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…

and watch what he does.” Klempner jerks his chin to James, currently lounging against a wall, arms and

breaks. Weeping and shaking. “Oh, God…

to use her. And you planned to sell his daughter for organs. Call me

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

standing close, very close; staring him in the face. The vein at her neck throbs. “What are you going

strides across, seizing her by an arm, propelling her back

resists. “I

Gripping her at both shoulders, “I can't tell you what to do with your life, but I can tell you what you're not doing.

hovers, then dimples. Her eyes cast between me and James. “Larry, I do

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

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

his eyes, then closes the

the cooler.

ankles crossed, up

a couple of bags, “Cashews

“Whatever you’re opening.”

contents into a couple of bowls, then stack everything onto a tray.

where Finchby can see him. Glancing up from where he

beside James’ ‘work

One by one, he inspects the edges, testing them

another bottle, I set it on the table by James, then take my seat next to Klempner, knocking

James. Well cared for, I can see. But

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

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

do yes, although I've not had

my voice loud. “You know, forget these Japanese chefs. James here makes the best sushi. That knife he's sharpening... A

“Tuna.”

yes, tuna. It couldn't have been more than an inch thick when he started, but you know

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

building is a write-off. And the police

know, 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

his head and takes his

then chooses

The button pops off and he moves down to the next. One at a time, he removes the buttons until the shirt

I don't know

do better than that. 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 paying for your

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

in hand, looks

memory coming on,

“Larry, I don't know.”

He waves

up his original. Face impassive, standing square on, he sets the point to the hollow in Finchby's

“No!”

move. You wouldn't want to jolt my

he draws the

the clavicle, centred down the breastbone and stopping at

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

to say?”

know.

waves his bottle at me. “Do you

“Nope. Carry on, James.”

move.” He meets my eye, holding

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