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 gunmen,

It’s just a rat…

scratching. And a

if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

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

*****

do you know what Stockholm syndrome

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

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

sniggers. “You saying you're getting attached to

have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called

“So?”

I your only

napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping

why do you keep coming

mouth hanging a little

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

I assume you do want me to feed you? We

only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even,

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

giggling. “So,

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 to dig up potatoes for the rest of my

her seat, arches her brows. “I

have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise

“Solana…” she hisses.

mouth working, she says no more. Instead, she stands, the 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

heel, she

up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab

eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention

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

eaten anything like this for…

For how long?

idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out of

I had a

a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the

pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating,

my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated

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