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…

openings, more scratching. And

say if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

I come equipped with fists and feet. Between

*****

you know what

takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one

in a kidnap or

saying you're getting attached

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 only

of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back

why do you

in her chewing, mouth hanging a

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

I assume you do want me to feed you? We

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

head, giggling. “So, you're my friend

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

in her seat, arches

otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever

“Solana…” she hisses.

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

heel,

fallen food, ignoring the jab of pain in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal

the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention

single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a fruit

not eaten anything like this

For how long?

Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out of

had

mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the food

wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing

barf it up, where it plops in a

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