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…

the dark openings, more scratching. And a nose

enough into an abyss, the abyss

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with

*****

you know what Stockholm syndrome

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

for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner

sniggers. “You saying you're getting

She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse

“So?”

your only

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

you keep coming

chewing, mouth hanging a little

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

me to feed you? We can

of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far

I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've

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

“You think 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 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 going

seat,

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

“Solana…” she hisses.

working, she says no more. Instead, she stands, the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that

her heel, she

up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to

eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera.

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

not eaten anything like

For how long?

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

I had a

then another, I ram the food into my

pulp goes down the wrong way and

gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up,

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