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
It’s just a rat…
dark openings, more scratching. And
an abyss, the abyss will gaze back at
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle
*****
do you know
her lunchbox, unwrapping
kidnap or
saying you're getting attached
pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But
“So?”
I your only friend,
think you’re my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin
do you keep
mouth hanging
to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up to
I assume you do want me to feed you? We can
bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But,
chews and swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is
“So,
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
in her seat,
not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze
“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. White-faced,
on her heel, she
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
camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth
only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a
not eaten anything like
For how long?
I’ve no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of
I had
mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram
wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but
on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto the
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