Klempner

My resources: The clothes I’m wearing. A notebook and the stub of a pencil: A book on herbal toxins. A small supply of sweet water. An infinite supply, for any practical purpose, of foul water, slime and garbage. And of course, one small potato.

I’d like to give in to despair. There’s something alluring about despair, something seductive. Perhaps I should simply not play Juliana’s game; let her kill me.

But if I’m dead…

Mitch…

My beautiful green-eyed Mitch.

So alive. So energetic.

So full of courage.

So vital.

Vitale

Stay alive...

So, eat the fucking potato…

I prise it out from its bed of sludge and slime with a slight sucking sound. It’s small; perhaps half the size of my fist. On the other hand, adhered muck aside, it seems sound; firm, mid-brown, no sprouts or green parts. I have a vague idea that I’ve read that green potatoes are unsafe to eat.

Hauling myself up from my concrete seat, lifting my chain in one hand, with the other, I hold my meal under the water inlet, thumbing away the dirt under the clean water.

Time to live…

And I bite in.

*****

With no warning, the light blinks on and without meaning to, I groan, hiding my eyes behind my hands.

emerges from the darkness. “Good afternoon, Larry. How are you? I do hope you’ve had the

cut neckline; designed to show off a figure

I don’t reply and she awards me a polite little smile, then sits, on her fold-up chair, hands neatly folded. She could be in school, waiting for a favourite teacher to begin the lesson. Or perhaps in the audience at some small town hall, for a talk on jam-making or how to grow dahlias. At least she could if Morticia Addams had ever

are we going

I’m fucked if I’m going to let her look down at me while we talk. She watches me, a touch of wariness in her eyes. Momentarily, her gaze drops to her painted line, but she’s well to one

my arms, lean back against

to

“What would you like to talk about? I’m guessing you have a selection of choice topics.” I pace a little, as much as

a bright little smile. “And…”

Fake…

Extensions?

must look after yourself. Exercise. You won’t do well down here if you don’t move about more than

Two days?

there anything

I pause…

Seriously?

“How about a cup?”

a weapon or a tool? Finchby and Baxter were stupid, letting your little bitch daughter get hold of a

difficult to get a real drink

to do with your time? Lick it off the

by your

won and you’ve lost. You’re mine now and we’re playing by my

for me, the police. By

her nose. “’Fraid not. You see, Harry Hughes isn't missing. What’s left of him has been found dead in his hotel suite after the explosion. And I made sure the police found some clues about you being near my apartment. With the number of bodies they’ll have found around there

My chest tightens…

“What clues?”

She sighs, stroking a hand over her hair. “I suppose they might decide you were involved with the gangs. But I think it's more likely they'll say you got caught in the war between the Wolves

onto her knees, her smile widening. “Either way, Larry, they’re not looking for you. You’re dead. Or the man they think you are

rigged that explosion just so you could plant a corpse to stand in

people wondering where you are, could I? That would

“Juliana…”

“Sola!” she snaps.

spit back. “How many have you murdered? There were scores of people caught

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