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…
the dark openings, more scratching.
gaze long enough into an abyss, the
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
my case, the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come
*****
you know
from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of
a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms
sniggers. “You saying you're getting attached to
me...” Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a
“So?”
your only
of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back
why do you
chewing, mouth hanging a
was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up to the blinking
do want me to
a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're here
your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered
her head, giggling. “So, you're
someone's going to come and save 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 dig up potatoes for the rest of my life. Along with all
her arms, sits back in her seat, arches her
say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?”
“Solana…” she hisses.
working, she says no more. Instead, she stands, the 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
heel,
the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat in one hand, a cake with
adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth
only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half
anything like this for…
For how long?
I’ve no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time
I had a
empanada, then another, I ram
Too soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no
swallow, gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops
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