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…

the dark openings, more scratching.

you gaze long enough into an abyss,

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle an uneasy

*****

know what

over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin. “What

label for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage

you're getting attached

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 to empathise with

“So?”

your

her lips. “Friend? You 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 and she

you keep coming

in her chewing, mouth hanging a

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

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

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

continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that might

“So,

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

seat, arches her brows.

claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I

“Solana…” she hisses.

the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side

heel, she stalks

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 light winks

the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth in my

untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner.

eaten anything like this

For how long?

My sense

I had a

in a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the food

wrong way and suddenly I’m no

barf it up, where it

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