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…
more scratching. And a nose pokes
into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
come equipped with fists and feet. Between us,
*****
do you know what
Interest flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one
a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an
saying you're getting attached to
her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where
“So?”
your only
“Friend? You think you’re my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake,
you keep coming
pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging a little open.
watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up to the blinking
feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change
come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far
only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else that might get
swings her head, giggling. “So,
hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I
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 again,
“Solana…” she hisses.
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 colour has changed. White-faced, white-lipped, scarlet spots at
her heel, she stalks
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
of the camera. It hardly matters. My
is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have
anything like
For how long?
sense of
I had a
a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the food into my
the wrong way and
barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto
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