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 cared

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives him

practice against right-handers.

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

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

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

back from me and suddenly I'm

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

I bully forward, reaching

slash at his chest with my right hand and he twists

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

from my right hand, my left

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between

staggering back, my foot skids

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

on top

…

gasp as his blade

rasp

The metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

his moment, the

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

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead, he

use the

the balls for

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

There are none.

the barrel of my

Is this it?

time… this is

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

something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments.

don’t think

close and huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

just the real man.” The voice is sultry, smooth, and drips honey and contempt in equal measure… “A hero with a gun and a knife against an unarmed man.

know

eyes swing to its owner.

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

frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

women offering their all. But nothing compares to

seen her dressed like this, not even

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

loop. She hooks a finger into the

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