up, he was there.

  Tomek strode up to her. His lean hips pumped from side to side like two pistons. When he saw her, he smiled. The hair was a touch wavy, mostly wild, his look casual but sexy, as if he didn’t give a damn. He wore his faded blue denim jacket as if it was a uniform. There was an energy drink in his hand. She noticed he had faint dark circles underneath his eyes.

  ‘Driving OK tonight?’ he said, smiling again.

  ‘No problem!’ she said. ‘Yep, it’s easy when there’s no one about.’

  She pushed back her long hair nervously. He was the best thing she’d seen in the flesh for ages. She wanted to just sit and stare. Better to talk. Her suppressed sexual urges were rippling away like an invisible but lethal river current.

  ‘So, have you heard from your sister?’ she said.

  His eyes turned dull. ‘Nothing,’ he said, tensing his knuckles. ‘Nobody know nothing!’

  ‘And the woman last night?’ she asked.

  ‘I gave her twenty euros and still she know nothing.’ His eyes showed the bitterness of the encounter.

  Frannie slipped him a little card with her address and mobile number on it. ‘This is how you can contact me,’ she said, wondering if she was betraying Kurt in some way. She’d left her home telephone number off.

  ‘And Dorcas?’ she asked.

  He took an amateurish-looking porn magazine out of his pocket and opened it up on page four. ‘It say here that a Dorcas is at the fifth junction west of Hannover. Later I will go, see if I find her,’ he said.

  Frannie couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘Is that a porno mag?’ she said.

  ‘Natürlich!’ said Tomek, trying to hide his smile. ‘What do you think women do who work out of vans? This is a magazine for truck drivers. It tells you where they all are.’

  Frannie was gobsmacked. ‘They have prostitutes on the Autobahn?’ she asked, trying not to blush.

  ‘Yeah, here in Germany it is legal and men seem to feel a little bit sexy when they drive fast, or so I hear!’ he said, laughing again.

  She sipped her hot coffee, tongue-tied. Was his sister working here as a prostitute too? She didn’t want to ask.

  He shrugged his shoulders, looked at her intently. ‘You want to drive with me on the Autobahn?’ he asked. Once again, he was a boy in trouble. ‘If you come with me, maybe this Dorcas, if I find her, she speak better to you, a woman.’

  Frannie gave him a look of horror. Drive on the Autobahn already! What she wanted was to stay in her little rat-run of familiar streets. But he was so young; that face tore her resolve in two. He took out a map and showed her the route.

  ‘I’ll follow you,’ she said, trying not to give a shiver. She was always afraid of being trapped on the Autobahn and never finding the right exit off.

  She was not frightened to actually drive on the Autobahn, not at night anyway. The sticky bit was getting on and off. In full traffic this was no mean feat; often the speeding cars would not pull over or ease off and make a space for incoming drivers. Exits were also tricky. Some of them twisted like something from a funfair, and in peak traffic other drivers forced her to race round them when she didn’t have the experience to handle it.

  Tomek had promised to go slow. It was no problem following him. He kept an intimate distance between them and took care to signal well before every turn so she wouldn’t have to do anything in a hurry. He led her on to the A2. There were no other cars around at first, so it was dead easy. He let her get into her stride then started to increase speed. The signs rushed past and again her car was eating up the road. She just exhaled and went with the flow. It was not so easy driving fast, but she didn’t want to lose sight of him. Not when she had a good view of his rear jacked up on the bike.

  They roared up the central lane. The half-dark outside seemed to push down on them as if it didn’t want them to go any further. A trickle of lorries rumbled along on the slow lane. She had to resist the urge to flinch when she passed them. Her foot pressed down and she zoomed past.

  The thought of encountering again the Lars lorry driver who had caused her accident filled her with dread. The German roads were full of huge trucks that dragged down the traffic and terrified her with their proximity. Her hands gripped the steering wheel. Much more of this and she was going to freak out.

  Another burning stretch of road and they were pulling up at the Rastplatz. There were some truckers parked out back and a man fuelling up. The bright lights made it seem as if it were day. Tomek pointed out a maroon-coloured minivan that was parked among the trucks. She wouldn’t have looked at it twice, but a fluorescent light shone brightly to illuminate the driver’s seat.

  When they were closer they saw a dark-haired woman with a Louise Brooks bob sitting incongruously in a bikini. Her already large eyes were highlighted by carefully drawn eyebrows. Frannie thought she would have looked good on horseback in a full set of armour.

  Tomek turned to her. ‘We go together?’ he said. The photo of his sister was already in his hand.

  When Tomek knocked on her door and Dorcas, the prostitute saw Frannie, she frowned. She must be wondering what a heavily pregnant woman was doing with a client. Frannie felt a flicker of jealousy as she saw the way Tomek glanced at her.

  Dorcas looked exquisite, bu
t uncomfortable.

  Tomek handed her a note and showed her the photograph. He kept his voice polite. ‘This is my sister, Anna, perhaps you know her?’

  Frannie saw a funny look come over the woman’s face. It looked as though her lips were actually bleeding. She took the photograph in her hand and looked at it under the light. Her face changed. She said something, but Frannie couldn’t understand her strong Berlin accent.

  ‘You know her?’ said Tomek, anxiously.

  ‘An Anna I know worked for Hans at the club, but blondes all look the same to me,’ said Dorcas, pointedly looking at Frannie.

  ‘Really?’ said Frannie, rising to the bait instantly. Her whole life, other women had resented her natural blonde hair and good looks. But Tomek looked forlorn under the glare of the neon light.

  ‘Hans…?’ he said.

  ‘Hans Grans, at the Moonlights club. But she left just last week,’ the woman said. She handed the photograph back abruptly, as if she couldn’t stand to see it. ‘She was shagging the boss, and I guess it didn’t work out.’ Her voice was uneven, as if she was unsure of herself. Frannie could imagine what sort of person Hans Grans might be, from her voice.

  ‘She just go?’ said Tomek, looking in surprise at both women.

  ‘It’s a nightclub. Girls come and go all the time,’ said Dorcas, as if they were talking about the price of butter. When Frannie came nearer, she stuck her tongue out. ‘And who is she?’

  ‘This is my English friend. She wants to drive better,’ replied Tomek, pointing at Frannie’s bump.

  Dorcas broke into a raucous laugh. She was probably sniggering at her bloated middle. Dorcas was gorgeous. It was a pity she was sitting in the middle of nowhere waiting for strangers. Meanwhile she continued to eyeball Frannie, lit a cigarette and blew the smoke near to her face. Did she see her as a competitor? Surely not. What did the silly cow think she was doing?