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

against right-handers.

Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils

through, but I grab him by the arm. We

close, I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

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

grins, then grunts as I lash for his neck but as he swings

advantage, I bully forward, reaching

hand and

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

As he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand is

the rib cage and

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her. The Indian

pelting for the exit, apparently blind to me and Baxter, she charges between

back, my

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling for

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

as his blade

rasp

metallic tang

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife

vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

aiming for my forehead, he

not use the

the balls

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

There are none.

straight up the barrel of

Is this it?

all this time… this is how I

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

for something I

Live by the sword…

how the mind works at these moments. The brain does odd

don’t think I’m

close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision

My throat tightens…

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

I know

its owner. So

close to six feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch and the zip-front leather vest

over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with

“Mitch?”

admit it. I

So does Baxter.

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

I have never seen her dressed like this, not even

strike a pose. And with an eye on Baxter that dares him to

tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and

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