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…
dark openings, more scratching. And a nose
into an abyss,
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
come equipped with fists
*****
know what
from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties
condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms
“You saying you're getting
She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes to empathise with
“So?”
your only friend,
cracks off the small round cake,
why do you keep
in her chewing, mouth hanging a
me rot,
you do want me to feed you? We can always
do. But if that were the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week.
“Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that
“So, you're my friend are
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
crosses her arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making
to have changed. Who ever really
“Solana…” she hisses.
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 less than white.
her heel, she
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 filthy concrete, scrabbling to
green blink of the camera. It hardly
meat-and-veg-stuffed delicacy is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of
not eaten anything like this for…
For how long?
idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is
I had
empanada, then another, I ram the
soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m
to swallow, gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in
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