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

practice against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

for his neck but as he

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

my right hand and

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand is coming

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

out of nowhere, pelting for the 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

I go down...

on top of

…

his blade slices

rasp of

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

he hovers, enjoying his

at the vein, he reaches

My Glock?

my forehead, he

use the

the balls for

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

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s crocodile

Is this it?

this time… this is how I

I could have died over the years, I’m taken

something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

the mind works at these moments. The brain does

think I’m

muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest

My throat tightens…

and contempt in equal measure…

I know that

to its

six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the

shoulders and frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

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

dressed like

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

loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides the tag

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