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…
dark openings, more scratching. And a
long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped
*****
you know what Stockholm syndrome
She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual
a psychological condition where, in a kidnap
you're getting
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
cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it
do you keep coming
mouth hanging
rot, you have
to feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change
only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon,
I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it?
giggling. “So, you're my friend
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
in her seat, arches her brows. “I am
I keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really
“Solana…” she hisses.
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.
her heel, she stalks
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
to the green blink of the camera. It
untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of
eaten anything like this
For how long?
no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time
I had a
of empanada, then another, I
way and suddenly I’m
swallow, gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto the
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