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…

going to sit back and 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 to see what he has in mind for

Weeping and

speaks softly by his ear. “You kidnapped his pregnant wife. Tortured her. Humiliated her. Intended to use her. And you planned to sell his daughter for organs.

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

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

seizing her by an arm, propelling her back towards the

resists. “I want

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

and James. “Larry, I do believe these two are rubbing

jerks free, strolls back to Finchby, then scratches him under the chin with a finger. “You won't wake the baby, will you. I've just got her

then she sashays out of the door,

eyes, then closes the door

head for the cooler.

his feet, ankles crossed, up on the table.

a couple of bags, “Cashews

“Whatever you’re opening.”

couple of bowls, then stack everything onto a tray. “James? A beer? I imagine you'll

from where he

James’ ‘work area’, passing

a set of knives: stainless steel, polished, they glint under the harsh lighting. One by one, he inspects the edges, testing them with his thumb. He chooses one, but apparently

it on the table by James, then take my seat next to Klempner, knocking back a glug of beer. Then I toss back a handful of nuts

Well cared for, I can see.

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

speech with the bottle in my hand, waving

not had

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

“Tuna.”

when he started, but you know he sliced it so

casually,

voice, “Your building is a write-off.

babbling, his gaze fixed on the knife in James’ hand. “Really, I don't. Maybe he ran. Maybe he’s

shakes his head and takes

the knife on the table then chooses another. Not

taking his time, 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

I don't know

find him, well… what use

the inside sleeve of one arm, then the other. A slash across the shoulders and the shirt falls apart, so much waste fabric. He tugs it away, tossing it to

pauses, knife in hand,

your memory coming

“Larry, I don't know.”

He waves in a

standing square on, he sets the point to the hollow in Finchby's

“No!”

move. You wouldn't want to jolt my hand,

then slowly… very, very slowly… he draws the blade

from the clavicle, centred down the breastbone and stopping at

cut too fine, to

to say?”

don't know. I don't

believe you, Finchby.” Klempner waves his bottle at me. “Do you believe him,

“Nope. Carry on, James.”

move.” He meets my eye, holding

it down the back of the shrieking Finchby, following the line