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 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 shaking.

use her. And you planned to sell his daughter for organs. Call me a sceptic, Finchby, but it’s my guess

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

the face. The vein at her neck

strides across, seizing her by an arm, propelling her

resists. “I want

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

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

chin with a finger. “You won't wake the baby, will

of the door, throwing a comment

follows her with his eyes,

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

ankles crossed, up on the table.

of

“Whatever you’re opening.”

of bowls, then stack everything onto

the table where Finchby can see him. Glancing up from where he is opening

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

box: 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 unsatisfied, takes a steel from its slot, drawing the blade

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

Well cared for, I can see. But they look a little delicate for

because these

my hand, waving it in the air as I

yes, although I've not

forget these Japanese chefs. James here makes the best sushi. That knife he's sharpening... A couple of weeks

“Tuna.”

an inch thick when he started, but you know he sliced it so

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

Finchby. In a low voice, “Your building is a write-off. And

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

and takes his

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 at a time, he removes the buttons until the

please. I don't know where

And 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

and the shirt

pauses, knife in hand, looks

memory coming

“Larry, I don't know.”

waves in

saw-tooth knife, picking up his original. Face impassive, standing square on, he sets the

“No!”

move. You wouldn't want to jolt

very slowly… he draws the

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

the cut too fine, to

say?”

know. I

Klempner waves his bottle

“Nope. Carry on, James.”

Don't move.” He meets my eye, holding it for a second then, putting down the knife, draws his next tool from the

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