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, soldiers,

It’s just a rat…

the dark openings, more scratching.

an abyss, the abyss

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between

*****

do you know what Stockholm

She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her

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

saying you're

but I have her attention. “… But there's a

“So?”

I your only friend,

chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it

you keep coming

pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging a little

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

have to feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change that

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

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

giggling. “So,

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

arms, sits back in her seat, arches her

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

“Solana…” she hisses.

it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than

on her heel, she stalks

the fallen food, ignoring the jab of 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

to the green blink of the camera.

untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner.

not eaten anything like this

For how long?

idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of

I had a

a mouthful of empanada, then another, I

wrong way and suddenly

my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated

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