Night Driver

by Marcelle Perks

  ‘He said he went last night; did he find you? A young man, dark hair, a motorcyclist,’ said Frannie in the most accurate German she could muster.

  He clearly wasn’t impressed, because he answered in English. ‘Anna is gone. She’s working at another club.’ The voice stopped. He waited again. There was a lengthy pause. ‘She owes me money for her flat, therefore she go in a hurry. I think I never find her again.’

  Frannie nervously played with her fingers. Something about the voice unnerved her. The answer was a bit too forced.

  ‘And Tomek, the brother. Did he find you?’ she asked. Every part of her focused on analysing his answer.

  Again the pause, as if he was trying to think of the right answer. ‘No, I don’t recall seeing him.’ Then the voice became lower, almost haughty. ‘But then I do run a nightclub. We have a lot of guests to cater for.’

  Frannie pursed her lips. She had to be absolutely sure. ‘Do you have CCTV?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I will come tonight to check it myself,’ said Frannie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to find out if he was there or not. Please can you help me?’ said Frannie in her most persuasive voice.

  The voice pondered over it. She could hear tapping, as if he was drumming his fingertips.

  Suddenly the bedroom door opened. It was Kurt, a towel wrapped round his tall muscular body. She could have screamed.

  ‘Who you talking to?’ he said, with raised eyebrows.

  Frannie couldn’t hear what the voice on the telephone said. It was too awkward to ask him to repeat it.

  ‘Mache ich,’ she said in abrupt quickfire German. She put the phone down with a bang, and turned to Kurt, who was still looking sulky.

  ‘What you going to do?’ he asked, his corn-blond hair darkened by the water. He looked peeved, but still sexy.

  ‘Ah, that was someone from the birth course; she wants me to bring her a book next time.’

  Kurt made a huffing noise and retrieved clean clothes from the drawer. His wet towel lay abandoned on the bed where it fell.

  Frannie felt overwhelmed. She lay on the bed, hugging her secret to herself like treasure, her eyes glowing with excitement.

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  Lars was in position. Pole position, he liked to call it. His foot was firmly down on the accelerator, the truck cruising at maximum speed. He had an open road in front of him and all the night and wind that went with it. Normally he’d be in his element. But tonight all the poetry was gone. Even at this speed, he felt the truck was only rumbling along like some giant fucking albatross. And he was stuck to it.

  Normally doing a journey excited him. It was the only time he could let his mind roam loose. His body usually went into a trance until it buffered in the wind like transparent paper. Then the weight of his fantasies would creep over him. Often on long stretches he’d get a hard-on, just turning over stuff in his mind.

  Tonight there was nothing doing. With no excitement, the dark stretch of the Autobahn he was on seemed endless. The wheels were rolling into infinity. He was moving, but it was only an illusion. He’d be stuck in this stinking cab forever, trapped in his thoughts about what had gone wrong. Why it had all turned to shit with Hans, Dorcas and Anna.

  However it had started, he knew that Hans had now turned bad. But, every time he saw that boyish face, it brought it all back. The first time. With his victims it was always the last time; he’d forgotten it before it was even over. But with Hans he was perpetually reliving their first scenes, like a broken DVD player stuck on rewind. He remembered the boyish testosterone-fuelled hunk with gigantic lips that he ached to kiss. The strong angle of his forehead and jaw. The way the first time they’d undressed Hans had lain there sulkily like some Greek god. The young muscle on him, lithe and strong. The dark blond sheen of his eyebrows. Hans, absolutely beautiful, corruptible. The monster he’d made him.

  It was over. He wished he could just drive away without looking back. But they’d been through too much. Now he was sinking in the mess left behind. They’d been soulmates; Hans had understood his unnatural urges. Perhaps it was he, Lars, who was responsible for tainting him. The thought of that depressed him even more. Despite his predilections, he wanted to be better. Hans had pulled his finer feelings to the surface, made him what he was not.

  He looked out of the window. In an open-top Chevrolet, a young man zoomed past like a young colt on his first race. He wore huge sunglasses; it looked as if he was smiling. Lars grinned. What he needed was to take his mind off of all this. He rubbed his crotch mechanically through his jeans. What he needed was a little cruising. A young, hot lover with desperation on his breath, a whole body quickening with life. It was exciting to have that control. And to lose it in the madness of passion.

  The hunt. That was why roads were invented; for the chase.

  Inside the club was inky gloom. Dorcas reached out a hand and the wall shuddered to Marilyn Manson. Everything was alive with flickering lights that made the show of naked flesh stand out more. Strobe lights bounced off the audience, bare legs and cleavages illuminated for the tiniest second. It was a neon tease.

  Hans always said the dark made things possible. Tonight it was so packed, she could get high just breathing in the energy. On the dance floor, the bodies formed a stomping pit of energy. For a few seconds she let it all wash over her. Enjoyed being a beautiful woman, anonymous, looked at; what she needed, though, was Hans’s approval, not the stares of strangers.

  She’d taken extra care with her appearance: a striking red dress that fitted just so, elegant thigh-high boots that she walked in with a little swagger. Moving through the throng looking for Hans, she could scent the crowd’s excitement. She knew it was what the punters could smell and not what they could see that made the difference.

  The smell of sex was everywhere. It fuelled what working girls called ‘the promise’. Her nostrils inhaled earthy testosterone, flirty perfume gone flat and the whiffs of a thousand different beauty products. It was overwhelming. The chemical residue of it coated her tongue.

  She strutted through the club. Hans was probably in his office. Slowly, deliberately, she walked up the winding staircase to the top floor. The music boomed up from the floor below. In measured stops she went along, no longer just a girlfriend, but an archetypal woman going to tell her lover the most important news of all. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks and neck flushed. Although her hands were cool, she felt hot. Unexpectedly, she was nervous. Since Anna’s disappearance and Lars’s visit, she wasn’t sure she knew Hans as well as she thought. If Anna had simply moved on of her own accord, surely she would have said something?

  She knocked at the office door, opened the door a crack and peeped round. Empty. She continued along the corridor. Some rooms were used for storing some of the more expensive drinks; the VIP room was also just round the corner. Perhaps Hans was in there, entertaining the former chancellor.

  She tapped gently at the door of the VIP room. Put her ear closer to hear if there was any response. There was a faint murmur, the sound of someone trying to shout out, but the voice was muffled. She knocked again, called, ‘Hans, are you in there?’ Her tapping seemed to energise the speaker inside, and there were noises and the sound of something banging on the floor, but she couldn’t make any of the words out. ‘Hans?’ she said again. She didn’t know the latest code number so she couldn’t enter. ‘HANS!’ she shouted, this time hammering on the door with her fists.

  A hand grabbed her from behind. To her surprise it was Hans, his face creased with fury.

  ‘I thought you were inside,’ she said, trying to smile, although his hand was gripping her too tightly. It was crucial this conversation went well. She tried to twist out of his embrace.

  ‘Aren’t you meant to be working Junction 6 tonight?’ said Hans with a frown. Tonight his raw masculinity was pushing away the boyishness in him. He pulled her gently away from the door.

&nb
sp; ‘I had to see you,’ she said. Then she pointed to the door. ‘There’s someone in there. You should go in and check everything’s alright.’ Hans glowered at her like some Italian mafia boss. It was the first time she’d seen him ruffled.

  Then he did it, the confident smile that showcased his regular features. Everything was perfect except for his slightly crooked teeth.

  ‘It’s OK, it’s Lars with someone he just picked up,’ he said, laughing it off. He prised her away from the door. Dorcas knew how Lars liked the boys. She grinned back. He led her back to his office. Again she felt flushed, unable to start the conversation. Perhaps she should just grab a drink, take a few deep breaths. She quickly poured herself an iced tea and sat down on the sofa facing Hans, who was sitting stiffly at his desk.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ said Hans, pushing the fingers of both hands together in a V shape. He was still nervous, although he was pretending to be chilled. It was odd that he didn’t realise how well she knew him.

  ‘Yeah, er, something’s come up that I had to tell you about,’ she spoke quickly, almost slurring her words in her haste. She watched for Hans’s reaction but his face had become impassive again. His eyes were trained on her, but she couldn’t be sure he was really watching.

  ‘It’s…’ Her voice trailed off. He just sat there, immobile. This wasn’t going the way she wanted it to. If he was going to sit there all tight like a mannequin she didn’t want to lay her vulnerabilities bare. It needed to be right. She went for an easier tack. ‘It’s this Anna business,’ she said almost in a whisper. Her eyebrows were raised. ‘People have been asking about her.’

  Hans immediately stiffened. He struggled to compose himself. ‘Who’s been talking?’ he said in a contemptuous voice, as if she didn’t know what she was talking about.

  ‘Anna’s brother came to see me, with an English woman.’

  ‘Impossible!’ Hans leapt out of his seat, all sense of style, composure gone. Even his voice was rough. His hands beat at the desk. ‘Why did they come to you?’

  Those eyes, malevolent, furious: she had his attention now alright.

  ‘Well, I was one of Anna’s best friends; she must have spoken to her brother about me.’ She found herself on the defensive. She glared at him, unable to understand his reaction. She so badly wanted to tell him she was pregnant, but they were way beyond that now.

  ‘And the woman, what does she have to do with all this?’ he said, clenching his hands into fists.

  This was all too weird. She ignored him. Some sixth sense urged her to protect Frannie.

  ‘Why has Anna gone?’ she insisted, her mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.

  Hans banged down both hands on the desk, sending his glass paperweight flying. It shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor. A piece of it flew up and buried itself in her hand. ‘Ow!’ she said, nursing it and trying to get the glass out. Hans did nothing. His beautiful eyes stared, contemptuous. She suddenly knew absolutely that she could not change him.

  ‘This is a staffing matter,’ said Hans, running the words together for emphasis. ‘I run the club. I’ll decide who works here.’ His mouth twisted. ‘And I have no personal interest in any of the girls.’ Again he smiled, although his eyes didn’t change. The closed look on his face frightened her. It was as if he had no soul.

  For a moment they just stared at each other. She was afraid that he knew that she knew.

  Her breaths started coming in little gasps. Without taking her eyes off him, she backed out of his office, slammed the door and scuttled to the public bathroom to wash the glass shard out of her hand. She had to phone Frannie, in case she got worried not having heard from her as she’d promised and decided to come here.

  She locked herself into a cubicle. Her nervous hands dialled the number. She could barely stop shaking. Although she was trying to be sensible, she knew she had to have a little hit. Her entire body was craving it. She stood there with her nostrils twitching as she waited for Frannie to answer and took a little snort out of a silver bullet she kept in her purse.

  Because she was so tense, the hit snapped through her like a gunshot. The phone went straight to voicemail. The seconds ticked by absurdly as she waited for the beep.

  She almost screamed as she left a message. ‘Frannie, it’s Dorcas. Stay away from the club, Hans is off his rocker… Call me, OK?’ She put her hand on the wall to steady herself. The rush, her panic, it was all too much. Her heartbeat was accelerating at full throttle, slamming hard into her chest. Her beautiful, lithe body struggled to keep control of her sobs. It was over. She never wanted to see Hans again.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  Because Kurt was upset before he started drinking, Frannie had to be extra-careful. She sat there keeping the emotions from her face. She itched to just jump in the car and zoom off. Now, even though she had her driving licence, she was stuck in her web of lies. She was too scared to call Hans back in case Kurt caught her. She found herself rubbing her hands and tapping her feet. She felt trapped.

  The scratched car had made Kurt restless. He drank beer after beer until the smell permeated the living room and made Frannie nauseous. She couldn’t go to bed and just let herself fall asleep as usual. Somehow she had to force herself to stay awake. The second Kurt was snoring she would drive over to Moonlights.

  The sight of the full moon out of the window eased her nerves. Whatever happened in the day, the night belonged to her. However mad this search for Tomek was, she needed to find him. Meeting him had made her realise how small her world was.

  She sat listlessly while her husband downed beer in smacking gulps. He seemed to drink with even more gusto now she had to abstain. Her mind visualised the route to the club. The roads wouldn’t be so empty, but they’d still be relatively quiet. She might have to stand in small traffic queues at red lights, but she would drive in the right-hand lane so she could go at a slower pace. She counted down all the traffic lights in her mind: at least six to get through. If it got too much, there were a couple of places where she could turn off and rest a moment. She could try.

  It was midnight by the time she got in the car. Because she hadn’t been to sleep already, she was tired. But her nerves were taut, her eyes almost glassy with concentration. Slowly she reversed out of the garage. It was no problem going backwards if the car was already straight.

  She hadn’t figured out what she was going to say to this Hans Grans. Just worrying about getting there was enough.

  The B6 was surprisingly busy. Teenagers swerved by with half-opened windows that blared out music. She had to watch the traffic lights like a hawk so that she could accelerate as soon as they turned green. Even in the slow lane, she was being shoved around by boy racers feeling horny. A couple seemed to enjoy driving close to her bumper, forcing her to speed up. She bit her lip. This was tougher than she’d anticipated. She put her foot down even more.

  She concentrated on keeping a good stopping distance between her and the next car. Still she was unnerved by a few madmen behind her. She did what her driving instructor Heinrich had told her to do and changed the position of the mirror so she couldn’t see what was happening behind her. Let them worry about not going into her.

  Another two traffic lights and she’d be able to get on the Autobahn. Just anticipating it made the pit of her stomach quiver. Now they were getting close to Hannover, the cars were queuing up with a lot of revving and engine heat. Frannie’s heart sank. This was exactly the kind of thing she wanted to avoid.

  The muscles in her thigh were aching from all the stop/start action. She hoped to God she wouldn’t get an attack of cramp, which was one side effect of being pregnant. That hadn’t happened yet while driving, but it freaked Frannie out. Since her accident, though, there had been no more bleeding. Driving seemed to relax her and free her mind. She was sure the baby wasn’t affected by her night driving.

  Still it was hard to concentrate when she was so tired. She found it peculiar to just inch up gra
dually behind the other cars. She was used to dramatic movements on an open road with plenty of time to brake and accelerate: all this micro-movement was frustrating.

  For once she was glad to see signs for the Autobahn. Although no one was behind her, she sped on to the junction for all she was worth. The curve was wilder than she anticipated, the car seemed to wobble, but she held it together. Ah, here it was – from what she’d seen on the internet, the Moonlights club was just a few kilometres down this road. She hoped it would be clearly signposted.

  Flanked by two huge tankers, she crawled along in the slow lane. She felt safe between them but it made it difficult for her to look for things coming up. In the night sky she could make out the shape of factories, some lit up brilliantly, others just a blur. This part of Hannover was run-down. She’d never driven on this road before, didn’t know what to expect.

  Even though it was an Autobahn, the road wasn’t completely flat. She had anticipated everything being stretched out so she could see the club, but she really had to concentrate to make any sense of the darkness.

  She could see another service station coming up. And what looked like a diner. It was all on top of her before she had a chance to react. Shit. She’d gone past a turning marked ‘Moonlights Discotheque’. She hit her steering wheel with a fist. Now she’d have to loop back and try to find it coming from the other way. Her eyes had registered, though, that the club’s car park was ominously full. Perhaps the easiest thing to do would be to park anywhere she could now and walk the last kilometre or so on foot.

  On her right she spotted an abandoned factory. Quickly, she indicated and moved off the motorway on to a very old and crumbling road that threatened to collapse into rubble at any minute. There were no lights. Dimly, she could make out the giant roof of a building and a tower, all hidden behind an ancient strip of barbed wire that seemed to hold important secrets. At least there was plenty of space. She parked in a corner, well away from the road. Didn’t want to attract attention. Although it was summer, the night was cold. The moon was high in the sky.