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,
It’s just a rat…
more scratching. And a nose pokes
say if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped
*****
know what Stockholm syndrome
takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin. “What is
psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an
saying you're getting attached
head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where
“So?”
your only
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 she dabs it up with a fingertip then into her
why do you keep coming
her chewing, mouth
you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up to the
I assume you do want me to feed you?
of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But,
“Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else
“So, you're my friend
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
seat, arches her brows.
say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have you
“Solana…” she hisses.
it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the
heel,
snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab
blind, my eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention
a single bite taken from the corner. And I have
eaten anything
For how long?
sense of
had
in a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the food
pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but
swallow, gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess
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