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
It’s just a rat…
more scratching. And
long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back at
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
case, the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between
*****
you know what
her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from
the label for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or
saying you're
“… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the
“So?”
your
flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it up
why do you
her chewing, mouth
to watch me rot, you have your camera there.”
do want me to
reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're here
not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend,
giggling. “So, you're my friend are
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
sits back in her seat, arches her
I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look
“Solana…” she hisses.
scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less
her heel, she stalks
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
the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth in
untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner.
anything like
For how long?
idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of
had a
mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the
goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer
scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto the
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