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

you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

case, the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between

*****

know what

lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from

for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment to the

saying you're

head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome,

“So?”

I your only

produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into

why do you keep

mouth hanging

all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up to the blinking

do want me to feed you? We can always change

me a bag of potatoes and come once a

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

giggling. “So, you're my friend are

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 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 changed. And I’m

her arms, sits back in her seat,

eyes, I keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?”

“Solana…” she hisses.

it dropping

her heel,

in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete,

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

almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner.

not eaten anything like

For how long?

I’ve no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of

I had

a mouthful of empanada, then another,

Too soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no

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

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