Hot Revenge Box Set 4

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, soldiers,

It’s just a rat…

openings, more scratching.

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

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

my case, the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and

*****

you know what Stockholm syndrome

flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of

a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment

“You saying you're getting

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

“So?”

I your only

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 she dabs it

you keep coming

chewing, mouth hanging a little

to watch me rot, you have your

you. I assume you do want me to feed

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

chews and swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it?

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

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 dig up potatoes for the rest of my life. Along with all the others you did the same to.

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

my eyes, I keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her

“Solana…” she hisses.

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

her heel, she stalks

supernatural premonition 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

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

single bite taken from the corner. And

not eaten anything

For how long?

sense of time

I had a

mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the food into my

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

gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it