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…
dark openings, more scratching. And a nose pokes
gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we
*****
know what
takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping
label for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the
you're getting attached
misread me...” Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's
“So?”
your only friend,
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
do you keep
in her chewing, mouth
coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot,
want me
come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're here every day
simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it?
head, giggling. “So,
You've not changed, Larry. I can see right through
back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making you
to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have
“Solana…” she hisses.
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,
heel,
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
to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is
delicacy is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I
anything like this
For how long?
Months? My sense of time is out of the
had a
of empanada, then another,
way and
gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where
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