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…
dark openings, more scratching.
into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle
*****
do you know
from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from
kidnap or hostage situation, the
sniggers. “You saying you're getting attached to
misread me...” Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes to empathise with
“So?”
I your only
The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake,
why do you
pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging a
me rot, you have your camera there.” I
feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change that
and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're
regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that might get close
“So, you're
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 not changed, Larry. I can see right through you. The same heartless bastard that shipped me out to
seat, arches her brows.
have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have you
“Solana…” she hisses.
tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of
on her heel, she stalks
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
to the green blink of the camera.
is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from
not eaten anything like this for…
For how long?
My sense of time is out
had
another,
and suddenly
my scavenged meal, I barf it
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