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…

Klempner jerks his chin to James, currently lounging against a wall, arms and ankles crossed. “I'll admit, I'm quite

Weeping and shaking. “Oh, God…

you planned to sell his

open. “James, is everything…” It’s Mitch. Her words stall

in the face. The vein

across, seizing her by an arm,

“I want to

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

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

with a finger.

on the cheek, then she sashays out of the door, throwing a comment

follows her with his eyes, then closes the door behind

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

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

a couple of bags, “Cashews

“Whatever you’re opening.”

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

he is opening up his box, “Thank you,

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

steel, polished, they glint under the harsh lighting. One by one, he inspects

James, then take my seat next to Klempner, knocking back a glug of beer. Then I toss back a handful of nuts before passing the bowl

Well cared

up to the light, inspecting the serrated blade. “That's because these are

my speech with the bottle in my hand, waving it in the air

not had any for

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

“Tuna.”

an inch thick when he

the sushi knife held, apparently casually, between his fingers. “So, Klempner, what exactly did you want

“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 me. But I don’t

and takes

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

Finchby’s shirt, then slices. The button pops off and he moves down to

sobs. “Larry, please. I don't know

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

his way up the inside sleeve of one arm, then the other. A slash across the shoulders and the shirt falls apart,

in hand, looks

your memory coming

“Larry, I don't know.”

waves in a carry-on

original. Face impassive, standing square on,

“No!”

You wouldn't want to jolt my hand, would

very slowly… he draws the

The most delicate of lines, drawn from the clavicle, centred down the breastbone and stopping at the navel. A

sharp, the cut too fine, to really hurt, but

to say?”

I don't know. I

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

“Nope. Carry on, James.”

shuddering man. “I told you. Don't move.” He meets my eye, holding it for a second then, putting down the knife, draws his

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