DON'T LOOK DOWN

by Barbara Scott Emmett

  ‘Hey, Mr Universe,’ she said, stinging his behind with a smack. ‘Put your clothes on. We have work to do.’

  He caught the dark shirt she flung at him. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Bebe will escape punishment this time. But Baba will be home again soon.’ He cupped his testicles. ‘And when he is, then she’ll be for it.’

  Twenty-two

  Her heart clog-dancing in her chest, Lauren dragged back the iron bolt as Muscle lumbered into the hallway, squealing like the pig he was. She froze, back to the door, imagining his fist slamming into her face. Without even glancing at her he bowled into the bathroom and she heard him splashing water on himself and sobbing.

  A third of the way down the door there was a chunky iron lock, icy to the touch, and there was – Thank you Lord! – a chunky iron key protruding from it. Muscle must have left it there after he opened the door and Brains, who should probably be renamed, hadn’t had the sense to check.

  She tugged at the swollen door but it wouldn’t open. Bracing her foot against the jamb, she leaned backwards and yanked it free. The door buffeted inwards, a rush of wind lashing the hair back from her face. Jesus God! Freezing air swirled in the tiny hallway, rattling all the doors.

  Lauren shot outside, slithering on the packed snow. Whimpering with frustration, she battled against the wind, her boots slipping on the ice. The night was as black as the devil’s underwear, though the sky was clear and a zillion stars winked down at her. She struggled to the Mercedes, expecting a hand on her collar at any moment.

  After unlocking it with a clunk and a flash of indicators, she scrubbed a hand-sized clear patch on the windscreen with the sleeve of her fleece and leapt into the driver’s seat.

  Please let it start. Please let it start. Please.

  The car started as requested, purring softly into life. Thank you. Thank you. Oh Lord, thank you. She just might get away with this. She just might.

  Oh shit.

  Brains leaned on the doorpost yelling what could only be obscenities. Launching himself out into the snow, he managed a few gangling steps before he fell over.

  Lauren fumbled with the gear stick, not bothering with the lights. The Merc edged backwards, the bonnet swinging to the left as the tail cut a swathe across an expanse of virgin snow.

  Brains struggled to his feet and charged the car. As the vehicle came out of its slide, the front wing clipped him, sending him sprawling. Lauren swung the Merc past his flailing body and kangaroo’d along the narrow track.

  So far so good.

  Gulping in a great lung-expanding breath, she pressed her foot on the accelerator. Her hands trembled, from fear, from cold, and she clutched the wheel to steady them. The car slid from side to side as she gunned it over the ridges of frozen mud and snow. This had to work. It had to.

  At an unseen bend in the track she slammed on the brakes to avoid barrelling into the hedge. Shit shit shit. But the goons could hardly catch her now. Running over the dips and hollows of the track would be impossible, even if they were in a fit state to do so.

  She let out a shriek of hysterical laughter as she imagined them slipping and sliding and waving their arms about like Laurel and Hardy. She almost hoped they would do it. But no, what if they had guns? She was sure there’d been hardware in that box along with the Schnapps. She sobered up instantly. Anyway, she was too far away to see them. She must be close to where the track joined the road by now. It wasn’t more than a couple of miles from what she remembered. She’d put the lights on soon.

  A flash speared the darkness. Blinded, she hit the brakes again. Jesus! Headlights. A car turned onto the track up ahead. The Mercedes skidded sideways; branches whipped the windows as it slid into the hedge. Lauren shrieked, her face slamming into the steering wheel as she was flung forwards. With a dull thunk the back wheels dropped into a ditch and she was pitched backwards. The engine groaned as the wheels spun on nothing.

  Her fingers were locked around the steering wheel. Her lip was bleeding. She could taste the warm saltiness of it. Whimpering, she made an effort to get herself under control. The Merc now sprawled sideways, blocking the track. The headlights of the other car, softened by the frosted windows, lit her up and she could see her own wide-open eyes glitter in the rear view mirror. As the engine died and the car ticked and pinked, a long shadow fell across the bonnet.

  The other driver was approaching the Mercedes.

  Twenty-three

  Helmut Hartmann groaned and rolled off Steffi’s soft body. ‘Fuckin phone.’

  ‘Leave it, Liebchen,’ the girl said, running her hands through his tangled hair. She drew him towards her, and into her. Her tongue flickered around the rim of his parted lips.

  The bedside phone kept on ringing. Breeep-pause-breeep. Steffi slid her hand under his balls and squeezed hard. Hartmann closed his eyes and tilted his head back, hardening inside her.

  Breeep-pause-breeep.

  ‘Oh man, I can’t concentrate with that going on. Anyway, it might be about my daughter.’ He pulled himself out of her and stretched across for the telephone. ‘Ja?’ He listened, his mouth curving downwards. ‘Who is this? What the fuck you playing at?’

  Hauling himself up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Let me speak to my daughter, man. You’ll get zilch unless I know she’s okay.’

  He pushed Steffi away when she wrapped her arms around him. ‘I got the note. I’m seeing what I can do. You know I can’t get my hands on that sort of money right away. You’ll have to give me more time.’ He paused, listening. ‘What? The note. The note you sent.’

  He stood up, frowning. ‘What the fu –? Hello? Hello? Well, fuck you.’ He slammed the receiver down.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Steffi’s blue eyes were wide. ‘Helmut? What’s going on?’

  ‘Shut up, babe, I’m trying to think.’ He paced the bedroom, chewing his thumbnail. ‘Don’t understand this. Bastard didn’t know anything about the fuckin note. Didn’t know what I was talking about.’

  ‘He’s lying, Helmut. How can you trust a kidnap –’

  ‘I said shut up, for fuck’s sake. Get dressed.’

  ‘What? But why?’

  He grabbed her arm and yanked her out of bed, snatching a handful of silky garments from the floor and thrusting them at her. ‘Get dressed and get out of here. I want to think. I’ll have to ring that bitch again.’

  ‘What bitch?’ Steffi bridled.

  ‘You know what bitch. Fuckin Clara.’ He pulled on his jeans, settling them snugly around his narrow hips. ‘Hysterical cunt.’

  ‘There’s no need to take it out on me.’ Steffi scooped her round breasts into her lacy bra and hooked it at the back. ‘It’s not my fault.’

  Hartmann sighed. ‘Yeah yeah, I know.’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘I’m worried, babe, that’s all. Some bastard’s got my daughter. I’ve got to make a decision, here. Do I go to the police, or do I pay up and keep quiet?’ He nuzzled her hair thoughtfully. ‘Got to be more than one of them. And the cunts don’t seem to know what they’re doing. That’s dangerous, man. I got to think. Work something out.’

  He swivelled her around and smacked her French-knickered behind. ‘Go on. Get out of here. I’ll call you as soon as I can.’

  ~

  Ten minutes later, alone in the bedroom, he picked up the phone. ‘Klaus?’

  Twenty-four

  Lauren gawped at the figure approaching the car. Mr Big? She stiffened and pressed back against her seat. Her breath came in short gasps, her hair felt like it stood up straight on her head. She swallowed a shriek as the passenger door was wrenched open and the internal light went on.

  ‘What the – ?’ The man stopped, surprised to see her.

  Lauren stared at him. He was in his thirties, fair-haired, very probably his eyes were blue. He didn’t look like the Mr Big of her imagining.

  ‘Well,’ he said,. ‘you’re not what I was expecting.’ His eyes searched her face, a slight crease between his puzzled brows. He sp
oke German fluently – a native speaker. ‘Are you all right?’

  Lauren opened her mouth but all that came out was a kind of stuttering. ‘I-I er oh...’

  ‘You’re in shock,’ he said. ‘Sorry I shouted. Tell the truth, I got a bit of a fright myself.’

  Lauren sat bolt upright, hands clenched on the steering wheel.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ the man said, pointing to her mouth. ‘Did you hit your lip?’

  Lauren nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said eventually, even managing to say it in German,. ‘Ja, I er, did get a fright.’ Not just from the accident either, she thought. She was astonished at the way her whole body trembled but she couldn’t control it.

  ‘Here.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘You’re shivering. Hop into my car to warm up.’ He peered along the side of the Mercedes to the back wheels and shook his head. ‘You won’t get out of there without a tow truck. Come on. I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘Oh, well, I –’ Lauren stopped, torn between the desire to get away from the Mercedes as fast as possible, and reluctance to put herself in the hands of a stranger. But like he said, the Mercedes would need to be lifted out of the ditch and there was no way that was likely to happen tonight. She didn’t fancy sitting here freezing until morning. She’d be dead of exposure long before the goons got to her.

  She dabbed at her lip and nodded, looking down at the butterfly her blood had painted on the clean white hanky. A Rorschach test. ‘Yeah. Okay.’

  ‘Slide across the seat. It’ll be easier than trying to squeeze around the car.’

  Lauren saw the sense of this. The Merc was jammed between the two hedges, blocking the track. She slid over to the passenger side, feeling awkward and ungainly. She still had the shakes and took a moment to get her legs steady.

  Her rescuer, who surely couldn’t be Mr Big, helped her out. With one arm around her shoulder and the other steadying her, the man led her to his car – a maroon BMW. The headlights lit up the snow and made the hedges loom.

  She slipped into the passenger seat, the warmth and unexpected comfort making her want to bawl with relief. Sniffing loudly, she wiped her nose on his hanky as he got into the driver’s seat. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  He smiled and held out his hand. ‘Gunther Steiner.’

  ‘Lauren Keane.’

  His hand was warm against the iciness of hers.

  ‘You’re frozen.’ He clasped her hand and chafed it.

  Without thinking, Lauren gave him her other hand. It was so good to be warmed up, to be looked after. Gunther lifted her hands to his lips and blew hot breath onto them. After a moment, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a pair of sheepskin gloves. Lauren took them, grateful for his consideration. Katti’s wrap was on the floor in the chalet and her fleece felt thin in the night air.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘A hot drink somewhere, hm? There’s a service station down the road a bit.’

  ‘But,’ said Lauren, in an effort to re-establish control over herself,. ‘you were on your way somewhere. You shouldn’t be driving about in the dark because of me.’

  Pointless to be so polite and British about it, she thought. What choice did she have but to let him take her somewhere?

  He shrugged. ‘Tell the truth, I was lost. I was turning round to go back to the service station anyway.’ A thought seemed to strike him. ‘Where were you off to at this time of night?’

  Not knowing how much to say, how far to trust him, Lauren hesitated. ‘I was... I was a bit lost as well. I was going to see some friends.’

  Act the fool, she thought. Let him reveal himself first. She rolled her eyes and tried to laugh. ‘In these conditions! Hah! Bit of an idiot, eh?’

  His next question would surely be, Where do your friends live? Lauren could sense him not asking it; felt it hanging in the air between them.

  ‘I was staying in a chalet,’ she said. ‘Needed some time to myself. But I got bored and thought I’d head off to...’ She took a deep breath. ‘To see some friends in... Nürnberg.’

  ‘Nürnberg?’ He looked at her, his brows raised. ‘That’s a bit of a trek from here.’

  ‘Is it?’ Lauren played the innocent. ‘Well, I’m English, you see. So I’m a bit hazy. On geography. Of Germany.’

  They sat silently for a while. Lauren dabbed at her lip, wondering if her lie was too transparent.

  ‘So,’ she said, realising she hadn’t asked him where he was going. ‘You got lost, too? Where were you heading?’

  Gunther yawned lightly and raised his shoulders, stretching his muscles. ‘I’ve been driving for hours. To be honest, I was looking for a guesthouse.’

  Lauren turned to stare at him. Seeing her surprise, he went on. ‘There was a signpost to a village but I must have taken a wrong turn in the dark.’

  Is he lying too? wondered Lauren. Could he be Mr Big after all? Well, if he is, he must have realised by now that I’m not Katti. That the goons have made a mistake. She sneaked a glance at him sideways. Strong profile. Sharp nose. Rather a noble look about him actually. His straight blond hair skimmed the collar of his black leather jacket. Thirty-four? Thirty-five? She looked at his hand as it rested lightly on the steering wheel. Long elegant fingers. Very clean fingernails. No ring.

  ~

  The lights of the all-night service station shone yellow and orange in the distance.

  A cup of coffee. Yes! Lauren tucked her gloved hands into her armpits for extra warmth. The trembling was more manageable now but her muscles ached – from the cold, from being forced into cramped positions, from holding herself so tensely for so many hours.

  She still had no idea what the night had in store for her, so she couldn’t drop her guard just yet. Maybe she could put some trust in her instincts, though. This guy was so different from the goons who’d grabbed her, she couldn’t see how they could be connected. Give him the benefit of the doubt, she thought. But with reservations. It would be easy enough to stay alert. Adrenaline zinged through her like the vibrations from a plucked guitar string.

  The car turned into the service station and Gunther pulled up outside the café. Several articulated trucks were parked outside with stickers and pennants on the windows. Long distance lorry drivers. Maybe one of them would be British. Would take her home. She shook herself to dispel the yearning, the ache to be amongst her family, amongst friendly faces. You’re not a child, she told herself. You don’t need your mummy.

  She had to get to a phone and call Wolf, though. She hoped he wasn’t ex-directory because she couldn’t remember his number off the top of her head.

  The café lights were bright, the smell of coffee strong. Despite the hour the place was busy. Lauren pushed her hair out of her eyes. Heaven only knew what she looked like.

  Gunther was watching her sideways. As though reading her mind, he said:‘You look fine.’ He reached into an inside pocket and brought out a comb. ‘You don’t have your bag with you? We should have got your things out of your car. I didn’t think.’

  ‘Ah... Yes. No. Never mind.’ Lauren took the comb and dashed to the ladies. Should she tell him what had happened? That she’d lost her bag, that she’d been kidnapped? If he was Mr Big, he would be likely to know that already. But if he wasn’t, maybe she owed him an explanation.

  She dragged the comb through her tangled locks, staring at the stranger who gawped back at her from the mirror. Was that white-faced, red-nosed, battered and gormless-looking creature really her? She needed sleep, a bath. And coffee!

  Twenty-five

  Wolf tossed and turned in bed. It was no good. He couldn’t lie here sleeping while Lauren and Katti were missing. Not that he was sleeping. He’d spent the last couple of hours staring into the darkness trying to work out what to do.

  Anxiety was chewing at his guts. Anxiety and guilt. He seemed to be worrying more about Lauren now, and that wasn’t right. His sister was missing. He needed all his concern for her. But Lauren was the one uppermost in his mi
nd.

  He swung his legs out of bed and sat up, bare feet slapping on the cold floor. The only thing to do was go back to his mother’s place. Clara was in a nearby hotel, having refused to sleep in Katti’s flat alone. There was no point in calling her. He’d only have to waste precious time calming her down.

  No, he’d go by himself. He’d track down the people who’d seen Lauren being abducted. There’d been an old man and his little granddaughter. The two women with shopping bags. If only he’d thought to get a note of their names yesterday.

  He’d ask in the shops and cafés. Someone must know who they were. Might even have seen the Mercedes themselves, have seen the licence plate. If he could give them the Mercedes’ number, the police would have to listen to him.

  And it wasn’t only Lauren he was thinking about, really. If they could trace the car it might lead them to Katti as well. Yes. He had to go back there and ask around. It was a long shot, but what other option did he have?

  There wouldn’t be much traffic on the road at this time. If he set off now he could be there before daybreak. It would be far too early, of course, but he couldn’t lie here any longer. He simply couldn’t.

  He threw on some clothes. He knew he was hoping for a miracle. That somewhere along the way he would spot the Mercedes, stumble across Lauren or Katti. It was madness but he couldn’t help himself. He needed movement, action, speed.

  ~

  The sky was sprinkled with stars. The old van juddered and groaned as Wolf floored the accelerator. As he sped through the icy streets he thought of Lauren and Katti and himself, all those years ago. Such a sweet little girl she’d been, Lauren. Long hair like Katti’s and such a pretty face. She was still pretty. Beautiful in fact. He had to acknowledge that, if nothing else.