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…

watch what he does.” Klempner jerks his chin to James, currently lounging against a wall, arms and ankles crossed. “I'll admit, I'm quite intrigued

and shaking. “Oh,

pregnant wife. Tortured her. Humiliated her. Intended to use her. And you planned to sell his daughter for organs. Call me a sceptic, Finchby, but it’s my guess he doesn’t like you

everything…” It’s Mitch. Her words stall as she takes in the

in the face. The vein

arm, propelling her back towards

“I want

you're not

then dimples. Her eyes cast between me and James. “Larry, I do believe these two are rubbing

under the chin with a finger. “You won't

of the door, throwing a comment back

follows her with his eyes, then closes the door behind

head for the cooler. Speaking loudly,

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

couple of bags,

“Whatever you’re opening.”

stack everything onto

standing at the table where Finchby can see him. Glancing up from where he is opening up his box,

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

by one, he inspects the

James, then take my seat next to Klempner, knocking back a glug of beer.

cared for,

the light, inspecting the serrated blade. “That's because these are my sushi knives. I brought them down from the kitchen

my speech with the bottle in my hand, waving

do yes, although I've not had any

must make some for Larry while he's staying with us.” I turn back to Klempner, keeping my voice loud. “You know, forget these Japanese

“Tuna.”

It couldn't have been more than an inch thick when he started, but

sushi knife held, apparently casually, between

In a low voice, “Your building is a write-off. And the police will be all over it now. So, where's

don't. Maybe he ran. Maybe he’s just dumped me. Like he accused you of doing. He's done it

head and takes

places the knife on the table then chooses another. Not one of his

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

please. I don't know

him, well… what use are you to us? I don’t see either

slash across the shoulders and the shirt falls apart, so much waste fabric. He

pauses, knife in hand, looks to

memory coming

“Larry, I don't know.”

waves in a

Face impassive, standing

“No!”

Don't move. You wouldn't want to jolt my

very slowly… he draws

lines, drawn from the clavicle, centred down the breastbone and stopping at the

too fine,

to say?”

know. I don't

don't believe you, Finchby.” Klempner waves his bottle at me.

“Nope. Carry on, James.”

shuddering man. “I told you. Don't move.” He meets my eye, holding it for

of the shrieking Finchby, following the line of the spine. As he