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 a nose

enough into an abyss, the abyss

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

come equipped

*****

you know what Stockholm syndrome

over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox,

a kidnap or hostage situation, the

saying you're getting attached to

have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes to

“So?”

your only friend,

skirts her lips. “Friend? You 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

why do you keep

pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging a little

watch me rot, you

you do want me to feed you? We can always change that you

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

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

her head, giggling. “So, you're my friend are

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

her arms, sits back in her seat,

otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I

“Solana…” she hisses.

lunchbox 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. Even under the heavy make-up, her colour has changed. White-faced, white-lipped, scarlet

heel,

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 a

not eaten anything like this

For how long?

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

I had

in a mouthful of empanada, then another,

much. Too soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly

meal, I barf it up, where it plops in

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255