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
It’s just a rat…
more scratching. And a nose
long enough into an abyss, the abyss
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
my case, the abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle
*****
you know what
Interest flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin.
condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation,
sniggers. “You saying you're getting
She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's
“So?”
your only
cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it up
do you keep coming
in her chewing, mouth
wanted was to watch me rot, you
you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change
and come once a week. Or even, once
regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered
head, giggling. “So, you're my friend are
she was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I can see
her seat,
eyes, I keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my
“Solana…” she hisses.
The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side
on her heel, she
the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal
adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth in my
meat-and-veg-stuffed delicacy is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have
not eaten anything like
For how long?
idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out of the
I had a
of empanada, then another, I ram the food into
soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly
I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto the
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