Night Driver

by Marcelle Perks

  It was only 1.35 a.m. Hours to go until dawn. She didn’t like to think about the eternal waiting, but nothing would persuade her to leave the relative safety of her hiding place.

  She was sticky with sweat and bits of corn were stuck all over her. The car was unforgivably messed up. Where her hands fiercely gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles were white. Beads of sweat had broken out on her brow. The baby kicked its frustration, she felt it dully in her womb. She was trapped and dared not relax, not even for a second.

  Lars kept smoking with the windows down. Because he was so tense, the nicotine was hitting him hard, although he couldn’t get much enjoyment out of it, felt like throwing up. But he kept going. He’d got a scent of her fear, and his need hung low and heavy on him. Because she’d evaded him he felt flat. He would never amount to anything. Hans was never going to take him back. All the good feelings he had had about their reunion was slipping away.

  He was staring at his own tiredness when a sports car out of nowhere overtook him.

  The sight of the speeding yellow vehicle galvanised him. He felt a sudden surge in his erection that made his senses quicken. It was a welcome distraction. Inside that sort of car, inevitably there’d be the type of solidly built man that would look good with his shirt off. It was too late for a shift worker to be going to work. What Lars knew was that in the grey hours before dawn few people ventured out.

  Lars could not keep his eyes off the car’s retreating bumper. He smiled, licked his lips and pushed his foot down hard on the accelerator.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Eight

  In the dressing room at the Moonlights Club, Elli touched her forehead, appalled. Had that really happened? She felt like screaming. Her appearance, especially her face, was everything.

  The hole was not deep, but its position in the centre of her forehead made it stand out more. It was hideous. Elli stared at it with her mouth open. She had washed it with some cotton wool and waited for the bleeding to stop, which had taken forever, but it had got bigger the more she looked at it. She was deformed.

  Hans was already complaining the drugs were wasting her looks. She was already fearful of looking at herself in the mirror. Her knockout good locks were slowly being eroded. No matter what she did, the bones in her face were coming to the surface. And she didn’t like what she saw.

  This might finish things off; make him decide he didn’t want her in his bed any more.

  Wincing, she took some foundation and tried to fill it in with make-up. It was painful doing it, but she persevered. But, when it was partially covered, it only drew more attention to it. She could have wailed. That cow!

  Seventeen-year-old Nel came in with her big fawn eyes and slanted cheekbones. A look of alarm came over her when she saw Elli there, with good reason. Elli wiped her face quickly with a tissue. Nel was dressed in a bikini with a hipster skirt, and she noticed right away that part of the appliquéd-on jewellery had come off her bikini top.

  ‘What shit is this?’ said Elli aggressively. She grabbed Nel by the hair and forced her to sit down. ‘You want to look a mess for the customers?’ Pretty, dark-skinned Nel was from Cambodia. She’d been sold at thirteen by her parents for the chance of a better life and had been working in brothels around Europe ever since. She was one of the new girls that Hans had bought recently in a bid to hike up profits. She didn’t get any pay; they only had to feed her and pay for basic necessities.

  ‘Sorry, boss,’ said Nel in her lilting voice, and lowered her head. Her humble apology just made Elli madder. She viciously slapped the girl around the face three times each side until her cheeks were bright pink. Then she lit a cigarette and blew the smoke spitefully in her face.

  Still Nel said nothing. Her honey-toned complexion was radiant; her form graceful and petite. Elli felt a stab of jealousy. She pushed Nel roughly to the side.

  She felt as if a dark void was about to consume her. The weariness imprisoned her. When she was rock-bottom it was lethargic city. She badly needed meth.

  If she wanted a hit perhaps she should see Hans and tell him all about her little encounter meeting his fat bitch. She felt the tension rise to her head. She should have known better – once upon a time she’d have been loyal to Dorcas without a thought, all of them in it together – but being given the responsibility for looking after the new girls had changed her. She liked the power, but it filled her with an uneasy pleasure.

  Filled with a brittle self-righteousness, Elli strutted off angrily to Hans’s office. With her long legs she ground her heels into the floor with every step. She’d show him what she was made of. When she knocked at his office door and he answered, she swept in. Her mood seemed to shake the very ground.

  She’d meant to be reasonable, but when she opened her mouth it all spilled out of her.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d got her knocked up?’ she said. ‘That fat old slapper.’ She practically spat the words out.

  Hans sat there in a cream Gucci suit, looking faintly displeased. He touched his fingertips together.

  ‘Who are you talking about?’ he said slowly. His eyes bored into hers uncomfortably.

  ‘The English bitch, Dani, whatever her name is. She just came in, wanted me to find an email and then she stuck me with her bloody key! Look!’

  Elli pulled her hair back and showed him the dent.

  A watchful look came over him. ‘Was she heavily pregnant, blonde, English?’ he said.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Elli, nodding. ‘Said her name was Dani, that Dorcas sent her.’

  ‘Dorcas?’ Hans was hunched over his desk now.

  ‘Yeah, she came to find an email Anna sent that wound up in my spam folder. Dani found it, but it was in English so I still don’t know shit,’ said Elli.

  As she finished her sentence she realised her mistake. The light in her eyes went out. Hans was now standing, his eyes so dark they looked like reptilian slits. His hands were bunched up into fists. Elli froze where she stood. She felt as if she was being sucked into a shadow. She had to have meth now before her whole body went into a spin. She shuddered, her mouth open and shut like a fish.

  ‘Hans please, give me some Tina,’ she pleaded. She tried to stop the tears.

  Hans just sat aloof as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘An email from Anna?’ he said carefully. ‘Dorcas was trying to find an email Anna sent to you?’ He stood up. Elli seemed to shrink into the carpet.

  She just nodded. Her body felt as if it were dropping in freefall. He was frowning, and she imagined she could see evil thoughts written over his face. She shivered. Jesus, she was shaking so bad! There was usually some in the cabinet by the whiskies. If she could just get a taste, maybe she could deal with this shit.

  With an animal cry, she ran to the drinks cabinet and clumsily pulled out the hidden drawer. Everything fell on to the floor.

  ‘NEIN!’ shouted Hans. Now he was really steaming. The floor was littered with little plastic and foil wraps, the drawer had hit her knee, but she didn’t care. She was on her knees, rifling through the merchandise with a smile on her face. Now he was coming up behind her, shouting, but she wasn’t listening. Got one! It was in her goddamn hand; she could already taste it in her mouth.

  Suddenly there was a whack, like the stormy sound of a train being swallowed by a tunnel that she heard long after she’d fallen unconscious to the darkest place she’d ever known.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Nine

  Because Hans didn’t really feel, it was hard for him to respond to others normally. Other people did it automatically, but he had to mimic, constantly fake it. When the girls smiled, he showed his teeth back. What they took for contemplation was simply him planning his next move. If he hadn’t have been so good-looking, they would have seen right away that he was a phony. He wasn’t a serial killer, but he shared the trait of lack of empathy. And after months of maintaining a calm exterior, when Elli said the wrong thing he’d seized the baseball bat that he kept hidden under
his desk and all the angst inside him about the latest kills had rushed out.

  He’d cornered the stupid bitch and whacked her. She hadn’t even seen it coming. The bat had been light and easy in his hand. It was nothing. He had brought it down on the back of her head until his arms were exhausted and he was breathing so hard he could barely stand.

  He was still holding the red-stained bat. The back of Elli’s head was matted with blood and she was flat out on her stomach. He tried to calm himself. People are like maggots, small, blind and worthless. But he couldn’t push away the fact that a second prostitute going missing in his own club was bound to blow up in his face.

  Calmly, he poured himself the most expensive whisky in a special glass. That was why he needed Lars. Somehow the guy had the proper proportion. He had his belief, nurtured calculatedly by himself, that he was the reincarnation of Fritz Haarmann and his own ideology of what was the right way: his earthy, hunter’s right to eliminate.

  Even if he didn’t exactly feel sorry, at least Lars felt. And killing was, for him, a blessed release, something sacred. The guy actually killed as an act of love. But Hans felt absolutely nothing. Whether he farted or nearly killed someone, he had the same reaction. He wished he could make sense of it. Without Lars he would degenerate into madness.

  He looked down at Elli, found a pulse. She was still going strong, even though the back of her was all bashed in. Should he finish her off, get her medical attention or what? I had a compulsion to do it. But that was wrong. He didn’t feel compulsions; very little registered with him. It was getting harder to maintain the lie. He couldn’t access the emotions he should have been able to. Everything had the same weight.

  He took out his mobile and called Hugo. It wasn’t a good idea, but he had no one else to turn to. Once he would have gone to Lars, but Lars didn’t do women. He’d do his nut if he found out.

  ‘It’s like a nightmare; I am in a movie,’ he said dramatically. Hugo, drunk somewhere, shouted something meaningless. No, mate, this was no drunken boy’s talk. Hans sat up very straight.

  ‘Hugo, can you come over to my office, right now? There’s a situation,’ he said, hoping he wouldn’t have to spell it out.

  He didn’t like to think about all the things Hugo might do with Elli. He needed to check his email account, but he had to admit that it was harder to concentrate now Elli was cluttering the place up. The nearly-dead were so goddamn ugly.

  After ninety minutes in the cornfield, Frannie could bear it no longer. Her bladder was ready to burst. But Lars knew she was pregnant, might be waiting for this.

  With difficulty she removed her panties while still sitting in the driver’s seat. Cautiously she stepped out of the car, crouched and began to urinate, holding on to the car door. Her heartbeat was going mad. She was shaking so badly that half of it went down one leg. If Lars came, she’d sit back down, whether she’d finished or not, drive off. But as she finished emptying her bladder there was only endless waving corn whispering in the darkness.

  For hours she‘d fought off drowsiness with her fear. But when the sky turned grey she couldn’t stop her eyes from closing. She was too exhausted to remain alert. It was time to go home.

  She stepped outside the car, crouched down and looked carefully in all directions. Nothing. Dawn was coming. Surely Lars had gone by now? It occurred to her that the farmer would be in the field soon and he’d be furious with her for wrecking his corn. Best to move fast.

  Frannie got back into the car and tried to shut the door without making a noise. Shit, she thought. This is it. She had to get out of the field without sending herself up in flames. Her fingers hesitated on the key. As long as she didn’t remain stationary for too long she’d be alright, but she had to reverse first and turn around fast, a hard feat on such an uneven surface. If Lars was still out there, he’d hear her as soon as she started the engine.

  She counted to three, then forced herself to turn the ignition key. She reversed so quickly the car skidded and she had to fight to keep control of it, steady her breathing.

  Now she was moving. The easiest thing was to follow the path she’d mown down on the way in. Swiftly she turned, trying to follow her earlier trail, and drove back to the farm path. But it was hard work over the rough earth. The engine seemed to groan more than usual but she made her way raggedly back and went the other way to the road.

  She’d be home in three minutes. The car was battered by its ordeal, but she’d made it.

  She drove slowly up the lane, still holding her breath. Even from the inside the car looked battered and filthy. There was no way she could get away with a secret night-drive. What would Kurt say? Her lower lip trembled. All this for nothing.

  When she pulled into her drive, her heart sank. Although it wasn’t yet five a.m., the lights were on downstairs. She’d been hoping for an hour or so to wash, do something with the car, but he must have noticed her absence. As she waddled into the house, it occurred to her she still didn’t have any knickers on.

  Nervously, she opened the door. She sneaked into the kitchen and began drinking a litre bottle of Evian water as fast as she could. She was still slugging it when Kurt appeared with shadows under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept either. He did a double-take at her frazzled appearance.

  ‘What the hell, Frannie?’ said Kurt in such a broken voice she didn’t know how to react.

  ‘I know you told me not to drive,’ said Frannie hesitantly, pushing her untidy hair off her face. ‘But it was an emergency. I had to help a friend and then I got chased…’ She broke off, rubbed her tired eyes with her hands. ‘For hours I’ve waited in the cornfield out back, Kurt.’

  ‘You drove into a cornfield in my car?’ said Kurt in such a tone of horror that Frannie flinched.

  She nodded. Kurt gave a roar and ran outside. When he saw the state of the car he jumped up and down on the spot with anger. ‘Who would do that?’ he shouted to himself. He fingered the many scratches on the paintwork and put his fingers sorrowfully in the dust marks. Frannie stood behind him, silent, still drinking the water. Kurt carried on ranting about the state of his car. The neighbours were going to be woken up again.

  ‘You stupid cow!’ he said. He glared at her as if he hated her. Frannie felt deflated. All he was bothered about was the car. He hadn’t even asked who had chased her. ‘I suppose your fancy friend with her cute-ass bob made you do this!’ shouted Kurt.

  Frannie looked at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears. ‘How do you know what she looks like?’

  Kurt suddenly stopped carrying on, wouldn’t look in her eye. He rubbed his hand absently through his hair. He no longer looked sullen, but guilty. She sucked in her breath. She had no idea what could have caused this change.

  ‘When you went, I looked in your things and found a card,’ said Kurt slowly, with nervous hands. He had a downcast mouth and haunted eyes. She didn’t quite want to hear what he was going to say next. ‘I phoned the number and she told me to come over, that you would be heading there.’ He was talking as if he’d learned it by rote. All his anger, the sullenness was gone. ‘You know what she is, Frannie?’ he said in a meek voice.

  Frannie bit her lip. She knew what was coming.

  ‘I…’ His voice trailed off, then he covered his face with his hands, started to sob. Frannie was gobsmacked.

  ‘You slept with her?’ she asked in a low voice. She was so horrified it was hard to say it out loud. She hoped none of the neighbours was hearing this.

  ‘Not sex, not like we have.’ Kurt was sniffing, wiping his eyes. Frannie’s stomach lurched. She felt nauseous.

  ‘What then, Kurt?’

  ‘Everything else,’ he said.

  The betrayal soaked into her like squirts of lime. ‘How could you?’ she screamed. Almost instantly, she felt a wave of nausea hit her. She ran back into the house and rushed to the bathroom. She retched until there was nothing in her stomach. She sat on the edge of the bath and washed her face and hands. How could the
y do this to her? Dorcas had forced her to put herself in danger and this was the thanks she got. And her husband was only worried about his precious car.

  She sat on the edge of the bath, her mind racing. Her heartbeat seemed to be running out of control. She clenched her hands into fists. This was the worst night of her life. She looked up at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and looked with disgust at her tired, bloated face. Bits of corn were stuck in her long blonde hair. Even she was amazed at how frightful she looked. Since falling pregnant she seemed to have aged ten years. Perhaps that was why Kurt had lost interest. She sighed heavily.

  Her husband suddenly appeared in the doorway, his face all tense and messed up.

  ‘This thing you were doing,’ he said, being surprisingly careful how he phrased it. ‘Is it about a man?’

  Frannie felt a rush of emotions sweep through her. She frowned and he leapt at her hesitancy, nodded as if she was the guilty one. ‘I see,’ he said tersely.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ she said quickly, her indignation making her blush.

  He bit his lips. ‘IT IS A MAN!’ he shouted aggressively, but he wasn’t up for a fight. Without a word he turned away from her and got ready for work.

  ‘Kurt, that’s not it…’ said Frannie angrily, going after him. She was about to tell him everything, but he pushed her away.

  ‘I’ve said all I’ve got to say,’ he said forcefully. ‘When I do shit, at least I tell it to you straight.’ What scared her was his almost polite, detached tone as if he no longer cared what she did or thought. We have gone beyond sarcasm, she thought. ‘I’m taking this,’ he said, grabbing his car key. ‘You’re never driving that car again.’

  He flounced out. Frannie heard the roar as he drove up the lane. She made her way up to bed, showered quickly and pulled a nightdress on. She was in shock, exhausted, at her wits’ end. Later she could think about this whole mess. She lay in bed and hoped for oblivion.