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 gunmen, soldiers,

It’s just a rat…

dark openings, more scratching.

enough into an

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

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

*****

you know

eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox,

in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms

you're getting attached to

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

“So?”

I your only

produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it

why do you

her chewing, mouth

you keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have

you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can

I do. But if that were the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a

only friend,

head, giggling. “So, you're my

You've not changed, Larry. I can see right through you. The same

arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows.

keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise

“Solana…” she hisses.

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 changed. White-faced, white-lipped, scarlet

on her heel, she stalks

chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from

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

bite taken from

anything like

For how long?

Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out of

I had a

then another, I ram

way and suddenly I’m no longer

to swallow, gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it

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