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,

It’s just a rat…

dark openings, more scratching.

an abyss, the abyss will

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and

*****

know

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

in a kidnap or

you're getting attached

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

“So?”

I your only

flake of chocolate cracks off the small round

do you keep coming

chewing, mouth hanging

wanted was to watch me rot, you

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

But if that were the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once

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 life. Along with all the others you did the

seat, arches her brows. “I am making you

to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again,

“Solana…” she hisses.

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

on her heel,

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

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

single bite taken from the

eaten anything

For how long?

My sense of time is

I had a

mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the food into

and

barf it up, where it plops

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