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…

faced down gunmen,

It’s just a rat…

more scratching. And a

gaze long enough into an abyss,

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come

*****

know what

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

where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the

sniggers. “You saying you're getting attached

have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition.

“So?”

I your

The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round

why do you

in her chewing, mouth hanging a little

rot,

want me to feed

But if that were the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once

“Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've

head, giggling. “So, you're my friend

a sex-slave when she was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry.

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

“Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my

“Solana…” she hisses.

some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the heavy make-up, her colour has

on her heel, she

premonition to know what's coming. Launching myself at the fallen food, ignoring the jab of pain in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments

camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the

bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a

not eaten anything like this

For how long?

Weeks? Months? My sense of time is

I had a

a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the

wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing and choking

on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255