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…

openings, more scratching. And a nose

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.

*****

you know what

Interest flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of

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

“You saying you're

mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the

“So?”

your only

off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it up with a fingertip then into her

why do you

chewing, mouth hanging a

rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my

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

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 every day

speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only

her head, giggling. “So,

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. You’ve not changed. And

seat,

I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her

“Solana…” she hisses.

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

her heel, she

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

the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth

is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the

anything like this for…

For how long?

sense of time is out

I had

another, I ram the food into my

pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer

it up, where it plops in