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…

the dark openings, more scratching. And

an abyss, the abyss will gaze

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle

*****

you know

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

where, in a kidnap or

“You saying you're getting attached to

misread me...” Her head tilts. 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

of chocolate cracks off the

you

chewing, mouth hanging a little open.

me rot, you have your camera there.” I

I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always

reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or

and swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've

head, giggling. “So, you're my friend

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 the others you did the same to. You’ve not

seat, arches her

have changed. Who

“Solana…” she hisses.

scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the heavy

heel, she

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 filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat in one hand, a cake with

eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on

almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of

eaten anything like this for…

For how long?

My sense

had a

in a mouthful of empanada, then another, I

Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating,

I barf it up,

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