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. And a nose
into an abyss, the abyss
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
my case, the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle an
*****
know what
flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of
psychological condition where, in a kidnap or
“You saying you're getting attached to
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?”
I your only
napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it up with a
why do you
chewing, mouth hanging a
watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin
do want me to feed
the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're here every
your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that might
“So, you're my
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 you. The same heartless bastard that shipped me
back in her seat, arches her brows. “I
otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise
“Solana…” she hisses.
from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just
on her heel,
ignoring the jab of pain in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from
the camera. It hardly matters. My
untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have
anything like this for…
For how long?
no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is
I had a
then another, I ram the
soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing and choking and
scavenged meal, I barf it
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