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 used…

Left-handed…

that gives him

right-handers. I've done

Hard. Fast. Teeth bared.

the arm. We grapple. His

I smell

Sweat. Sour.

scent of

Not excitement.

Fear.

I'm overreaching… off-balance… and I

as I lash for his neck but as he swings away, my fist

following up on my advantage, I bully forward,

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

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

I’m not. Just well-practised. As he swerves away from my right hand, my left hand

the rib cage

Got you, you bastard…

her. The Indian

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

staggering back, my foot

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

arms wind-milling

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

…

his

The rasp of

metallic

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his

at the vein, he reaches into his jacket,

My Glock?

my forehead, he

use

the

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

There are none.

barrel of my own fucking gun and to

Is this it?

this time… this is

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

for something I

Live by the sword…

works at these moments. The brain

think

the muzzle of the gun looms close and huge. The

My throat tightens…

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

know that

eyes swing to its owner. So do

The matching skirt just

smooth white shoulders and frames a

“Mitch?”

it.

So does Baxter.

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

seen her dressed like this, not

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

a finger into the loop

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