Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Michael

The Ahhh marches across Klempner's face.

Footsteps sound outside, drawing closer and James re-enters.

In a few minutes, he’s changed. From the winter woollens, heavy jeans and boots he was wearing before, he changed into a fresh shirt, suit and polished shoes. His face is clean, barring the swollen eye, and he’s combed his hair. And under one arm, he’s carrying a wooden box. For a second, I can’t think what it is. Then I realise…

To me, this is just my old friend James.

But what will Finchby see?

He flashes a glance at the still unconscious man. “How long before he wakes up?”

Klempner rocks a hand. “I didn’t give him much. Anytime now. Within the next few minutes certainly.”

“Good. Michael…” He snaps fingers towards the cooler. “Ice bucket.” Then he aims a finger towards the table behind our dangling houseguest.

And now I know what he has in mind.

I grin. “My pleasure.”

Klempner, obviously bemused, watches in silence as I scoop ice into the bucket and add water. I place it on the table and James drops in his toys into the chinking mix.

A groan…

Finchby stirs. “What…?”

I eye-point Klempner to a chair. He’s sucking in a smile as he takes his place in the ‘viewing gallery’.

“What’s going on?” Finchby’s eyes blink open, hazy and unfocussed, then his face sharpens as realisation penetrates. His eyes fling wide, showing the whites. “Christ…” Struggling against the restraints, he writhes and twists. But he’s going nowhere.

His eyes settle on Klempner. “Hey… Larry…” He tries for a cheesy grin but fails.

Is he going to piss himself?

Klempner smiles pleasantly. “Afternoon, Finchby. Good to see you’re back with us. Comfortable?”

The man is pasty, his breath short and quick. “Hey, Larry, what are you playing at? It wasn't personal. It was business. You know how it is.”

Klempner lifts his chin, eyes narrowing. Standing, he stalks a few paces to stand by Finchby, speaking to the side of his face.

“Yes, I do know how it is. And for coming after me, I'd have simply slit your throat and called it evens…”

Finchby’s breathing shudders…

“… But it stopped being business the moment you took my daughter and chained her up in your dungeon of a cell. You imprisoned her in conditions calculated to make her sick and to risk her child. You made it your business to demean and humiliate her…”

He draws breath. Any trace of compassion slides from his expression. For the first time, the fury shows. His voice morphs to a hiss.

“… And you planned to sell my granddaughter for parts? This stopped being business some while ago, Finchby. This is very definitely personal.”

Finchby hangs, lungs jerking and juddering. He blinks rapidly, moisture gleaming at the corners of his eyes.

He tries to speak, his throat working, then tries again. “What are you going to do, Larry?”

Abruptly, Klempner’s pleasant expression pastes back into place. “Nothing. Nothing at all…”

Finchby pants, quick shallow breaths, eyes darting here and there…

James, currently lounging against a wall, arms and ankles crossed. “I'll admit, I'm quite intrigued to see what he has in mind

Weeping and shaking.

you planned to

open. “James, is everything…” It’s Mitch. Her words stall as she takes in

close; staring him in the face. The vein at her neck throbs. “What are you going to

seizing her by an arm,

resists. “I want

but I can tell you what you're not doing. And you're not staying here. Not for this. I'll throw you over my

hovers, then dimples. Her eyes cast between me and James.

to Finchby, then scratches him under the chin with a finger. “You

out of the door, throwing a comment back over her shoulder. “Have

eyes, then closes the

him to one of the chairs, then head for the cooler. Speaking loudly, “Want a beer, Larry? Or there's wine if you'd prefer

ankles crossed, up on the table. “Beer's good

up a couple of bags, “Cashews

“Whatever you’re opening.”

rip both bags, tipping the contents into a couple of bowls, then stack everything onto

he is opening up his box,

the tray on the table beside James’ ‘work area’, passing around

inspects the edges, testing

the table by James, then take my seat next to Klempner, knocking back

wicked-looking set of knives, James. Well cared for, I can see. But they look

“That's because these are my sushi knives. I brought them down from the

hand, waving it in

although I've not had any for

voice loud. “You know, forget these Japanese chefs. James

“Tuna.”

he started,

sushi knife held, apparently casually, between his fingers. “So, Klempner, what exactly did you want to ask

is a write-off. And the police will be all over it

ran. Maybe he’s just dumped me. Like he accused you of doing. He's done it

shakes his head and takes his seat again. “All yours,

chooses another. Not one of his

he eases the blade under the top button of Finchby’s shirt, then slices. The button pops off and he moves down to the next. One at a time,

please. I don't

that. And if you really don’t know where we can find him, well… what use are you

one arm, then the other. A slash across the shoulders and the shirt falls apart, so much waste fabric.

in hand, looks to

your memory

“Larry, I don't know.”

He waves in

down the saw-tooth knife, picking up his original. Face impassive, standing square on, he sets the point to the hollow in Finchby's

“No!”

Don't move. You wouldn't want to

slowly… very, very slowly… he draws the blade

The most delicate of lines, drawn from the clavicle, centred down the breastbone and stopping at the navel. A thin trickle of blood dribbles down through scattered body hair

cut too fine, to really hurt,

say?” asks

I don't know. I don't

Finchby.” Klempner waves his bottle at

“Nope. Carry on, James.”

my eye, holding it

following the line of the spine. As he moves, slowly, deliberately,