Night Driver

by Marcelle Perks

  It looked as though there was a feeder road that led from the factory back to the club. Carefully, she started to pick her way along it, going as fast as she could in the dark.

  Although Frannie always wore flat, comfortable shoes for driving, she hadn’t anticipated a hike. Very quickly, her late-stage pregnancy asserted herself. The path was wild and overgrown, and she couldn’t really see what she was doing. Her body slowed down, her feet trying blindly to feel the path. It was mainly grass and weeds now, but occasionally glass crunched under her feet.

  She was halfway there, practically marooned in the dark. The sounds of some kind of throbbing music carried on the wind. She gave a little shiver. She had been so nervous about simply getting there that she hadn’t planned what to say when she did.

  The path seemed to be getting wilder. Now, the obstacles weren’t just weeds: abandoned chairs and shopping trolleys littered the way. For some reason this forgotten strip had become a dumping ground. Not much further now…she could see the club, all lit up. Loud music blurted out on the wind. Every time someone opened and closed the main door of the club it became louder for a second.

  She would do anything to sit down. It occurred to her that if anything happened she’d be a sitting duck. Her mobile wasn’t working; she’d had it on so long today it had run down and she’d forgotten to charge it. Another two hundred metres and she’d be there. Then she’d just have to hope that in her hot and bothered state the bouncer would admit her into the club.

  By the end, Frannie was limping along. Because of the exertion, her ankles had ballooned and her black trouser suit was dusty. From the car park she could see that business was good. There was a queue of scantily dressed girls waiting to get in. Pockets of men stood around in little jostling groups.

  She approached the bouncer at a run. He was a stocky fellow with a crew cut who looked as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

  ‘Can you please get Herr Grans on the phone?’ she asked.

  He looked at her twice, trying to understand her accent. She repeated herself slowly, gave him her friendliest smile and stood there holding her stomach. Within fifteen seconds he handed her his mobile.

  ‘Hello?’ she said this time in English. He already knew who it was. ‘Hans Grans? Can you give me ten minutes?’

  ‘Come up to the VIP room,’ he said in an odd voice. He sounded astonished that she’d had the balls to get there. Frannie was looking forward to seeing him in the flesh.

  The bouncer opened the door for her and pointed her in the right direction. She made her way into the dark ambience of the club. It was gothic-looking, but incredibly chic, but she had to go away from the crowd to the office upstairs.

  She looked as though she was going for a job interview, but these were the only smart clothes that still fitted. She made her way up the spiral staircase. Everybody else was going insane in the basement disco; she felt odd creeping up the red stairs in the dark.

  Upstairs she dived into the bathroom. Her face looked hot and shiny in the mirror. She washed her hands briskly, didn’t bother drying them. This was the moment of truth. She had to tackle Hans Grans, and despite her language difficulties, find out where Tomek was.

  The VIP room looked shiny, ominous. She could see it just there, on the right…

  Inside the club, Dorcas had fled Hans’s office and was desperately heading for the exit. One hand attempted to wipe her running nose, the other grasped the wall. In her high heels her feet stuttered. She couldn’t walk straight. Her sense of balance was gone. It was as though someone had snapped a nerve in her back.

  What was left was trying to scuttle off and hide somewhere in the darkness. Her hands clutched at the air in front of her face as if she’d just witnessed a traffic accident.

  When Lars encountered her on the stairs, such was her distress that at first he didn’t recognise her. But there was no mistaking the Jimmy Choo boots. He’d helped pick them out for her himself.

  ‘Dörchen?’ he said, reaching out and trying to grab her hand. She was on the verge of pitching forward headfirst.

  When she saw him, she flinched. A little gasp escaped her mouth. She wouldn’t look at him. She rushed down past him. He could swear there were tears in her eyes. The sound of her boots scraping against the metal stairs below him was true horror. He could hear her sharp breaths, smell her fear.

  Lars stood there for a minute. His mouth tightened in a way that showed the big solid bones of his face. He knew he was ordinary-looking, that he’d never make hearts race like Hans. But he’d never want to hurt them like that. That bastard! He looked upwards with his face fixed in pure rage. The swine got off on women sobbing their hearts out.

  With a little snort, he continued up the stairs, two at a time.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  Reaching the first floor where she’d been told to go, Frannie recognised Hans as soon as she saw him in the corridor. He looked even better than his website picture. His frame and face suggested vitality, robustness. The way he moved was powerful but refined. Every part of him was thoughtfully put together.

  ‘Frau Snell?’ He greeted her with a warm smile, but his charm was so mannered that she found it vampiric. She quickly snatched her hand back after shaking his.

  ‘Please, call me Francesca,’ she said. He nodded at her. She was sweating where her blouse clung to her heavily pregnant stomach. Her old business suit was speckled with dust. Some kind of weed was trailing off a trouser leg.

  He radiated a languid energy; his lightweight beige suit seemed to glow. There was nothing of the tough man she’d expected. He looked harmless and gave the impression he had nothing better to do than help her out.

  Hans led her a little way down the corridor. ‘The VIP room is just here,’ he said, gesturing. ‘I can make you very comfortable in there.’ He grinned. She didn’t quite understand why he found it so funny. His hand was about to punch in the numbers on the key pad.

  The noise of running steps along the corridor distracted them. They were too hurried, the heavy breathing too forced, to ignore. A stocky man with a shaved head ran up furiously.

  ‘HANS, du Arschloch!’ he shouted, at the top of his voice. He almost ran into Hans as if he wanted to do him real physical harm. Frannie instinctively flinched. She stepped to the side.

  He continued shouting, totally out of control.

  ‘Was hast du mit Dorcas gemacht? Sie ist schwanger!’ His voice was charged with fury.

  ‘Was?’ Hans looked surprised. The two men were at each other like dogs. They shouted so fast that Frannie couldn’t understand a word of it. Dorcas. Could it be her Dorcas they were talking about?

  Hans’s face had paled. He seemed frightened of the other man. The two men grappled with each other clumsily. Hans seemed to collapse, as if he wanted to embrace the man and not fight him back. His eyes rolled back. The man with the shaved head got Hans’s head up so that his neck was exposed. She watched him trace a finger there. Hans blinked. He looked more shocked than if he’d been hit. He turned to Frannie with desperate eyes.

  ‘Lars, Francesca Snell here is looking for someone,’ he said, almost squeaking, he had so little voice left.

  The shaved head swivelled and turned his deep brown eyes at her. He looked shocked; the only thing interesting about his face was his eyes and they glinted crazily. Frannie felt as if he could slash her throat as look at her. She shivered. He seemed to be taking her in.

  ‘Englisch?’ he said to Hans. He looked back at her then his face fell. He whispered something to Hans she couldn’t hear.

  When he took a step towards her, she shrank back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in halting English. ‘Don’t…’ He turned and shouted something in German to Hans. With one more meaningful glance at her, Lars turned and left without another word. Hans stood straight again, tried to straighten his clothes.

  ‘I’m sorry about that. A little personal business, but Lars wanted to say sorry to you. He d
oesn’t really speak English.’ He ran a hand though his hair.

  ‘Sorry for what?’ said Frannie, her eyebrows raised.

  Hans looked awkward again. ‘I believe you had a little accident in your car? Lars was the lorry driver.’

  Frannie’s mouth open and closed. ‘That was Lars Steeg…?’ she said, not able to pronounce the surname.

  ‘Yes,’ said Hans simply, playing with the tips of his fingers. ‘I’m sorry for this inconvenience.’ He looked at her and then glanced at the steel door of the VIP room. His eyes were expressionless, Frannie felt herself shiver. Despite his good looks, she didn’t relish the prospect of being alone with him. Then he suddenly seemed to change his mind about where to take her and led her instead to his office. Somehow, he’d lost his sparkle.

  She nodded slowly, trying to take in the information. So that was what Lars looked like close up.

  She followed Hans along the corridor. The deep red carpet was plush. Everything about the club was elegant in a grand way, as if it had been a gathering place for centuries. The flickering candles made it seem like a vampire’s lair. She had to admit that Hans looked good, but she wasn’t going to be bowled over by his fancy looks. She’d already decided not to trust him.

  His office was plush and modern. The walls were lined with red brick with a wooden ceiling and broad beams that held the roof high. There were six monitors that showed running CCTV cameras. Frannie quickly ran her eye over them.

  ‘As a member of the public, you’re not really meant to be in here, for data protection reasons,’ said Hans. He gestured to a comfortable armchair and offered her a fruit juice.

  The office buzzed with hi-tech equipment which continually flashed and clicked; the room seemed to hum with electricity. One camera showed the entrance outside, where the surly-looking bouncer who had let her in waited like an obedient dog. Others showed the main dance floor, an ultra-long bar, a view outside the main toilets; another showed the private booth. Hans turned off the one that showed a couple having sex in some nether region of the club. Another one seemed to be dark. She couldn’t really see anything properly.

  ‘What’s that one?’ she asked.

  ‘Just the VIP room,’ he said with an odd glint in his eye. ‘There’s nothing going on at the moment, but we need to keep an eye on important visitors.’ He turned to her again. ‘When did your friend visit the club?’

  ‘Yesterday; he was supposed to meet me afterwards at three a.m., but he never showed up.’ Frannie tried to keep her voice neutral. Just being in a closed room with him she could feel his magnetism pulling at her. There was something diabolical about his attractiveness, as if it was there just to entice people in. She wanted to get this over quickly and escape.

  ‘Do you have a photo of him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could he have paid by credit card?’ said Hans.

  ‘I don’t know his full name, but he’s the brother of Anna, who worked here, so he’s Tomek whatever Anna’s last name was.’ Frannie was flustered and she knew Hans could see it.

  He looked at her carefully. ‘You don’t know his last name but you’re searching for him?’

  Frannie refused to look at him. She clenched her lips.

  ‘Look, if you show me last night’s footage from the entrance-door camera, I’m sure I will be able to recognise him,’ she said. ‘And do you know where Anna is now, or have a phone number for her?’ This was the question she’d wanted to ask all along.

  At the mention of Anna, Hans did a double-take. His eyes seemed to darken, his nose twitched; his whole mood abruptly changed.

  ‘Anna no longer works here,’ he practically spat at her. ‘And if I knew where she was I’d be able to get the money back she owes me for rent.’ He sat there, immobile at his desk, with his youthful face twisted with shadows.

  ‘Well, perhaps we could check if Tomek was here last night?’ He fiddled around with something in his desk. ‘You’re not really supposed to see the CCTV footage; you’re a member of the public. If you gave me a photo, though, I could have someone search it for you.’ He looked at her aggressively, as if the meeting was already over.

  ‘I don’t have that,’ she said, giving him her best smile.

  ‘Then I don’t really think I can help you,’ he said staring at her. ‘If he’s missing then it’s best to contact the police, although it is rather difficult without a full name.’ His eyes seemed to bore into her. At any moment she expected him to jump up and sink his teeth into her neck.

  ‘Perhaps I can tell the police that both Anna and Tomek seem to be missing and their last location was this club,’ said Frannie, two red spots visible in her cheeks.

  Hans just smiled. ‘The last time you went to the police, it didn’t really help matters, did it?’ he said with a little laugh. He placed his hands flat on the desk.

  Frannie gasped. How could he know about that? When he saw her panic, his eyes darkened. It looked as if he was subtly undergoing some change and was enjoying every second of it.

  ‘I’m sorry – thank you for your help anyway,’ she said, rising clumsily to her feet. She was desperate to leave. Hans was on his feet in an instant. At first she thought he was going to block the door, but he held it open mock-courteously. Quickly, she mumbled her goodbyes and made her way down the winding stairway. For a pregnant woman, Frannie wasn’t slow. Somehow it was clear to her that, if she gave Hans Grans even a second more to delay her, she might not make it out of there at all.

  Lars sat in his truck and tried to listen to the pure sounds of the night. To let himself be soothed by the wind moving between the trees. All he heard was irregular beats coming from the club door, which opened and shut with regular monotony. His head ached; the pain was ferocious and made him wince. He should just find somewhere dark and lie down.

  But that was impossible; the mood he was in, anyone he encountered was in for it. He had to sit still for a bit and figure this all out. Try to get in touch with something inside him that was a higher force. That didn’t care how it was all falling apart with Hans.

  It was all fucked, and he knew it. If he didn’t forget about Hans, he was going to get dragged down by him. The angst of losing Hans’s desire got to him. Without him he was ordinary, despicable, a wretch no better than a dog.

  And why was this silly English bitch after him? He banged his fists to his forehead. He hadn’t meant to cause her any harm. He’d only played with her. Jesus Christ. Everything he did was turning to shit. Maybe if he waited a while, he’d see her come out. He was going to keep his eye on her.

  His migraine had got so bad it was like was looking through a red mist. The tension in his head increased, as if he was on a plane about to land and his ears might pop at any second.

  The cab echoed with the sound of his maniacal laughter.

  He only knew that his mouth was opening and closing. He was fucked up and someone was going to pay.

  Once Frannie had her back turned to Hans, she didn’t stop running until she was out of the club and could see the bouncer’s legs standing on the safe turf of the car park. Her breathing was rapid and sweaty, every muscle in her legs strained; her stomach was getting more unwieldy by the second. The boom of the music had almost deafened her. It was only coming out that she realised how loud it had been.

  She gave a little shiver at the thought of the walk back to the car, the waiting dark. She just wanted to collapse, fall down dead asleep. If only she could drive confidently, she’d have been able to park in the club car park and be able to get into the car in seconds. She hated her fear of driving and the problems it caused her. Her exhaustion was weighing her down.

  She made her way round the back of the club. The air was close. The sky had gone a strange metallic colour. The wind was up and rain threatened at any minute. The moon was obscured by scudding clouds that felt spiteful. How desperately she needed that moonlight to find her way! She felt sick to her stomach with tiredness. The path stretched out in front of her, dark and om
inous. She gave a shiver. As there were no lights where her car was parked, it felt as though she was leaving civilisation to get back to it.

  She gave a little shudder when she thought of Hans. All this way and she’d achieved nothing, although she’d seen for herself what type of man he was. What on earth could she do now to find Tomek? She noted that Hans had neglected to tell her Anna’s surname, although he must know it. Whatever he said, he obviously had no interest in helping her.

  Now she’d gone on a bit further, the path was completely bleak. She could barely see her own hand. The wind had got up and was busy blowing leaves and foliage into her face. Her feet slipped and stumbled. It was impossible to clearly see what she was stepping on. She tried her best to go faster. It was getting harder to ignore the feeling of dread. Behind her she could hear noises and rustling. Something seemed to be prowling around in the undergrowth. Was it some big animal? But what could it be? Surely no dog owner would choose this path. Urban foxes were normally lithe and sly. Whatever it was, it sounded like trouble.

  She was about halfway there. The undergrowth grew so tall that it threatened to cut her off. Her breathing was laboured, hoarse. Her centre of gravity had shifted to the centre point over her cervix. She was like some grotesque round toy with joke legs that wobbled under it.

  The rustling noises became more distinct. There was definitely something on the path behind her. She went cold with fear. She was in trouble.

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  Hardly daring to breathe, Frannie paused and listened. It was moving towards her from where she’d come and now it was too late to run back. With a desperate burst of energy, she continued. Her eyes scanned the darkness looking for sticks or a bottle, but she couldn’t see anything clearly. From her shoulder bag she took out her keyring and pushed out the car key so that if someone tried to attack her at least she could stick them with something.