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
It’s just a rat…
openings, more scratching.
if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
and whiskers. I come equipped
*****
do you know
from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a
for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment to
“You saying you're
Don't misread me...” Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where
“So?”
your only friend,
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 fingertip
do you keep
her chewing, mouth hanging a little open.
watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin
to feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change that you
a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so
“Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone
head, giggling. “So, you're my
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 heartless bastard that shipped me out to dig up potatoes for the rest of my life. Along with all the others you did the same to. You’ve not changed.
her seat, arches her brows. “I
otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise
“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
her heel, she stalks
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
camera. It hardly matters. My
bite taken from the corner.
eaten anything like this for…
For how long?
sense of time is
had a
of empanada, then another, I
way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing and
gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it
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