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
It’s just a rat…
openings, more scratching.
an abyss, the abyss will gaze
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet.
*****
do you know what
She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin. “What is
the label for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the
“You saying you're getting attached to
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,
my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin
why do you keep coming
mouth hanging a little open.
watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin
do want me to feed you? We
once a week.
chews and swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone
head, giggling. “So, you're my
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
in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making you
changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again,
“Solana…” she hisses.
The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the heavy make-up, her colour
her heel,
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
eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly
only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have
eaten anything like this
For how long?
Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out of the
had
another, I ram the food into my
soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer
on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops
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