Play Nice

The black snake of road meanders ahead through the expanse of forest, as far as the eye can see. Dense trees hurtle past, blurring and melding together, creating the illusion that the car is standing still and the trees are rushing past. Greg drives in silence with only the sound of the road as his companion. His eyes occasionally abandon the windscreen to peer intently into passing lay-bys, the car slowing as his eyes rake the enclosure until the trees once again guard the occupants from view. The young women, girls really, loiter in the dusty car parks, clutching their underdressed bodies against the Bavarian autumn chill. They defy Greg by not looking up as he passes and are only roused into action when a lorry slows and pulls off into the track to stop alongside them. Greg passes three more lay-bys, slowing at each but never stopping. Next time, he tells himself. The trees eat up the miles as a road sign flashes past. 

Munich, 142 Kilometres. 

Greg finally pulls off the autobahn into a service station. Two girls glance up as he passes but do not return his gaze. The rest do not even notice him. Greg feels the heat building in his cheeks as he drives a lap of the car park. Sweating, he heads for the exit when he spots a young girl sitting on the kerb a few feet away. She is slouched ungracefully in baggy jeans and an oversized jacket, her blonde unwashed hair scraped back into a ponytail. A piece of rough cardboard propped on her shins begs, “Munich?”. Greg glances around and wipes his mouth before pulling up alongside her. “Hi. Errrrr…I’m headed to Munich, can I give you a lift?”

She looks up at him, one thin arm raised to guard her eyes against the midday sun. 

“W-w-what’s your name?” Greg stammers, after she doesn’t respond.

The girl looks Greg over, taking in his thinning hair and sweat-stained polo shirt. Her face is unreadable. “What are you going to Munich for?” she asks.

“J-J-Just work,” he replies, shifting uncomfortably in the driver’s seat.

“What work do you do?”

“I’m in sales, there’s an event there tomorrow.”

She is silent again. Her eyes roam over Greg and the car, flicking to the empty road behind, expectantly.

“So, look, I don’t normally do this, I just saw you sitting there. I’m not an axe murderer or anything, you d-d-don’t have to come with me, that’s fine.”

She climbs to her feet swiftly and swings her bag onto her back, striding purposefully out of view. Greg watches his knuckles whiten involuntarily as he grips the steering wheel.

“Lea,” her voice startles him from the open passenger window. “My name is Lea.” She opens the passenger door and slides in. 

Back on the road, Greg turns on the radio to cut the silence that fills the space between them. Lea’s slender frame is tucked in close to the passenger side door, her backpack forming a barrier on the seat beside her. Greg tries to glance sideways to catch a glimpse of her face, wondering how young she is. He feels sweat dripping down his sides as she catches his eyes on her.

“So w-w-what’s w-waiting for you in Munich?”

“Just visiting a friend,” Lea replies, curtly.

“A girl or a boy…friend?”

Lea turns to look at him. Greg stiffens. He feels butterflies in his stomach and wets his lips. Lea returns her gaze to the road ahead, his question unanswered.

“Not very chatty are you?” Greg presses, bolder now. “I only want to know if you’ve got some boyfriend waiting to knock my lights out when I drop you off. Boyfriends don’t tend to like me very much.” He grins.

Lea reaches over and flicks through the radio stations, turning up the volume as the news reader finishes a story and euro pop fills the car.

“What’s the event about then?” Lea asks over the music.

“What event?” Greg frowns, eyes still on the road.

“You said you were going to Munich for a work event?”

“Oh that! Yeah, yeah it’s errr… a conference on sales for the European market. I sell cars.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, the radio moving on to the weather forecast. Looks like rain today. 

“How did a nice girl like you end up hitchhiking way out here? Do your parents know where you are?” 

Before Lea has a chance to answer, they both jump at the sudden blaring of a horn from close behind. Greg jerks the wheel to rejoin the inside lane, the car swerving. His hands grip the wheel tightly and his face hardens as he lets off a loud ream of expletives in the lorry’s direction. As Lea looks down to fasten her seatbelt something in the centre console catches her eye. A photograph of Greg has slid out from beneath his wallet, she recognises the close-cropped unstyled haircut and drab glasses. The photo is attached to a staff ID badge, “Deutsche Post” emblazoned across the top. Lea’s breath catches as she notices the name printed beneath the photo. Sam Matlock.

Munich, 84 Kilometres.

“So where are you from? I can tell from your accent you’re not from around here?” Lea asks.

“London originally, but I moved to Hamburg for work a few years ago.”

“Ach, Sie müssen jetzt gelernt haben, Deutsch zu sprechen?”

Greg stiffened. “W-w-what was that? Sorry it’s so loud in here I didn’t catch that.” Greg turns off the radio.

“Oh, never mind.”

Greg turns to look at her, the heat rising to his face and his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Are you taking the piss? W-w-what was that you just said to me?” Lea recoils as she feels spittle hit her skin, his voice raised now.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that to come out in German, I just said it must be nice to see new places!” Lea counters.

Greg looks at her pointedly. “I’ve gone out of my w-w-way to be nice to you, the least you can do is repay me with a little conversation. W-w-why don’t you tell me about your boyfriend to make it up to me” Greg spat.

Lea kept her gaze straight ahead, but could feel his eyes pressing into the side of her face. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m just going to stay with a friend from school.”

“Yeah right. You girls are all the same, happy to smile and bat your eyelashes when you want something, but then slam the door in my face when I’m j-j-just being a nice guy and trying to get to know you.”

Lea looks over at Greg, her face ashen. “Why are you slowing down? This isn’t the turn-off for Munich.” She notices the shrill edge to her voice but fails to hide it. She unfastens her seatbelt silently.

The car continues to slow and Greg turns off into a lay-by. This one is deserted, and shielded from view of the main road by a low bank. The car comes to a standstill, skidding slightly.

“What are you doing?”

Greg unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face her in the front seat. ‘Now, that’s better isn’t it, this is our chance to get to know each other. D-d-don’t you want to have a nice drive together?”

Greg’s smile turns Lea’s stomach as his hand reaches out towards her. Before his fingers can close around her thigh she thrusts her seat back as far as it will go, knocking his hand away. In one swift motion she kicks out with both legs, knocking Greg backwards against the driver’s door. By the time he realises what has happened, she is out of the car and running back towards the road and disappearing behind the bank. Stunned by the impact, Greg stumbles from the car and chases after her, shouting “LEA!” as he brushes the blood from his nose. As he limps on to the hard shoulder he stops and stares. She is nowhere to be seen. 

Greg hears the roar of an engine erupt behind him as Lea streaks past, and he watches his car lurch back onto the autobahn. Without a backward glance Lea disappears into the traffic. 

As she drives, Lea reaches into the centre console and pulls out the staff ID badge. Sam Matlock. As she tugs the badge free something else clatters onto the console. She picks up the heavy dark object, its oblong surface is smooth and it fits neatly into the palm of her hand. Turning it she feels a button depress under her fingers and the blade springs into life. Lea drops the knife back into the centre console and turns up the radio.

Munich, 51 Kilometres.