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…

openings, more scratching. And a nose

gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

my case, the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped

*****

you know

takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin. “What

in a kidnap or hostage

“You saying you're

pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's

“So?”

I your only friend,

you’re my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she

you

chewing, mouth hanging a little open.

watch me rot, you

me to feed you? We can always

of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you're

your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered

her head, giggling. “So, you're my friend

finger at me, “You think someone's going to come and save you, Larry? You believe you're worth saving? That there's anyone out there who thinks 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.

arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows. “I

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

“Solana…” she hisses.

the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just

heel, she stalks

jab of pain in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded

camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth in

bite taken from the corner. And I have half of

not eaten anything like this for…

For how long?

My sense of time is

had a

mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram

wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing

I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto

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