Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Chapter 52

Klempner

What's the obsession with potatoes?

I called her Potato Face when she was a kid.

What does she look like now?

Jenny was no looker at that age…

… But she matured. Bloomed.

Juliana... Never the same twice.

I scratch at my beard. I’ve never liked facial hair in hot climates, but I don’t have a choice right now. Even so, the flourishing colony of lice that has stowed aboard adds an extra edge of irritation.

Lice…

Where the fuck did they come from?

Can rat lice live on humans?

Having a fucking good go at it…

I catch one, squeezing the revolting thing between my fingernails. It bursts with a Pop!

Only another 999 to go…

*****

The boredom’s the worst. Endless hours. Endless days and nights. I’ve no idea how long.

The only breaks in the monotony are Juliana’s visits: just long enough to sit, eat something at me, toss a potato at me.

No, not Juliana: Solana.

Why's she so obsessed with the name?

How many names have I used over the years? Worn like a suit of clothes to be discarded when the weather changes and something different is needed.

I’ve never been defined by my name.

But she sees it differently…

Something skritches and I jerk a look sidelong

It’s a rat…

Just a rat…

down

It’s just a rat…

dark openings, more scratching. And

long enough into an

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle

*****

know what Stockholm syndrome

over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin.

psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the

saying you're getting attached

misread me...” Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition.

“So?”

I your

flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the

do you keep coming

pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging a

do you keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have

me to feed you?

I do. But if that were the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I

me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is

“So, you're

you're worth it? The daughter you had slated as a sex-slave when she was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I can see right through you. The same heartless bastard that shipped me out to dig up potatoes for the rest of my life. Along with all the others you

back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making you

my eyes, I keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who

“Solana…” she hisses.

mouth working, she says no more. Instead, she stands, the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the heavy make-up, her colour has changed. White-faced, white-lipped, scarlet

her heel,

discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat in

eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera. It

is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a fruit

anything like this for…

For how long?

Months? My sense

I had

a mouthful of empanada, then another,

much. Too soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but

barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto the

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