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…

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

and shaking. “Oh,

“You kidnapped his pregnant wife. Tortured her. Humiliated her. Intended to use her. And you planned to sell his daughter for organs. Call me a sceptic, Finchby,

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

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

by an arm, propelling her back towards the door.

“I want

your life, but I can tell you what you're not doing. And you're not staying here. Not for

James. “Larry, I do believe

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 to

quick pat on the cheek, then she sashays out of the

follows her with his eyes, then closes

for the cooler. Speaking loudly, “Want a beer, Larry? Or there's wine if you'd

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

up a couple of bags, “Cashews or potato

“Whatever you’re opening.”

rip both bags, tipping the contents into a couple of bowls, then stack everything onto a tray. “James? A beer? I imagine

where Finchby can see him. Glancing up from where he

beside James’ ‘work area’, passing around

one, he inspects the

my seat next to Klempner, knocking

wicked-looking set of knives, James. Well cared

to the light, inspecting the serrated blade. “That's because these are my sushi knives. I brought

bottle in my hand, waving it in the air as

do yes, although I've 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 Japanese chefs. James here makes the best sushi. That knife he's sharpening... A

“Tuna.”

inch thick when he

turns to the violently trembling Finchby, the sushi knife held, apparently casually, between his fingers. “So, Klempner, what exactly did

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

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

takes his seat again. “All

chooses

button pops off and he moves down to the next. One at a time, he

sobs. “Larry, please. I don't

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

slash across the shoulders and the shirt falls apart, so much waste fabric. He tugs it away, tossing it to one side, leaving Finchby

in hand,

your memory coming

“Larry, I don't know.”

James...” He waves in

original. Face impassive, standing square on, he

“No!”

move. You wouldn't want

then slowly… very, very slowly… he draws

from the clavicle, centred down the breastbone and stopping at the navel. A

too

say?”

I don't know. I don't

believe you, Finchby.” Klempner waves his

“Nope. Carry on, James.”

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

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