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…
scratching. And a nose pokes
you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with
*****
do you know what
takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her
a kidnap or hostage situation,
saying you're getting attached
But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes to empathise
“So?”
your
chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping
do you
her chewing, mouth hanging
do you keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up
assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change
potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're here
swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that
“So, you're
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
her seat, arches
I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have
“Solana…” she hisses.
lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, 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.
heel, she
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 in one hand, a cake with the other before, with a click, the
my eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My
is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a fruit
not eaten anything
For how long?
sense
I had a
mouthful of empanada, then another,
wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing and choking
meal, I barf it up, where it plops in
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