Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Chapter 15

Klempner

Although I can hear chaos from down the stairs, up here now, it’s quiet. There’s no-one in the dance room.

In the pool room, the only sound is the crunching of glass under my boots. I carry on to Finchby’s office.

All empty?

It seems so.

The time?

Time to go.

Except… as I’m about to turn and leave a girl, I see her; barely a teenager, some variety of Asian, Indian perhaps. Streaming tears, she skitters out from behind the desk, making for the kitchen.

I follow her and she cringes back into the corner. I offer my hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You have to leave.”

She babbles at me in I’ve-no-idea-what language, then abruptly, her face swings up to mine and fingers outstretched, leaps up at me, clawing at my face. Reflexively, I jerk back, and she bolts past me and out, back the way I came.

Fuck!

I dash after her, but in the few seconds, she’s gone, vanished.

Where did she go?

Out?

Or somewhere deeper inside?

I check my watch… Three minutes…

Christ!

I have to find her… If she’s on the stairwell, perhaps I’ll hear her. I turn for the bar, heading for the stairs up and down, and there…

Fuck.

Baxter.

I reach for my Glock… And it’s not there.

Damn… When did I put it down?

Baxter flashes brows. And the knife in his hand. “Going somewhere?”

“I was planning on leaving.” I slip the knife from my belt. “Your friend Finchby has already left the building. I believe the money may be with him.”

“I’m not going to weep over Finchby. And I didn't do it for the cash. Well… mainly not for the cash. And I have my half anyway.”

We circle, eyeball to eyeball.

Make the first move?

Wait for him?

I move slowly, watching for the twitch of the hand. The nudge of the shoulder. The tell that he's going to stop talking and...

He slashes out… moves fast…

But it’s a feint and we both know it, calculated to draw a reaction from me.

Testing me…

My speed…

My reactions…

Younger than me...

How much by?

Ten years?

His knife...

maybe eight inches. Well cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives

against right-handers. I've done

Fast. Teeth bared.

follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

me and suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull back

lash for his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands in his

advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out with my

at his chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand is coming

rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

blind to me and Baxter, she charges

staggering back, my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on

…

his blade slices

The rasp

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment,

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out

My Glock?

my forehead, he backs

not use the

the balls

my elbows I swing round wildly, one way or the other,

There are none.

I’m staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and

Is this it?

this is how

could have died over the years, I’m taken

I

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The brain does odd things under extreme

don’t think

the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest of

My throat tightens…

and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a

know that

eyes swing to its owner.

to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just

over smooth white shoulders and frames a face

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch in

dressed like this, not even in

a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that

finger into

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