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, soldiers,

It’s just a rat…

scratching. And a nose

you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

and whiskers. I come equipped

*****

you know

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

in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner

saying you're getting

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

“So?”

I your

of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs

you keep

her chewing, mouth hanging a little open.

me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up

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

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

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

giggling. “So, you're my friend are

think someone's going to come and save you, Larry? You believe you're worth saving? That there's anyone out there who thinks 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 did the same to. You’ve not changed. And I’m going to make

crosses her arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows. “I

changed. Who ever really changes?” I

“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.

on her heel, she stalks

in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete,

camera.

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

eaten anything like

For how long?

My sense of time is

had

then another,

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

barf it up, where it plops

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