Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Klempner

Arranging herself on her seat she takes a plastic container and a brown paper package from her bag; a hold-all in a pale beige that, as ever, matches today’s outfit.

Unclipping the container she takes out a length of sausage and a knife, slices a neat inch from the end of the sausage and pops it in her mouth.

Chewing, she speaks through her food. “I thought I’d join you for lunch again today, Larry.” Stooping to her holdall, she rummages inside then produces the usual potato, then tosses it at me. I catch it mid-air before it lands on the uncertain hygiene of the concrete, cradling it like some precious thing in my palm.

Don’t fall for it…

Nonetheless, it’s isn’t easy to stop my eyes following her hand as she slices off another bit of sausage before popping it back in the box.

She watches me, eyes glinting. “Not hungry? Perhaps I’m overfeeding you.” Her gaze remains steady as raising the potato to my mouth, I bite in.

She gives a crisp nod and takes a small package from her lunch-box. Taking her time unwrapping the white napkin, she produces a pair of small batter-coated fritters. “Salgados,” she says. “Terrible for the figure, I know… All that fat and salt… but I can’t resist them. I thought about buying the shrimp ones, but I settled on these instead.”

Holding my eyes, holding one in both hands, she breaks it open. The batter splits with a crunch, releasing a wisp of steam and the fragrance of garlic and chicken. There’s onion in there too and I think I can smell parsley.

I gulp against the flow of saliva and take another small bite of my potato.

She nibbles at a corner of one of them. “They’re quite nice,” she comments, “but I’m not that hungry really. I had a big breakfast.” She regards the crisp delicacy, pursing her lips, then shakes her head. “No, I don’t really fancy it.” And she tosses it into the water channel.

I succeed in suppressing the groan but turn my face away from the water for a few seconds. When I turn back, there’s just a bubble or two and a small circle of ripples.

Juliana pops the other salgado back into the box “I’ll save the other one for later. Mustn’t be wasteful. Here…” And she tosses the grease-soiled napkin at me. I don’t try to catch it, and it flutters down to lie, limp and greasy on the ground beside me.

“I do like to have a dessert with my meal though.” Juliana reaches into her box again, this time producing some sort of tart. “Pastel de nata,” she says. “Don’t you just love them?”

Yes, I fucking do…

just a bite-sized. I’ve eaten quite a few from Antonio’s kitchen: crisp flaky

cinnamon plays havoc with my nose and my stomach gives

at the sound, chewing slowly on her sweet as

Think about something else…

sake…

pale pink today, she picks a fragment

lot to say. It’s not as if I can

You’ve got a book to

It’s not as if poison was ever my weapon of choice. If I wanted someone dead I’d

could bring you something else to read. But then, I didn’t bring you

crossed at the ankle, tucked tidily under the chair. She’s ash-blonde today. The make-up relatively toned-down, her eyes are shaded a subdued brown, her

white light doing its unflattering best, it’s obvious that her

Every. Single. Time.

beginning to interest

Where’s the real Juliana?

does she look like straight from

beginnings of

Leverage…

me ask you

“Solana. I’ve told you. Or

po-tah-to, does

She scowls, eyes slitting…

it makes you happy. But, whatever you’re calling yourself, my

fishes in her box and produces a second pastry: glistening

unsubtle goading, I stare back. “What