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...

eight inches. Well

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives him an

practice against right-handers. I've done

Fast. Teeth

him by the arm. We grapple. His

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

for his neck but as he swings away, my fist

following up on my advantage, I bully forward,

his chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from my

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away

staggering back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

gasp as his blade

rasp of

The metallic

Whose?

Mine…

me, grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment,

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

My Glock?

aiming for my

not use

got the

swing round wildly,

There are none.

up, I’m staring straight up the barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s

Is this it?

all this time… this

I could have died over the

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

moments. The brain does

think I’m

close and huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

and contempt in equal measure…

know

eyes swing to its

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

shoulders and frames a face made up

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

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

have never seen her dressed like

lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose.

open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the

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