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, soldiers,
It’s just a rat…
the dark openings, more scratching.
enough into an abyss,
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
come equipped with fists and feet. Between
*****
know
Interest flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin. “What
kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment to
sniggers. “You saying you're getting
Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes
“So?”
I your
you’re my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off
do you keep coming
pauses in her chewing, mouth
was to watch me rot, you have your camera
have to feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always
of potatoes and come once
continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that might get
head, giggling. “So, you're my
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,
her arms, sits back in her seat, arches her
mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have you
“Solana…” she hisses.
rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that
on her heel, she stalks
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 meat
to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth in
a single bite taken from the corner.
not eaten anything like
For how long?
idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is
had a
then another, I ram
soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing and
on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a
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