Night Driver

by Marcelle Perks

‘Nothing,’ said Dorcas. ‘It’s safer that way.’

  Frannie swallowed.

  ‘It would be no great surprise to him if you left now anyway, right?’ said Dorcas.

  Frannie squirmed. In her mind’s eye she imagined Kurt kissing Dorcas’s thin, glamorous face, tried to block it out. Her knowledge of the betrayal was like drinking agonising poison. The more she thought about it, the worse it hurt.

  Mechanically she put together her things. She felt incapable of rational thought. Her mind was endlessly playing images of Dorcas and Kurt: kissing, touching, being intimate. She was sick of torturing herself with the imagined details of their passion. She didn’t want to, but now she knew about it she couldn’t stop herself. And the worst of it was, she understood perfectly why he would prefer Dorcas to her.

  Frannie already had her hospital bag ready, so she only needed to add some extra clothes, but she had no idea how long she’d be gone for. In the end she packed a large suitcase. I’m practically moving out, she thought. Perhaps Kurt would get the message.

  She was exhausted and the baby kicked her for all he was worth, but there was no time to lose. She rang a taxi. Her life had been so humdrum; now she was running away into the unknown.

  She barely breathed on the thirty-minute cab-drive to Dorcas’s. The busy city streets were chock-full of traffic. Again and again the taxi driver swore under his breath and the cars could only crawl as they waited behind endless red lights. Frannie was glad she wasn’t driving.

  The taxi stopped in a pleasant, tree-lined street. Dorcas lived in an apartment on the second floor. With difficulty Frannie made her way up the stairs carrying her heavy suitcase. When she rang the doorbell she was out of breath and sweating heavily. She was dreading seeing Dorcas again after what had gone on with Kurt. Her husband had always been too handsome for her, making her nervous around pretty women.

  The door opened. Dorcas stood there like a rock star, immaculately dressed in a dark purple silk top and skirt that showed off her slimness to perfection. Some fancy gothic bead jewellery completed the look. Frannie felt her jealousy flare. She staggered back. Perhaps she couldn’t do this.

  Dorcas looked at her with surprise.

  ‘Why didn’t you phone me? I would have helped you with your things!’ said Dorcas with a frown, looking at her heavy luggage. She virtually pulled Frannie inside and gave her a hug. Frannie flinched and half-pushed her off impatiently. Dorcas said nothing, but there was a hurt look on her face. Frannie tried to compose herself.

  It was the first time she’d been to Dorcas’s. It wasn’t what she’d expected. She was almost blinded by the all-white minimalist décor of the long rooms with their graceful high ceilings. Everything was neatly organised; the rooms seemed to breathe energy and efficiency. And, just to add a bit of colour, Dorcas had a riot of flowers growing everywhere in pots. Frannie looked around in wonder. She had a feeling of instant serenity just being there.

  Then she thought of Kurt, and how this was another reason he would prefer Dorcas. The vision soured.

  ‘I just need a few minutes and then we can go,’ said Dorcas.

  Frannie sat down. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘The Dreams Hotel,’ said Dorcas. ‘It’s a spa as well. It’s close by, but I don’t think anyone would dream of looking for us there.’ She slipped on a pair of improbably high heels. ‘Wait here,’ she said, ‘I’ll load the car.’

  Frannie was trying to imagine how Kurt would have felt in this flat; presumably a damn sight better than at home. She felt the ghost of their sexual encounter mocking her, imagined them writhing together on the white leather sofa. She couldn’t look at Dorcas now without feverishly wondering what exactly she’d done with her husband.

  She rubbed a hand over her eyes. Their sex life had never been all that great. He had seemed to want her so much that until they’d married she hadn’t realised there wasn’t enough between them. Then she thought of all the kinky tricks Dorcas would know. She was torturing herself again. She had to fight not to burst into tears. Her insides were churning as if she’d swallowed bleach.

  Every second she stayed there, it just got worse.

  According to the satnav it was a twelve-minute drive to the hotel, but, by driving through amber lights and cutting everyone up, Dorcas did it eight minutes. Frannie was so shaken by the experience that she could barely stand when she got out of the car.

  ‘I used to live in Berlin,’ said Dorcas by way of explanation. ‘You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t use a bit of push.’

  ‘Is that what you did with Kurt?’ said Frannie crossly.

  Dorcas frowned. ‘It just happened, damn it!’ she snapped, throwing the suitcases onto the ground. ‘When you met me I was sitting in my van waiting for customers to turn up. Sex is my job.’ She slammed the car boot and carried everything into the lobby area.

  Frannie bit her lip. How on earth was she going to get through this? The idea of staying with Dorcas repulsed her.

  The hotel faced a big lake, the Maschsee, which had been constructed by unemployed labourers under Hitler’s regime. There was water as far as the eye could see, and the lake was lined with thickly wooded forest. The hotel was a long, low building overlooking the water. Although they were still in the centre of Hannover, with the top of the majestic town hall sticking out to prove it, it felt as if they were in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘How are we going to do this?’ said Frannie, an awkward look on her face.

  ‘I’ll pay a few nights, cash in advance,’ said Dorcas. ‘That way we can’t be traced.’

  Dorcas booked a double room. Most German hotels had two single beds pushed together, but when they got to the room there was only the one big bed. Shit. She’d have to lie next to her. Frannie felt sick. It was humiliating having to do that.

  She sprawled on the bed and watched while Dorcas neatly unpacked. She didn’t feel like doing anything; after all the upset she was feeling downright peculiar. She pressed a hand to her stomach; to her surprise a hard jerk, like an electric shock, radiated out from her uterus.

  ‘Ow,’ she said, clutching her stomach.

  ‘What?’ said Dorcas.

  ‘Something really weird just happened. A hard pain,’ said Frannie, pressing her stomach. She felt hot and faint. ‘Oh, God, I hope that wasn’t a contraction.’

  Dorcas hurriedly got her a drink of water and made her gulp it down.

  ‘It’s just all a bit much,’ said Frannie weakly. The patterns on the floral wallpaper in the room seemed to be swirling. She’d missed several gynaecology appointments, and presumably her blood pressure was sky-high. Nervously, she held her stomach. Dorcas sat next to her on the bed.

  ‘So what about this email, then?’ said Dorcas. Her face was impassive under her smooth bob as Frannie told her everything that had happened.

  ‘Elli thought you were pregnant with Hans’s child?’ said Dorcas incredulously. Frannie looked at her suspiciously. ‘I don’t know where she got that idea from.’

  ‘But what do you think it means?’ said Frannie. ‘They’re going to fly people away to operate on them? Why?’

  ‘I overheard something,’ said Dorcas playing with the beads on her necklace. ‘Hans was involved with a bit of crime – selling drugs, knock-off goods, that sort of thing – and then this guy Hugo arrived.’ She, touched her chin, took a deep breath. ‘I think Hugo sells people. Some girls came into the club and I don’t think they earned.’

  Frannie sat up. ‘You mean sex slaves?’ Her voice was breathy with emotion. ‘And you never did anything?’

  ‘It was just a suspicion,’ said Dorcas stiffly. ‘But most of the girls are in it for the lifestyle. Some go under because of drugs, or the customers get too much.’ She grimaced and her face creased with worry. ‘But I can tell when someone is broken.’

  Frannie gasped. She’d gone in there with no inkling of what she was getting into.

  ‘But what does this have to do with operations?’ asked Frannie. She
hadn’t been able to figure out the email.

  ‘I’m not sure I even want to think about that,’ said Dorcas.

  Frannie stared. Her blonde hair was sticking up all over the place. Dorcas’s brown eyes looked scared. She looked at the wall as if she didn’t dare confront Frannie with it directly.

  ‘The fastest-growing crime in the world is organ trafficking. You can make hundreds of thousands of euros from one single body if you harvest the organs. I read about it in the HAZ.’

  Frannie sat up. Her abdomen twitched again. She fell back on her pillow. When the pain passed, she turned to Dorcas in panic. ‘Let’s get out of Hannover. We can’t help Tomek or Anna if they’ve been cut up. It’s too late.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Dorcas in a gentle voice. ‘First they have to match the donor to the recipients, then they fly everyone to a hospital somewhere foreign, and do the operations all together so the organs are fresh.’

  ‘You mean Anna and Tomek could be still alive, waiting?’ whispered Frannie, stunned.

  ‘Yeah, so we have to find this Stefan guy, the one who was babysitting them in the email,’ said Dorcas. They stared at each other. Frannie felt terrified.

  ‘You mean we’re not just going to lie low?’ she asked, quietly.

  ‘Afraid not. Stefan must be a contact of Hugo’s. If we stake out the club, follow him, maybe he’ll lead us there.’ Dorcas had never looked so dramatic.

  Frannie flinched. ‘You’re going to do that?’ she said. ‘I don’t have a car here.’

  ‘Hugo knows me,’ said Dorcas energetically, as though she was planning a war. ‘You’re going to have to take my car. I’ll hide in the back seat.’

  Frannie collapsed back onto the pillows and stared mournfully at the ceiling. Her face was wet with tears. ‘I can’t,’ she said. When Dorcas moved closer to her she pushed her off, hysterical. For five minutes Frannie screamed and cried and punched the pillow repeatedly. She wailed out her despair with a sorrow that was beyond words.

  Eventually she collapsed. Dorcas took Frannie in her arms and rocked her. ‘Shhh, shhh,’ she whispered, stroking her hair.

  Frannie went limp. She didn’t want to leave the room, or to have any more adventures. She just wanted to lie down. It was only the afternoon, but she fell into a feverish sleep.

  Her uterus continued to spasm periodically, but she was too far gone to notice.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Two

  During the hot and stifling afternoon, Frannie slept fitfully. The bed was hard, the shiny fabric of the cover pressed into her skin. The curtains were drawn to give a fake darkness, which only seemed to emphasise the glaring sun outside. She was hot and fed up, too tired to do anything but doze.

  Dorcas stayed with her. Frannie was conscious of her rapid movements like a little bird. For hours she was in and out of the bathroom. Frannie couldn’t imagine what she was doing. When her mobile rang she shut herself in the bathroom and talked extra quietly.

  I hope I can trust her! With her connection to both Lars and Hans, she wondered where Dorcas’s true loyalties lay. And there was something different about her, perhaps the shape of her face, a mysterious quality she couldn’t quite put her finger on…

  She woke up when Dorcas lit up. The sharp unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke cut through the fetid air. Frannie nearly gagged. She heaved herself out of bed, muttering crossly, and pushed the bathroom door open.

  Frannie gasped. Dorcas was holding a cosmetic mirror which had three neat lines of white powder cut onto it. Her index finger elegantly pressed one nostril closed as she held a rolled bill to the other one. A lit cigarette burned in an ashtray. Even when Frannie came in, she carried on snorting with great efficiency.

  Frannie stared. ‘What you doing?’ she said, the heat making her temper rise.

  Dorcas gave her an indolent smile. ‘Just a few lines of really good coke. Nothing for you to worry about.’ Dorcas did another line and threw her head back. Her features softened as a look of wonderment washed over her face. Frannie clenched her teeth. The bitch looked as if she’d just come. She had no bloody shame!

  Frannie wrenched the mirror out of her hands and threw the powder down the sink.

  ‘NEIN!’ shrieked Dorcas. Her good mood vanished. She fought with Frannie to stop her from turning the tap on, but it was no good. Frannie grimly washed every last speck away.

  ‘You’re not doing that shit here with me.’ Frannie seemed to grow inches taller as she confronted Dorcas. She handed her back the dripping mirror.

  Dorcas looked at it in horror. ‘Scheisse!’ she shouted. She scrabbled like a rabbit digging a hole for any last traces. But it was gone. She turned angrily to Frannie; her sharp eyes vicious. ‘If you had ever been normal, ever had any fun, you would think nothing of this!’ shouted Dorcas. She held a hand to her face, wiped the residue of powder from her nose. ‘And I paid for the room!’ Dorcas stood there sizing her up.

  ‘So what? I’ve left my husband, everything,’ shouted Frannie. ‘Do you think I’m going to let you mess it up with this shit?’

  She’d been itching to punish the hussy. Her anger reared up. I’ll show her. She couldn’t stop herself. Her hands pushed Dorcas roughly and she yelped. Frannie felt of surge of satisfaction. She gave her another shove. This time Dorcas’s legs gave way and, with a squeal, she landed in the bath.

  ‘What, you’re going to send me on a mission whilst you’re high? Think again!’ Frannie spat out the last word. She leaned over her, her face flushed, her hair falling onto Dorcas’s face. She surprised herself with her ferocity.

  Dorcas was a sight sitting in the bath. Her heavy eye make-up was smudged like a one-eyed panda. Inwardly Frannie rejoiced.

  But then her womb hurt as if someone had struck her from within. She clutched a hand to her stomach. She let go of the shower attachment and it clunked in the bath.

  ‘Ow!’ screamed Dorcas, her hands rushing to her forehead. ‘That hit me on the head.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ said Frannie, but there was no conviction in her voice. She waddled slowly to the bed and tried to lie back down, find a comfortable spot, but the pain continued. It was like nothing she’d felt before. She could feel the blood rushing to her head and had no idea what to do. Maybe this was normal at the end of a pregnancy.

  She watched Dorcas climb out of the bath like a long-legged spider extracting itself. She walked slowly to the bed. Frannie noticed again how fine-boned she was; the way she practically glided across the floor. The other woman’s presence maddened her. Dorcas stood there with her hands on her hips.

  ‘If we find out where Stefan lives, we’ll get the evidence,’ said Dorcas. Her hard face was resolute. ‘Then everything goes back to normal.’

  ‘I’ve left my husband,’ said Frannie sarcastically. ‘I’ve left normal.’

  ‘And I’ve left Hans,’ said Dorcas with a smirk.

  ‘So what?’ shouted Frannie, ‘He’s just a pimp!’

  ‘We’re more alike than you think,’ said Dorcas archly. She pointed her face at Frannie. The gloom accentuated her pointed features. She’d smoothed out her bob.

  Frannie glared at her helplessly. Why did Dorcas always look so bloody invincible? She was constantly pushing, needing something from her. And, being heavily pregnant, she wasn’t exactly up for a fight. She tensed as the next spasm kicked in.

  ‘When you were asleep I called a bouncer at Moonlights,’ said Dorcas. The coke had done something to her: she couldn’t stop pacing around, doing things with her hands. ‘He’s going to text me the second Hugo arrives.’

  ‘And you’ve got no idea when that’s going to be?’

  ‘’Fraid not,’ said Dorcas, who, after running out of things to do, had started unpacking Frannie’s things.

  ‘Fabulous,’ said Frannie sarcastically. She lay back on the pillow. The thought of having to follow someone without being caught, and drive at the same time, in a strange car, filled her with horror. It was harder for her to concen
trate when she didn’t know where she was going. She blinked, tried not to crack up. Dorcas was watching her like a hawk.

  Even though compared to her experience in the cornfield, she had a bed, a toilet and all the water she could drink, once again she was trapped.

  Eventually they’d put her on the floor behind the sofa. Elli was not moving much or saying anything. Most of the time she just had her eyes closed. Idly, Hans wondered if a coma was like sleep. Maybe she was having one long dazzling dream, a little vacation for the brain. Jeffrey Dahmer had tried to turn his victims into zombies by drilling holes into their skulls and injecting hydrochloric acid.

  But her neatly bandaged head only looked ridiculous. It looked as though damaging their heads was a waste of time. They didn’t turn into zombies or sex slaves; they were just broken. Kaputt. Elli’s plight irritated him.

  Dahmer – now there was a serial killer. Handsome, blended in, killed over an astonishingly long period until he let the darkness take over. Hans walked over to Elli’s limp body and spoke as if he was addressing a conference.

  ‘I don’t even know if I have the capacity for normal emotions or not because I haven’t cried in a long time. You just stifle them for so long that maybe you lose them, partially at least. That’s Jeffrey, one of the best.’

  He eyed her. Every few hours she got paler. Hugo had gone to sort something out, but he was taking his time. He wasn’t sure what was going on. It didn’t make much odds to him, apart from the question of the money, but there was some kind of problem with Stefan. The whole lynchpin of their operation was having a tantrum; objected, apparently, to the victims being maltreated. Idiot! He laughed to himself. These bleeding-heart types. Once you’d decided to kill someone you’d already done the worst thing you could to them. He thought of the Crossbow Cannibal: The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides. But people didn’t see that rationally. When it had just been Lars and him, things had been simpler. It was easier killing strangers.