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

right-handers. I've done

Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

him by the arm.

I

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

back from me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

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

forward,

hand and he twists away, still grinning

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

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

my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

his blade

rasp of

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment, the knife poised at

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

My Glock?

for my forehead,

not use the

the

I swing round wildly, one way or the

There are none.

up the barrel of my

Is this it?

this time… this

ways I could have died over the years,

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

the mind works at these moments. The brain

don’t think I’m

The rest of

My throat tightens…

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

I know

its owner. So do

set her close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest hugs a narrow waist and full

gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made

“Mitch?”

it. I

So does Baxter.

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

have never seen her dressed like

stands tall, chin lifted, one leg a little curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on

an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop

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