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…

openings, more scratching. And a

if you gaze long enough into an

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

I come equipped with fists

*****

you know what Stockholm

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

condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the

“You saying you're

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

“So?”

your only

You think you’re my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round

you keep coming

pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging a

keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up

assume you do want me to feed you? We

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

I your only friend, Sola? Is that it?

head, giggling. “So, you're

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

back in her seat, arches her

my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into

“Solana…” she hisses.

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,

on her heel, she stalks

at the fallen food, ignoring the jab of pain in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal

blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention

is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner.

eaten anything like this

For how long?

no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense

I had

a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram

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

I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated

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