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
into an
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle an
*****
you know what Stockholm syndrome
flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox,
kidnap or hostage
sniggers. “You saying you're
“… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes
“So?”
your
produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs
you
her chewing, mouth hanging a little open.
coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera
feed you. I assume you do want me
reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or
and swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that
giggling. “So, you're my friend
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
back in her seat, arches
eyes, I keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into
“Solana…” she hisses.
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
her heel,
the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat in one hand, a cake with
my eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters.
delicacy is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a
anything like
For how long?
idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out
had
empanada, then another, I ram the food
pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m
on my scavenged meal, I barf it up,
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