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…

scratching.

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

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

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

*****

know

lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin.

a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation,

saying you're getting

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

“So?”

I your

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

why do you keep

mouth hanging a

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

to feed you. I assume you do want me

that were the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once

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

swings her head, giggling. “So, you're my friend are

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.

her seat,

claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have

“Solana…” she hisses.

mouth working, she says no more. Instead, she stands, the lunchbox tumbling from 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 heavy make-up, her colour has

her heel, she stalks

to know what's coming. Launching 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

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

meat-and-veg-stuffed delicacy is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner.

not eaten anything

For how long?

idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out

I had

another, I ram the

soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but

barf it up,

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255