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 used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives

practice against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast.

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

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

breaks away, dancing back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I pull back recovering my

lash for his neck but as he

following up on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching for his blade,

his chest with my right hand and he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

well-practised. As he swerves away from

rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter,

staggering back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

My gasp as his blade slices

rasp of shredding

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

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

he reaches into his jacket, he

My Glock?

for my

not use the

the

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

There are none.

I’m staring straight up the barrel of my

Is this it?

all this time… this is

the ways I could have died over

for something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain

think I’m

The rest of the world vanishes around me. My

My throat tightens…

and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed man. And

know

swing to its

six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt

frames a face made up

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch

never seen her dressed like this, not even in her ‘professional’

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

zipper tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger

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