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
It’s just a rat…
more scratching. And a
if you gaze long enough into an
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between
*****
you know
her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her
in a kidnap or hostage
you're getting
She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called
“So?”
your only friend,
skirts her lips. “Friend? You 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 into
you
mouth hanging a little open.
do you keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you
assume you do want me to feed you? We can always
the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a
regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only
“So, you're
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
back in her seat, arches
to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have you
“Solana…” she hisses.
contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just
on her heel, she
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,
of the camera. It
is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner.
anything like this for…
For how long?
no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense
had a
empanada, then another,
way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but
meal, I barf it up, where it plops in
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