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…

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

breaks. Weeping and shaking.

her. And you planned to sell his daughter for organs. Call me a sceptic, Finchby, but it’s my guess he doesn’t

It’s Mitch. Her words stall as she takes in

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

seizing her by an arm, propelling her back towards the door.

resists. “I want to

can tell you what you're not doing. And you're not staying here. Not

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

him under the chin with a finger. “You won't wake the baby, will you. I've

of the door, throwing a

eyes,

of the chairs, then head for the cooler. Speaking loudly, “Want a beer, Larry? Or there's

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

couple of bags, “Cashews or

“Whatever you’re opening.”

choose?” I rip both bags, tipping the contents into a couple of bowls, then stack everything onto a tray. “James? A beer? I imagine you'll be working up a

Glancing up from where he is opening up his box, “Thank you,

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

one, he inspects the edges,

to Klempner, knocking back a glug of beer. Then I toss back a handful of nuts before passing the bowl to

drink. “That's a wicked-looking set of knives, James. Well cared for, I can see. But they look

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

my hand, waving it in the air as I speak.

do yes, although I've not had any

know, forget these Japanese chefs. James here makes

“Tuna.”

been more than an inch thick when he started, but you know he

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

to Finchby. In a low voice, “Your building is

on the knife in James’ hand. “Really, I don't. Maybe he ran. Maybe he’s just dumped me. Like he accused you of doing.

takes his seat again.

chooses another. Not one of his ‘specials’,

shirt, then slices. The button pops off

I

if you really don’t know where we can find him, well… what use are you to us? I don’t see either of these two paying for your

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

knife in hand, looks

your memory coming

“Larry, I don't know.”

waves in

original. Face impassive, standing square

“No!”

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

slowly… he

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 drawing a thin trail

too fine, to really hurt, but Finchby

to say?”

know. I don't

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

“Nope. Carry on, James.”

eye, holding it for a second then, putting down

long slow gestures, he draws it down the back of the shrieking Finchby, following the line of the spine. As he moves, slowly, deliberately, Finchby’s face raises,