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
an abyss,
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle an uneasy
*****
do you know what
takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of
a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or
saying you're getting
no. Don't misread me...” Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But
“So?”
your only friend,
friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the
why do you
mouth hanging a little open.
was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up to the
me
But if that were the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or
only friend, Sola? Is that
her head, giggling. “So, you're my friend are
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
arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making
changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again,
“Solana…” she hisses.
stands, the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents 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,
heel,
the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the
to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth in
only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of
not eaten anything like
For how long?
Months? My sense of time
I had a
of empanada, then another, I ram
Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but coughing and
swallow, gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess
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