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

Well used…

Left-handed…

gives

right-handers.

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

his neck but as he swings away, my fist lands

forward, reaching for his blade,

chest with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

he swerves away from my right hand,

rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

her.

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

back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on

…

as his blade

The rasp

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

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

vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead, he backs

use

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

I could have died over the years, I’m taken out by a shite

for something I didn’t

Live by the sword…

these moments. The brain does

think I’m

The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral

My throat tightens…

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

I know

its owner.

skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest

smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

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

I have never seen her dressed like this, not

curved to strike a pose. And

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

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