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. And a nose pokes

enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with

*****

know what Stockholm syndrome

over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one

condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner

sniggers. “You saying you're

misread me...” Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's

“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,

why do you

in her chewing, mouth

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

have to feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can

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

not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone

head, giggling. “So, you're my

someone's going to come and 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 you. The same

her seat, arches her brows. “I

keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze

“Solana…” she hisses.

of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the heavy make-up, her colour

heel, she stalks

what's coming. Launching myself at the fallen food, ignoring the jab of pain in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab

to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on

from the

anything like

For how long?

no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of

I had a

another,

and suddenly I’m no longer eating,

meal, I barf it up,

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