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…

scratching. And a nose pokes

you gaze long enough into an abyss,

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

I come equipped

*****

you know what Stockholm syndrome

something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin. “What is

in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment to the

saying you're getting attached to

but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse

“So?”

I your only friend,

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

chewing, mouth hanging a little

do you keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have

want me to feed

the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so

I your only friend, Sola? Is that

giggling. “So, you're

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

back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making you

changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face.

“Solana…” she hisses.

concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less

on her heel, she stalks

takes no 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 meal from

the camera. It

single bite taken from the

not eaten anything like

For how long?

idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out of the

I had a

a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram

way and suddenly I’m no

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

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