Hot Revenge Box Set 2

James

Klempner pauses, sucking at his teeth, eyes vacant for a moment. Then he head-jerks up the stairs. “Keep going. I’ll be right behind you.” Then he reverses and, to the sound of running footsteps vanishes back the way we came.

“Klempner… where…?” But he’s gone.

Michael meets my eyes but doesn’t comment, simply heading upwards, Charlotte clinging to his neck with one arm, and to Cara with the other.

I follow. “You know the way out?”

He talks back over his shoulder. “Not sure. Finchby’s office is just up here.”

“Great. From there, out through the pool room, across the dance floor and out down the stairs.”

He grunts acknowledgement, stepping up his pace.

At the top of the stairs, now on the level, Charlotte and Cara in his arms, Michael goes through the office and past the pool room bar at speed. Ahead of us, women mill.

“Downstairs,” I yell, but none of them seems to understand English. The multi-coloured glare of the dance-floor lights illuminates complete chaos. Customers are looking wildly in all directions, pulling their pants on, dashing for the exit…

Thinking it’s a police raid maybe?

Michael pauses, looking around. “Which way?”

“There.” I point towards the stairs I entered by the first time I came here with Klempner. “Through that door then two floors down to the front exit. Go.”

leaving me hanging and wondering what

I go

the dance music, an alarm rings. The steady tone of a fire bell. Klempner emerges from Finchby’s office. “Your attention, please,” he shouts.

clutching what passes for their clothes. Clients too, some half-dressed, others holding up their pants at the belt. They at least know the way out, dashing for the exit. The women don’t, some heading for the back rooms. Klempner snags

this time

“Klempner, what’s going on?”

And quickly.” He glances at

???

fuck

out. Have

“No.”

find them, or we’re back to

*****

Michael

hanging to me, clinging to a wailing Cara, I run out

and my brain catches up with the fact that

me, a

Crap…

for a moment I don’t recognise it, but then I see the face. Richard at the windscreen, screeching in, almost on two wheels as, rubber burning, he skids to a halt in

other side. “Get her in the back!” he yells,

driver’s seat. “Michael. Get

clamber in beside Charlotte. She’s trembling violently, Cara clutched to her chest. She doesn’t seem