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…

the dark openings, more scratching. And a nose pokes

if you gaze long enough into an

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet.

*****

do you know

something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual

label for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage

“You saying you're getting

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

“So?”

I your only

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 her

you

her chewing, mouth hanging a little

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

assume you do want me to

reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week.

chews and swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that

swings her head, giggling. “So, you're

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

seat, arches her brows. “I am making you

not claiming to have changed. Who ever

“Solana…” she hisses.

her 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

on her heel,

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

the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention

from the corner. And I have half of

anything like

For how long?

I’ve no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is

had

mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the food

and suddenly I’m no longer eating,

gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in

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