Hot Revenge Box Set 4

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. And a nose

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

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet.

*****

know

takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a

a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the

sniggers. “You saying you're

her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes

“So?”

I your

a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it

do you

mouth hanging

do you keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera

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

I do. But if that were the only reason, 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 here

not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that

giggling. “So, you're

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

seat, arches

I keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who

“Solana…” she hisses.

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,

heel,

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 concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat in one hand, a cake with the other before, with a click, the light winks out

blind, my eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera. It

only a single bite taken from

eaten anything like

For how long?

Months? My sense of time

I had a

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

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

scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it