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, soldiers,
It’s just a rat…
more scratching. And a nose
enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with
*****
know what
lunchbox,
a kidnap or hostage
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 called Lima syndrome,
“So?”
your
think you’re my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small
you
her chewing, mouth hanging a
you keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your
you. I assume you do want me
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
swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that might get close to
swings her head, giggling. “So,
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
sits back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making
say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze
“Solana…” she hisses.
concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less
her heel,
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
camera. It
delicacy is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And
not eaten anything like this for…
For how long?
Weeks? Months? My sense
had
in a mouthful of empanada, then another, I
goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing and
I barf it
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