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

Well used…

Left-handed…

that gives him

against right-handers.

Hard. Fast.

through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

grins, then grunts as I lash for his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands in

on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from

rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The

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

my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

on top

…

My gasp as his blade slices

rasp of shredding

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his moment, the

nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he

My Glock?

for my forehead, he

not use

the balls

swing round wildly, one way or the other, searching for

There are none.

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

Is this it?

time… this is

with irritation. Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

at these moments.

don’t think I’m

and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around

My throat tightens…

in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a

know that

eyes swing to its owner.

in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch

shoulders and frames a face made

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all.

dressed like this, not even

strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares

dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the tag

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