Hot Revenge 3

James

Ah, there he is…

Out beyond the French doors, Klempner stands out on the snow-covered terrace. By his feet, Blackie nudges the hand of the strange, grim man, and he reaches into a pocket, producing some small thing which the dog accepts and swallows.

Can’t handle having people around him all the time?

Let’s give him some practice…

*****

Klempner

From my viewing-point at the front of the house, I look out, down and all around. The view is glorious. Open fields lead down the mountain to the frozen and snow-covered lake below. In the bright sunshine, the place is startlingly lovely.

But I can’t bring myself to relax and enjoy it.

The mountain snowscape is beautiful, yes. Open, beautiful and vulnerable.

The cold bites, penetrating my several layers of clothing and regardless of what I might think of Mitch’s sense of humour, I’ve topped it all off with the hideous garment Mitch gave me for Christmas.

I’ve not yet fathomed why she chose to inflict the hand-knitted sweater complete with bobble-hatted penguin on the front, but since James and Michael wore theirs, I suppose it didn’t cost me anything to wear mine. And when all’s said and done, it’s helping to keep me warm.

Still… I suck in a smile at how Haswell was coerced into wearing his at the Christmas table. Michael preventing James from serving the meal until Haswell changed out of his suit and into the Santa-cursed pullover Mitch inflicted on him.

To my astonishment, it was fun…

I shiver. The knitted logo declares that ‘Winter is Coming.’

I shudder and tug up my collar.

Winter’s fucking come.

Cradling a mug of coffee to keep my fingers supple, I wait and I watch.

From indoors comes laughter, male and female. Music plays. It was all Christmas carols and glam-pop from the 80’s when it started, but now it’s shifted to some variety of soft classical. James’ choice probably.

Should I join them?

More laughter. Kirstie’s voice raised in, by the sound of it, some off-colour joke.

In a while…

Kirstie and Ryan, who stayed over Christmas, are still here, hatching plans for the mill they are buying for renovation. Haswell is helping them with the finance and James is weighing in on the architectural aspects of the project.

And although I am only a guest in the house, I’m happy they’re here: Ryan with his occasional pointed commentary and Kirstie with her bizarre combination of wit and careless mouthiness. But sometimes…

… often…

… I prefer the peace and the silence of the outdoors.

I scan around and below, watching for any warning reflection; some betraying glint that would tell me we’re being watched. Blackie pushes his muzzle at my leg and absently, I scratch his ears.

And there’s nothing more threatening out there than the glitter of sunshine on ice.

Setting the remains of the coffee down, I pace a little, make sure I can be seen, all the while rubbing my hands and blowing into the palms.

From behind me, a harsh voice. “What the hell’s that?”

I startle, spinning around. All my attention had been ahead of me.

James stands over the rifle I have ready and waiting, just in case. His expression is dire. “Klempner, we have guests.” He jerks a thumb inside the house. “Can you keep your toys discreet, please.”

“It’s a TAC-50,” I say. “Ideal for extreme long-distance sniping… Should it be necessary.”

James stills, regarding me, then looks around from the terrace, outwards and down the mountain. He takes in a long breath, then blows it out, blue into the frigid air. “You think Baxter might try to pick us off here?”

“It’s possible. He’s a decent shot. Not a great shot, but a decent one. He could try.”

James eyes the rifle. “And that…”

“That is a model used for extreme long-distance shooting. For my money, the best in the world. The longest-ever verified successful sniping was carried out in Afghanistan by a solider using that weapon. That was at over two miles. If anything suspicious moves down there, I have the range.”

James speaks slowly. “Klempner, if we’re vulnerable here…” Then his gaze sharpens. “You’ve been standing out here for hours at a time over the last few days. I thought you just wanted some privacy. Have you been trying to draw Baxter’s fire?”

I tap my chest, tugging down the neckline of the Christmas sweater to display what’s underneath… not that I’d be heartbroken if Baxter shot that fucking penguin… “Remember the Kevlar jacket?”

James’ jaw drops…

“… But to answer your question, yes. I’ve been doing just that. Giving Baxter the opportunity for some target practice if that’s what he has in mind. And there’s been nothing. If he wanted to take a pot-shot at me, I’ve given him plenty of opportunities. So, either he’s not here, or he’s not interested. Not in simply shooting me outright, anyway.”

More laughter spills out from the indoors.

James purses his lips, stares around, then turns back. “If he’s not there, then he’s not there, and there’s no point in either of us freezing our butts off out here. Why don’t you come inside. You can see what we’re up to with Kirstie and Ryan.”

“I’m not sure that’s really my kind of thing.”

“You don’t know until you try, do you? And you might have some contribution to make.”

*****