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 used…

Left-handed…

gives him an

practice against right-handers. I've

stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

his neck but as

on my advantage, I bully forward, reaching

with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he doesn't

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

swerves away from my

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to avoid slicing the silly

my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

as his

The rasp of

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

me, grinning maniacally, he hovers, enjoying his

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

My Glock?

and aiming for my forehead,

not use the

the balls for

swing round wildly, one

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and to Baxter’s

Is this it?

this time… this is how

ways I could have died

for something I didn’t actually

Live by the sword…

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

don’t think I’m

but the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes

My throat tightens…

and contempt in equal

know

eyes swing to its owner.

to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just

hair tumbles gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But

I have never seen her dressed like this, not

curved to strike a pose. And with an eye on

a finger into the loop

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