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…

openings, more scratching. And a nose pokes

you gaze long enough into an abyss,

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

teeth and whiskers. I come

*****

do you know what

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

where, in a kidnap or hostage situation,

saying you're getting attached to

I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called

“So?”

I your only friend,

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 into her

do you

in her chewing, mouth hanging a

If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my

me to feed you? We can

potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon,

only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that might get close

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

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

back in her seat, arches her brows.

claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have you

“Solana…” she hisses.

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 spots at

her heel, she stalks

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

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

anything like this

For how long?

no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense

I had

mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the food

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

barf it up, where it

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