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…

Thinks that gives

right-handers. I've

Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

sour scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

his neck but as

bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing

slash at his chest with my right hand and he twists away, still

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

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

the rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The

me and Baxter,

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top of

…

his blade slices across

rasp of

metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

enjoying his moment, the knife poised

reaches into his jacket, he takes out a

My Glock?

for my forehead, he backs

not use the

got the balls for

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

There are none.

staring straight up the barrel of my own

Is this it?

this time… this is

have died

I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

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

don’t think

the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The

My throat tightens…

contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against

I know

its

in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front

tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

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

dressed like this, not even in

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

an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into

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