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…

more scratching. And a nose pokes

if you gaze long enough into an

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come

*****

do you know what

her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one

label for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the

you're getting

her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes

“So?”

your

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

in her chewing, mouth

rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up

I assume you do want me to feed

come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're here every

not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only

“So, you're

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

arms, sits back in her seat, arches her

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

“Solana…” she hisses.

of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the heavy make-up, her colour has changed. White-faced, white-lipped, scarlet spots

heel,

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,

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

untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner.

not eaten anything like this for…

For how long?

Weeks? Months? My sense of time is

had

in a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the

soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m

on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto the

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