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…

scratching.

you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us,

*****

know what Stockholm

takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual

condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the

you're getting attached to

Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse

“So?”

I your only friend,

her lips. “Friend? You think you’re my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and

why do you

pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging

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

do want me

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

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

head, giggling. “So, you're

slated as a sex-slave when she was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I can see right

seat, arches her brows. “I am making

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

“Solana…” she hisses.

stands, the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side

on her heel, she

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 grab broken fragments of meat in one hand, a cake with the other before, with a click, the light

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

single bite taken from the corner. And I have

eaten anything like this

For how long?

idea. Weeks? Months? My sense

had a

a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram

the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating,

to swallow, gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated

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