Night Driver

by Marcelle Perks

  Frannie needed to access the spam folder, but the wi-fi network evidently did not extend to the car park. She clicked furiously, but all that happened was that the little arrow bounced all over the page and the laptop made annoying pinging noises. All this bloody way for nothing! But she couldn’t just give up.

  ‘We need to log on again. Does the club have wi-fi access?’ said Frannie trying to keep the urgency out of her voice. She badly wanted to leave, but if she was honest her desire to pee was stronger.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Elli, looking around distractedly, ‘do we need it?’ Then after a long pause she said, ‘Well I go online at the club, right?’ She spoke slowly as if she’d just woken up.

  Frannie felt a prickle of horrified fascination as she saw a line of clear snot oozing out of one of Elli’s nostrils. Going inside was the last thing she wanted to do, but she just had to go a hundred metres to get this thing to work. Her lips were pressed in a thin, straight line. And while she was in there she could use the bathroom.

  Silently she cursed Dorcas. She was going to have to take a risk again. In the car mirror she inspected her ‘disguise’. She looked like shit, and the heat was making the cap stick to her head, but it was all she’d got.

  ‘I’m barred from the club,’ she said, pulling her cap lower down, ‘so make it quick.’

  As they approached the neon outline of the Moonlights sign, Frannie felt awkward that she was wearing saggy maternity clothes. Elli had on high heels, teamed with the skimpiest top and skirt Frannie had ever seen. From the back, she could have been on a Vogue photo shoot. She got them both through the door with a nod to the bouncer. Frannie nervously stepped inside, trying to keep her cool, concentrating on breathing.

  Once inside, the innards of the club swallowed them in. It was like entering another world. The decor of the club was almost-black, with playful strobe lights that broke through the gloom like streaks of wild lightning. The crowd was shrieking and dancing. Frannie was deafened by the boom of angry, throbbing music that thickened the air. Or maybe it was the smoke and the humidity. On this warm night, the place steamed like a jungle. Her heart started to race. She followed Elli’s tight denim-encased rear and swishing locks, wishing she looked half as good as her.

  Elli quickly led her through the mayhem to a discreet lift and ushered her inside. It was nothing more than a dank metal box that smelled as though no one had used it for some time. Frannie shivered. Her fear seemed to come on like an attack of chickenpox. In the car she could have driven off at any time, but away from the crowds she felt trapped.

  The lift was old and descended creakily, as if it might give way at any minute. Abruptly, the doors opened to a room painted in such a featureless grey that it could have been the underworld. The walls were dense so the music from above bounced off it like an echo, but everything vibrated with intensity. Frannie found her knees quivering.

  ‘These are the original bank vaults,’ said Elli.

  ‘Nice to know,’ said Frannie drily. ‘Is there a toilet anywhere or is it just a hole in the floor?’

  ‘Yeah, here’s where the girls get ready. We can surf in there too.’ Elli led her to a dressing room with adjacent shower and toilet facilities. Six big mirrors surrounded by fairy lights lined the long room. On each little table were baskets crammed with cosmetics and hair brushes. Costumes and every type of beauty paraphernalia filled the room. Frannie found herself choking on the chemical residue of the used cosmetics.

  ‘I’ll just use the loo,’ she gasped, coughing.

  As she locked herself in the stall she wondered if she could trust Elli. The other girl had whisked her so quickly away from the public area. If Hans and Lars wanted to nab her, this would be a good place. Above her the din of the party going on was muffled. No one would hear her if she screamed.

  Elli had already managed to load her webmail page when she got back. Quickly, Frannie found the button for spam mail and started to scroll her way through. As Elli hadn’t deleted any emails in twelve months, presumably from the time from when the account was set up, the programme had to upload over two thousand items. The laptop whined and groaned as it frantically tried to process the data.

  Frannie found herself tapping on the table in impatience. Any of the other girls could come in, and she stuck out like a sore thumb. ‘Come on, come on,’ she said out loud. Elli was sat touching up her make-up as if she didn’t care either way.

  ‘When did Anna say she sent the email?’ said Frannie.

  ‘It was so long ago, I dunno,’ said Elli.

  ‘OK what’s her email address?’

  ‘AnnaK@gmx.de,’ said Elli. ‘I always called her Special K.’ She looked at her strangely. She seemed to be appraising her bump.

  Frannie was biting her nails. She couldn’t believe how long this was taking. She looked at her watch; she’d been here ten minutes already. Elli meticulously curled her eyelashes with a special curler and reapplied her mascara. Frannie wondered why she didn’t just stick on fake ones and be done with it.

  ‘You didn’t read the email?’ asked Frannie.

  ‘It didn’t come into my inbox! Is it something important?’ asked Elli.

  Frannie just nodded, tried to force herself to relax. ‘Anything’s important if Dorcas wants it,’ she said with a forced laugh. God, she was getting desperate here with this excruciating small talk.

  Another flash and some groans, and the spam folder opened. She listed the files alphabetically; at least “A” should be near the beginning. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest as she waited for it to come up. Here it was: an email forwarded from Anna which had been evidently sent from Hans’s laptop. The frightening thing was that it was in English. It read:

  FW: New Business Venture: Hearts and Minds

  Dear Hans,

  We have a medical expert who is prepared to ‘babysit’ them until the right circumstances can be arranged. Flight transfers are no problem. Please ask Stefan to send blood samples in each case as soon as possible so we can begin the work of finding suitable matches.

  Yours,

  Leonard

  Frannie scanned it quickly then leaned back in her chair. What the hell did that mean? In just a second she’d forward it to her Hotmail account that couldn’t be traced back to her so easily.

  Elli was looking over her shoulder. ‘It’s in English,’ she said with a note of distaste, ‘That why you’re here?’ Her face suddenly soured. Frannie nodded, her mind mulling over the message. Elli snapped the lid back on her mascara. She was up on her heels in a flash with her hand aggressively touching Frannie’s belly. Her thin, over-manicured fingers raked at her bump. It hurt, and Frannie recoiled.

  ‘You got a bun in there love?’ Now the fingers were digging in.

  ‘What?’ Frannie was so shocked she could barely speak, tried to push her away.

  Elli lifted her head back and let out a huge laugh. ‘Now I know who you are!’ she said, her eyes suddenly glittering with deviousness as if she wanted to rip Frannie’s head off. ‘You’re what Hans calls the English bitch. I heard him talking about you and getting someone up the duff!’ She eyed up Frannie from head to toe, laughed again. ‘Must have been drunk when he did it!’

  Frannie gasped. How could Elli think she had anything to do with Hans? In her embarrassment, she stumbled over her German. ‘I’m married,’ she gasped out, backing away as a furious Elli approached, all long-legged, banging down her heels forcefully with each step. The laptop was still in her hand, but now she’d have no chance to forward the email; she was too busy trying to save her skin. Frannie knew she must be blushing down to the roots of her hair. Presumably that only made her look more guilty.

  Elli’s dull eyes had flickered into life at last. She looked pure bile. Frannie backed carefully out of the room. ‘Thank you for your time,’ she said, trying to duck gracefully out of the situation, but it was no good. Elli was on to her like a spiteful cat. Frannie made it to the lift, but then Elli lunged at he
r.

  ‘You bitch!’ she screamed. ‘Keep away from Hans!’ Her pupils had dilated to pinpricks; she projected pure rage. She pushed Frannie hard against the wall as if she wanted to knock her through it. There was a sickening thud. Elli’s hard beautiful eyes appraised her gleefully.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Six

  Frannie gasped and put a hand up pleadingly. In her panic it was hard to grope for the right German words. ‘I only met him once,’ she said, trying to push Elli off, ‘and believe me that was enough.’

  Although Elli was stick-thin, she possessed a manic strength. Must be the bleeding drugs. The situation was so far from what she’d thought would be the danger in coming here that Frannie wanted to laugh.

  ‘You’re going nowhere till I’ve got some answers,’ screamed Elli, pushing Frannie hard against the wall. Her head bounced off the hard brick. Frantically she jabbed at the button to call the lift. Elli was too busy screaming incoherently to pay attention to the creaking noise as it descended. Frannie closed her eyes and acted defenceless. The only way for her to escape Elli was to act dumb and then suddenly make a run for it. Elli was all noise and big make-up, and clearly had no idea what was really going on here.

  When the lift opened she shoved Elli off and ran into it blindly. Her frantic hands attempted to close the door but a screeching Elli was already in like a demon. In her pocket Frannie had her only weapon, an open car key, and she thrust it with all her might into Elli’s forehead.

  Frannie had expected Elli to back away, but she’d come even closer, and the tip of the key made a little sucking noise as it made contact. There was a horrified gasp, and to her surprise the key actually penetrated the skin a little way and she had to tug at it savagely to retrieve it. She pushed Elli backwards and the girl fell flat on the floor. A tiny trickle of blood was beginning to seep out of her wound. Frannie paled. She didn’t think it was a serious injury, but she shouldn’t stay in the club a second more than she needed to be. Dorcas was going to be furious with her as well. Why couldn’t this sodding lift be a bit quicker?

  Finally the door closed and the lift lurched into life. It seemed to take forever to get back to the main floor. When it opened, Frannie forgot about any thoughts of acting incognito and ran for all she was worth through the crowds to the main entrance door. The punters stared at her in surprise; she even got a few wolf whistles. The bouncer looked at her, alarmed. At first she thought he was going to detain her. She couldn’t have that. Not so close to freedom.

  ‘Baby kommt!’ she shouted, clutching her stomach.

  All men were worried about seeing a baby pop out right in front of them. Hastily, the bouncer stepped back as if she had a contagious disease and held the door open for her.

  She rushed out into the cool night air and legged it for all she was worth back to the car. Thank God she’d parked near the front this time. Elli would be after her any minute. Probably bring down the wrath of all the club staff with her. She slammed her car door shut. Her breaths were coming so fast there was virtually no space between them. She had a stitch and a sudden agonising attack of cramp in her right foot. So much for letting the baby rest!

  ‘Goddamn it!’ she shouted loudly to no one in particular. She was sweating but elated. She’d made it out, and not one of the men she was afraid of had apprehended her. She wound down the windows to let in some fresh air and the balmy night breeze felt good on her skin. There was no time to call Dorcas; she had to get out of there.

  After a kill he always slept like a baby, needed a good twelve hours to recover. Must be all that adrenaline. You got wound up really tight. It was like doing a bungee jump. With murder everyone thought about the victim, but the Täter also had to suffer a little bit. Nearly gave themselves heart attacks doing the dirty. Killers had to take absurd risks. Afterwards you needed to cool-down; the chance to catch a breath.

  When he got up the ‘B6 murder’ was all over the news. Lars smiled at that: his handiwork on display for all and sundry to see. But every time he thought about Hans he grimaced. If he was honest with himself, he’d left the scene a bit of a mess. He should have got rid of the body properly, burned it or something. He didn’t have a criminal record so they didn’t have his DNA on file, but still.

  With any luck Hans would never find out it was him. He wouldn’t understand. Everything Hans did had to be fussed over. For all his fucking idolisation of serial killers, he didn’t get it, the overwhelming urge. He didn’t therefore really understand what really made serial killers tick. Hans just saw the killing as an extra taboo button on a remote control. But then he didn’t do spontaneity. Couldn’t even shit without planning it in his diary.

  Since Lars had got up, though, he’d been thinking about getting back in with Hans. Although he didn’t want to admit it, after the débâcle of last night he had to admit it was easier having the kill room to do his dirty work in. That swine, twisted as he was, certainly made his existence as a killer easier. Deep in his gut Lars knew he couldn’t go it alone these days. He was like a prisoner who had become so institutionalised that he couldn’t face life on the outside. The fractured feelings he had for Hans frightened him. In one way the young ’un accepted him as no other human being could, but there was a terrible price to pay for it. Hans was just too damn manipulative, and he couldn’t keep his cock in his pocket. But…

  So now he was sitting outside the Moonlights Club in his van, trying to work out his next move. He’d already delivered their drinks order right on schedule. The night was young and he was feeling pretty much up for anything. He really didn’t want to kill the English bitch – Hans knew he didn’t do women, for fuck’s sake – but maybe it was a test.

  He was just contemplating going into the club for a good whisky when he was distracted by a commotion. A fat bird was legging it for all she was worth out of the club and the bouncer on the door – Wittmann, was it? – looked as if he didn’t have a clue what was going in. Hang about, was the bird preggers too?

  Every sense in Lars’s body moved to high alert. Could it be? Then her baseball cap fell off and he saw the mass of pale blonde hair. The fucking English bitch! Here she was, served up to him on a plate, and no one had even seen him directly speak to her. All he had to do was drive after her, do the business, and for Hans he’d be a cat bringing back a mouse.

  He didn’t relish the thought of killing her, but when he turned the engine he was already feeling high. Party time!

  Dorcas desperately wanted a cup of strong coffee, but Frannie might be there any minute and she knew that pregnant women didn’t do coffee or couldn’t stand the smell of it or something. Then she smiled, laughed at herself. Now she was one of those women, although her sense of smell hadn’t changed yet. She was in denial about her pregnancy until she decided whether or not to have a termination. Nonetheless, there were three pots of different fruit teas sitting nice and hot on the table when the doorbell rang.

  ‘About time…’ said Dorcas, expecting Frannie, but instead it was The Husband, tall and gawky-looking, and so edgy he looked as if he might rearrange her face if she put out the wrong biscuits. Mein Gott! She smiled exquisitely and ushered him in, hoping Frannie would get there before she had to do the talking.

  Kurt strode in, his legs and arms so aggressively muscled he could barely walk in a straight line. He was broad-boned; even his hips were wide. He turned his head from side to side, evidently looking for Frannie. He seemed surprised by the lavish calm of Dorcas’s apartment: the unexpected beauty of her flower collection. After seeing the squalor Frannie lived in, that was no surprise. Dorcas smiled.

  ‘She’s not here yet!’ she said brightly.

  The man looked through her rather than at her. He seemed as uncomfortable with himself as with the situation and she instantly recognised his type. She’d seen it so many times before. He was gay, wasn’t he, but he probably loathed himself for it and spent his life trying to shoehorn himself into what he thought of as ‘normal’ relationships with
women. And hated them for it.

  After long pauses he blurted out, ‘How do you know my wife?’ without even attempting to blend it into the conversation.

  Inwardly she winced, but she maintained her professional smile, noticing how innately attractive he was. She stared at him provocatively.

  ‘I helped Frannie to reverse out once when she was night-driving, and she’s helping me find a missing friend,’ said Dorcas with a little laugh. ‘At three a.m. every driver is significant on a Rastplatz.’ She stared at him. ‘We’re a community.’ She whispered the last bit, as if she was letting him in on a secret. She appraised him with an experienced eye. She knew how to give a closet gay the kind of sex he wanted, without challenging his view of himself as a straight-as-a-die Neanderthal.

  ‘Night-driving?’ He looked at her as if she was mad.

  ‘Yeah, Frannie does it in the early hours when she’s awake anyway, when the roads are practically empty. Makes sense.’ He looked uncomfortable every time she mentioned his wife.

  Dorcas pushed a plate of assorted cookies at him and he took one. Even his hands were massive. Part of her longed to rouse his sexuality, which seemed to be lying under the surface of him like a second skin he longed to peel off. If she had enough time she could do so much with him. Long minutes passed. Dorcas kept stealing glances at her antique clock to check the time. ‘Frannie’s at the Moonlights Club trying to find an email that never made it into someone’s inbox,’ she volunteered.

  Kurt looked like thunder.

  ‘She’s coming here once she’s finished,’ she said.

  Kurt gave an animal nod of recognition and simply drank tea and ate all the cookies by himself until they were gone. When he’d been there for an hour, the tension between them was palpable. Kurt had taken to tapping his feet. No one was reachable by mobile. Dorcas flung her phone on the coffee table so hard that it nearly cracked. She assumed Frannie had decided to go home after all and that Elli was off her head somewhere.