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 gunmen,

It’s just a rat…

the dark openings, more scratching. And

if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back at

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet.

*****

you know what Stockholm syndrome

over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox,

for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an

“You saying you're getting attached

pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes to empathise

“So?”

your

think you’re my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it up with a fingertip then

do you keep coming

mouth hanging a

you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk

have to feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change that

leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But,

regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that might get close to

giggling. “So, you're my

she was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I can see right through you. The same

her seat, arches her brows. “I am making

not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my

“Solana…” she hisses.

stands, the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it

on her heel, she

no supernatural 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 of meat in one hand, a cake with the other before, with a click, the light winks out and

green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth in my

only a single bite taken from the corner.

eaten anything like this

For how long?

Months? My sense of time is out

I had

another, I ram the food

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

I barf it up, where it plops in

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