Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Klempner
Arranging herself on her seat she takes a plastic container and a brown paper package from her bag; a hold-all in a pale beige
that, as ever, matches today’s outfit.
Unclipping the container she takes out a length of sausage and a knife, slices a neat inch from the end of the sausage and pops
it in her mouth.
Chewing, she speaks through her food. “I thought I’d join you for lunch again today, Larry.” Stooping to her holdall, she
rummages inside then produces the usual potato, then tosses it at me. I catch it mid-air before it lands on the uncertain hygiene
of the concrete, cradling it like some precious thing in my palm.
Don’t fall for it...
Nonetheless, it’s isn’t easy to stop my eyes following her hand as she slices off another bit of sausage before popping it back in
the box.
She watches me, eyes glinting. “Not hungry? Perhaps I’m overfeeding you.” Her gaze remains steady as raising the potato to my
mouth, I bite in.
She gives a crisp nod and takes a small package from her lunch-box. Taking her time unwrapping the white napkin, she
produces a pair of small batter-coated fritters. “Salgados,” she says. “Terrible for the figure, I know... All that fat and salt... but I
can’t resist them. I thought about buying the shrimp ones, but I settled on these instead.”
Holding my eyes, holding one in both hands, she breaks it open. The batter splits with a crunch, releasing a wisp of steam and
the fragrance of garlic and chicken. There’s onion in there too and I think I can smell parsley.
I gulp against the flow of saliva and take another small bite of my potato.
She nibbles at a corner of one of them. “They’re quite nice,” she comments, “but I’m not that hungry really. I had a big breakfast.”
She regards the crisp delicacy, pursing her lips, then shakes her head. “No, I don’t really fancy it.” And she tosses it into the
water channel.

I succeed in suppressing the groan but turn my face away from the water for a few seconds. When I turn back, there’s just a
bubble or two and a small circle of ripples.
Juliana pops the other salgado back into the box “I’ll save the other one for later. Mustn’t be wasteful. Here...” And she tosses
the grease-soiled napkin at me. I don’t try to catch it, and it flutters down to lie, limp and greasy on the ground beside me.
“I do like to have a dessert with my meal though.” Juliana reaches into her box again, this time producing some sort of tart.
“Pastel de nata,” she says. “Don’t you just love them?”
Yes, I fucking do...
Small custard tarts, often just a bite-sized. I’ve eaten quite a few from Antonio’s kitchen: crisp flaky pastry, thick vanilla egg
custard and a dusting of cinnamon.
I resist the urge to reply, but the spicy fragrance of the cinnamon plays havoc with my nose and my stomach gives a betraying
groan.
Juliana smirks at the sound, chewing slowly on her sweet as her eyes dance.
Think about something else...
For fuck’s sake... something else...
“You don’t talk much do you?” With a long fingernail, a pale pink today, she picks a fragment of food from between her teeth...
“I don’t have a lot to say. It’s not as if I can tell you what I’ve been doing all day.”
“You said you like reading. You’ve got a book to read.”
“Solana, I’ve read your little poisoner’s primer from cover to cover at least a dozen times now. It’s not as if poison was ever my
weapon of choice. If I wanted someone dead I’d use a gun or a knife.”
“Hmmm... That’s true...” She speaks slowly, inspects whatever she just picked from her teeth, then flicks it into the water. “... I
suppose I could bring you something else to read. But then, I didn’t bring you down here to have a good time.” She scratches her
temple. “No, on the whole, I think I prefer the status quo. That way, when I come, you’ll be nice and attentive.”
She sits, feet crossed at the ankle, tucked tidily under the chair. She’s ash-blonde today. The make-up relatively toned-down, her
eyes are shaded a subdued brown, her lips painted one of those flesh-type no-make-up shades.

But the muted veneer doesn’t stand up to close inspection. With the lights turned up full and the harsh white light doing its
unflattering best, it’s obvious that her cosmetics are plastered on. No matter what her ‘look’ for the day, it’s dawning on me she
always wears a completely made-up facade.
Every. Single. Time.
It’s beginning to interest me.
Where’s the real Juliana?
What does she look like straight from sleep?
Something stirs... The beginnings of an idea...
Leverage...
“Juliana, let me ask you a question.”
Her eyes slit. “Solana. I’ve told you. Or Sola.”
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, does it matter?”
She scowls, eyes slitting...
“Alright, Sola, if it makes you happy. But, whatever you’re calling yourself, my question...”
She finishes her mouthful of tart, looking pleased as she wipes her hands clean of icing sugar. “Hmmm? Go on then. What do
you want to ask?” She fishes in her box and produces a second pastry: glistening golden-brown and topped with red berries.
Biting in, she makes a smacking noise with her lips, holding my gaze.
Ignoring her unsubtle goading, I stare back. “What comes next?”
Her brow wrinkles. “Next? What do you mean? Next? You know what’s next. You and I are having fun together... Aren’t we...”
She smiles, with a glitter in her eyes that spells anything but fun.
I shift against my chain, easing the clutch of the steel on my ankle. “No, that’s not what I meant. What I mean is, what comes
after me? As far as I can see, you’ve dedicated much of your adult life to tracking me down. You talk as though revenging

yourself on me has been your life’s work. Alright, you’ve won...”
Her smile grows...
“... You have me and you can do what you want with me...
“... But what comes next for you? After you've had your payback. After you’ve finished with me, what are you going to do? You’re
still a young woman. What will you do with the rest of your life?”
Her face falls slack. Her mouth opens, then closes again.
She doesn’t know?
She really never thought beyond her revenge on me?
“So... there’s nothing else? Is that it? The end of all your ambitions? Tormenting me for as long as it lasts and filling your room
with pointless bling?”
Silent, she gazes at me, blinking rapidly.
“Solana?”
Still, she says nothing.
Then abruptly, she flings what’s left of her lunch into the water. Retrieving her bag, she rises from her seat....
“Sola...”
.... turns and leaves, vanishing into the dark passage.
And the lights blink out.
*****