Chapter 27
The Suns’ girls had only had a drink or two before they went onto the colas and water – their season wasn’t over yet. I had a wine or two and moved to non-alcoholic drinks too ... supporting my team unto the end. It was only nine-thirty but I was wiped out ... the day had been full of highs and lows and my knee was giving me a little bit of grief. I was keen to get to The Russians but I knew I would never have this day again. At least I wasn’t the first to pike though, Steffi and her boyfriend Wilson had left half an hour before and Aimee was looking ready for bed.
I made my way around to each of my teammates to thank them, and to wish them well for the rest of the season. We were all a bit teary. Finally, Aimee and I left together and Aimee was okay to drive, she hadn’t touched a drop, but I had left my car at the clubhouse and was going to hail a taxi to The Russian’s house. Aimee wanted to drive me, but it was completely in the opposite direction, so I assured her I was fine and saw her off. I turned to wait at the taxi rank when I heard my name called. I wheeled around to find Ken—my resident stalker—leaning on a car and smoking a cigarette. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I normally didn’t worry about my stalkers but The Russian had put me on alert.
“Hi Carla,” he said, “I thought it was you.”
“Ken, hey, what are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my distance. He leaned back on his car, an old taxi that looked like it had seen better days.
“I just finished work,” he said. I then noticed his uniform. “... just finished for the night.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you were a driver,” I said, with a glance to his car. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yeah, she’s not as fancy as some of the cars in the rank,” he said, “but she’s loyal and served me well,” he said, and patted the car door he was leaning on.
“Right. Well, I’m just finished for the night too ... I was celebrating with the Suns,” I said, and I waved my arm in the general direction of where some of the team was still hanging out.
“Yeah, I heard it on the radio. Congrats on the win and great game,” he said. “Need a lift?”
“No, I’m good, but thank you, I’m sure you’ve had enough driving for the night and just want to get home.” I started to head towards the taxi rank.
“One more job isn’t going to kill me, besides, it’d be an honor ... the car just won’t be as new as some,” he said, nodding to a couple of taxis in the rank.
I looked over and there was a line of people a mile long, waiting, and two taxis loading up. It would take at least another half-hour to get a ride.
“C’mon,” he stubbed out his cigarette. “It’s on the house, a gift for your end of season game, and let’s face it, you’ve given me plenty of entertainment over the years. I’ve enjoyed watching you play.”
“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t know what to do now. I felt churlish turning him down when he was clearly a bonafide taxi driver and I might have scored him if I queued at the taxi rank anyway ... but it was all a bit weird.
He went around and opened the passenger door of his car, and then returned to the driver’s side, slid in and started the car. He put the taxi’s ‘occupied’ light on. I went around to get in, slipped into the passenger’s seat and thanked Ken. I gave him the address.
“That’s my boyfriend’s place,” I said, making it known. “He’s expecting me about ten.”
“The Russian, hmm ... big lad,” Ken said.
“Yes.” I agreed and left it at that. At least we headed off in the right direction. Then I noticed I had no door handle. Holy fuck, there was no door handle! Had he taken it off when he’d opened the passenger door? Fuck, fuck, what do I do now? Stay calm, we’re heading in the right direction ... it might be nothing; it might just be a broken door handle. What you’d expect in an old car, I’m being silly, really.
But if I wasn’t ... I could see the headlines now: Suns’ Player Attacked by Stalker, or Why Did She Take the Ride? Not to mention all the warnings to kids – Stranger Danger ... if it can happen to Carla, it can happen to you! Yeah, no wonder I was a journalist, I was writing my own death headlines.
“So, long day?” I asked, trying to stay calm, and sound normal.
Ken shrugged. “I started about midday, so not too bad. I noticed you’re limping a bit there ... just got through the game, huh?”
I nodded and smiled. “My knee just had one more game in her. But yeah, it’s feeling stiff.”
He moved his hand over and grabbed my knee, I jumped a mile high.
“I’ve always liked you, Carla, you know that,” he said, and gave me a lecherous smile.
“Thank you Ken, you’ve been a great supporter,” I said, and taking his hand I tried to push it off my knee but he gripped tighter, then inched his hand further up my leg.
I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, I couldn’t believe I was going to be a woman who was assaulted, maybe more ... fuck, what was I supposed to do?
“Ken, you know I have a boyfriend,” I said, my voice shaking, “and he’ll be really mad if I’m not home soon, or if he hears I’m in trouble.”
He smirked, his eyes not leaving the road, but his fingers spidered further up my leg.
“Stop!” I shouted, startling us both. “Stop and let me out, Ken.”
He kept driving but his hand didn’t move any further up my leg ... I could see he was thinking. I slowly reached down to the floor for my bag.
“Leave it there,” he snarled.
“Then get your hand off me,” I said. “We’ve been friends for a long time Ken, don’t ruin this now.”
“You were mine before he came along,” he said. “He’s got no right to you.”
I swallowed, following his strange logic.
“Ken, pull over please. I want to get out now.”
He then took a left turn instead of a right and my heart raced, I think I was going to be sick. There was no one on the road near us, I couldn’t even signal for help, and we were getting further out of the built-up area. I reached down and grabbed my bag, and his hand swung from my leg to my face, hitting me hard. I was used to getting hits in the game, but I was unprepared for this, I felt the blood rushing from my nose.
My mind was screaming alerts ... I was more shocked than hurt, but I grabbed for my bag again, reaching in for my phone. Ken grabbed my bag and threw it into the back seat. I turned my back to him and swiped the screen. Ken’s fingers dug into my shoulders and he yelled, “Give me the fucking phone!”
I hit The Russian’s number, and thank God he answered on the first ring. His smooth voice welcoming and unprepared for my needs.
“Help, Russian!” I screamed.
Ken pulled over sharply and I hit the side of my head against the window of the passenger seat. He grabbed me and I kept yelling to The Russian.
“I’m in a taxi, Ken ...” the phone fell to the ground and Ken pulled me towards him, sticking his tongue into my mouth. I spat and bucked and tried to push away, but he was so much bigger. I was strong, but I couldn’t get away from him, he was just bulk. I was pressed hard against the door; the door that wouldn’t open. I started bashing at the window, trying to break it. I could hear The Russian calling out to me and then he stopped. I knew he would be getting help.
Ken pulled his tongue out of my mouth and yelled. “Fucking stop that, bitch,” he said, and pushed me back hard against the seat. I turned around to see if the back seats had door handles and they did. Thank God! I shoved Ken with all of my might—years of pushing weights had to help—but I could only push him so far; I was trapped in the front of his car just by his bulk and the small amount of space we had. He grabbed me by the back of my neck and I scratched and hit him like a cat. He pushed my head onto his leg, and I heard him undoing his zip. He was going to force me onto him. I grabbed at his crotch and squeezed until he screamed and released my neck. I drove a fist into his throat and dived into the back seat.
Ken was gasping for breath, but his arms flailed, trying to grab me as I was half in-half out of the front and back seats. I pushed through, opened the back door and ran. I didn’t have my phone or handbag, and I didn’t care. I pulled off my high heels, abandoning them and just ran back towards the turn-off and the main road. My knee buckled and I stumbled but kept going.
I ran as fast as I could and I prayed my knee would hold up. My chest was tight with anxiety and trying to breathe at the pace I was running. I kept going, in the dark, feeling the hard road on my bare feet. I felt like I had been running forever, all the time my hearing was finely tuned, expecting the sound of Ken’s car any moment. I knew he wasn’t fit enough to chase me on foot.
I kept glancing back and then I saw some headlights – he was coming after me. I left the road, ran into the thin scattering of trees along the side of the road, and threw myself flat onto the ground. His headlights wouldn’t pick me up now.
That didn’t stop Ken; he was driving really slowly up the street and had put on the large spotlights on both sides of his taxi sign. They shone into where I lay, but above my head. I stayed put, trying not to make a sound, praying that I would be spared. I stayed that way for what felt like hours, but it wasn’t. Eventually, his car passed me and went out of sight. I pulled myself up, staying close to the edge, in case he swung back again.
Then I heard a siren, a police car, but I still couldn’t see it. Had they picked him up further along the road? I started limping up the road in that direction. I could have cried with joy as The Russian’s car came into view. I waved him down, he pulled over, hurried from the car and grabbed me. He held me even though I tried to pull away, just to breathe. He released me long enough to check me over. I guess I didn’t look that good with the blood down my front and dirt over my clothes from laying flat on the ground.
“I’m okay, just got a fright,” I said, still in shock. I knew I was shaking, but I was operating on adrenalin. “He’s in his car, that way,” I pointed to the way The Russian had just come from. “I hit him in the throat and ran.”
“They’ve got him. You’re bleeding, limping ...” The Russian was saying.
“I didn’t encourage him, he was a taxi driver ... at the rank,” I started to justify myself, something I would never have done before my relationship with The Russian.
“Christ, Brooker, don’t even think that, it never occurred to me,” The Russian said, looking shocked. “None of this is your fault.”
“I lost my shoes back there somewhere, my phone and bag are in his car,” I said, still raving.
“It’s okay, Brooker ... Carla, shh, take a breath.”
I nodded still breathing fast, my eyes darting around like I expected Ken to come back. But, everything was quiet and still except for my breathing. The Russian continued to support me, watch me ... he probably expected me to become more hysterical any minute.
I shook my head. It had been such a great day and night up until then. A car’s headlights lit the road and I pulled closer to The Russian. A security van sped our way and braked suddenly on seeing us. Eddie and another guy in a security uniform jumped out.
“You’re safe,” Eddie said, exhaling.
“Thank you, yes,” I said.
“The cops have arrested him,” the other security guy said.
“Thanks, Jack,” The Russian said, and stroked my back with his hand. He left me momentarily to go to his car, and came back with a towel.
“What happened?” Eddie asked.
I told them the story as I wiped my bloody nose on the towel. I told them that I should have gone with my gut instinct, but it had seemed kind of churlish when he was a taxi driver, there with his taxi.
“Did he hurt you, or ...?” The Russian couldn’t say the words.
I shook my head. “He tried, but he didn’t get that far. There were no door handles in the front,” I said, my voice starting to crack as the realism of the situation began to hit me. “How did you get here so quickly?”
“You didn’t hang up. We tracked your phone,” The Russian said. “Eddie, can you take Carla to my house and ...”
“No way,” Eddie said.
It seems they all knew The Russian too well. “You’re not going near this situation Russian, not for a minute.”
I could hear The Russian’s teeth grind with anger. Every muscle in his body was hard and flexed, on alert and ready to pound someone.
Eddie—the voice of reason—continued: “Carla is safe now and you can’t ruin your career for a guy who’ll get his day in court.”
“He needs to get more than that,” The Russian hissed.
Eddie continued. “You need to get Carla home, and Jack and I will catch up with the police and let you know what’s happening. The cops will need you to make a statement Carla, but it can wait until tomorrow if you are sure there’s no, um, samples that we need?” he asked as discretely as possible.
I felt The Russian bristle with anger beside me.
“He didn’t touch me, but he tried,” I said, looking up at The Russian.
“If I see him I’ll fuckin’ ...” The Russian began and I put a finger on his lips.
“Sorry,” he said, releasing a long breath of frustration. “Let’s get you back to my place.”
He thanked Eddie and Jack and watched them head off. He lowered me into the passenger seat of his car, locking my door. As soon as he came around to the driver’s seat I began to shake ... delayed shock, I guess. He turned the heat up in the car and held my hand. We drove on for about a quarter of a mile before we came across the police car, Ken’s taxi, and Eddie and Jack with their security van. Ken was leaning against his taxi, surrounded by the men.
It must have gotten too much for The Russian, because he suddenly pulled over.
“Lock the doors,” he said to me and before I could stop him he was out of the car and rushing at Ken. Eddie saw it unfolding and he and Jack tried to cut The Russian off, but it was like trying to stop a charging lion. Ken started screaming for his life and then one of the police officers bundled him into the back of the car, while the other officer blocked The Russian.
Eddie and Jack stepped in, and it took the three of them to restrain The Russian. Eddie and Jack pushed him back towards his car; I hadn’t locked the doors, there was no need to. Eddie opened the driver’s door and he and Jack shoved The Russian in, which was no mean feat given the strength of ten men he seemed to display.
Eddie hissed at him, panting heavily. “Don’t fucking try that again, Russian. Take Carla home, we’ll deal with it.” He looked over at me. “Sorry Carla.”
The Russian started the car, his jaw locked and his eyes never leaving Ken who sat huddled in the back of the taxi, somehow managing to make himself look small.
“Seriously, get out of here,” Eddie said, closing the car door and blocking The Russian’s view of Ken. I placed my hand on The Russian’s, and he turned as if noticing I was still there. He swallowed, and the men stepped back as The Russian pulled the car away from the scene. When we returned to the main road, I completely broke down – all the stress and fear pouring out of me.
“Carla, babe ... it’s okay, you’re safe now,” The Russian said.
I couldn’t help it, I was suddenly terrified.
“I hate to see you cry, what can I do?”
“You’re here,” I said, between sobs, “I’ll be okay.”
*****
The Russian didn’t know what to do; he rubbed my back as I leaned over in the seat, and when we got home, he helped put me to bed. I heard him on the phone with the Saints’ team lawyer, asking him to work with the Suns’ team lawyer to keep this out of the media; I was hoping they’d succeed.
I slept fitfully and each time I woke, I was wrapped in The Russian’s arms, with him murmuring the words that I was safe now – he didn’t let me go all night.