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

breaks. Weeping and shaking. “Oh,

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

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

in the face. The vein

strides across, seizing her by an arm, propelling

“I want

you're not doing.

eyes cast between me and James. “Larry, I do believe these

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

sashays out of the door, throwing

with his eyes, then closes the door

then head for the cooler. Speaking loudly, “Want a beer,

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

of bags, “Cashews or potato

“Whatever you’re opening.”

tipping the contents into a couple of bowls, then stack everything onto a

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

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

he inspects the edges, testing them with his thumb. He chooses one, but apparently unsatisfied, takes a steel from its slot, drawing the blade along, sharpening

the table by James, then take my seat next to Klempner, knocking

set of knives, James. Well cared for, I can see. But they look a little delicate for

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

the bottle in my hand, waving it in the air as I speak. “You like

not

know, forget these Japanese chefs. James here makes the best sushi. That

“Tuna.”

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

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

In a low voice, “Your building is a write-off. And the police will be

Larry.” He’s babbling, his gaze fixed 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. He's done

head and takes his seat

impassive, places the knife on the table then chooses another. Not one of his ‘specials’, this one

pops off and he moves down

sobs. “Larry, please. I don't

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

one arm, then the other. A slash across the shoulders and the shirt falls apart, so

knife in

memory coming

“Larry, I don't know.”

He waves in a

standing square on,

“No!”

wouldn't want to jolt my

very slowly… he draws

centred down the breastbone and stopping at the navel. A thin trickle of blood dribbles down

cut too fine, to really

to say?”

know. I

Finchby.” Klempner waves his bottle

“Nope. Carry on, James.”

move.” He meets my eye, holding it for a second then, putting down the knife,

back of the shrieking Finchby, following the line of the spine. As he moves, slowly, deliberately, Finchby’s face raises, his