The staked Goat

it down to my chin.
    ”Ugh, you need shave.”
    ”The price one pays for virility.”
    She giggled, but while she got it, I’m not sure she could have explained it.
    ”You have nice voice,” she said. ”I like talking with you.”
    ”You made me feel very good with the drug,” I said. ”And with your fingers, and Ups, and tongue.”
    She licked her Ups, giving me just a peek at the tongue.
    ”Too bad I meet Ricker an’ not you in Saigon,” she said.
    She positioned the knife, cutting edge up, just under my chin. Then she leaned over and kissed me, upside down, tongue thrust hard and often into my mouth. I’d never kissed a woman upside down before, but I did my best to respond.
    ”Mmmm,” she said as she broke off the kiss. ”Very nice.” She pulled back the knife. Break off kiss, then withdraw knife.
    She put the knife down next to my head and reaffixed the tape, testing it thoroughly. Careful woman.
    ”Yes, very nice. But I must wait for Ricker to get back. He want to watch.”
    She clacked away and started up the stairs. ”You MP, like Ricker. He say he let me be ‘double vet’ran’ tonight. You know what that mean.” She laughed, like glass breaking this time.
    A double veteran was in-country slang for a GI who, after having sex with a woman, killed her.
    She turned off the lights. I could still hear her laughing through the closed door.
     
    Jacquie was watching something on television. Not enough music (and too much noise with the muffled voices) for radio. I was still shivering, wishing I’d hit her up for a blanket on her last trip. Fat chance.
    I pushed the cold out of my mind and concentrated on Ricker. He, old Curl, and God knows how many other noncoms were members of a ”club.” Given the ”fraternal customs” I’d seen, the club probably centered around contraband. Black market in Vietnam and elsewhere overseas, maybe drugs on-post here in the States. Far-flung, but tightly knit, with a high gross revenue since noncoms functionally ran almost every operation of any outfit I ever knew. Disciplined, sawy, competent. An impressive international organization, in whose Washington offices I was presently cooling my heels.
    I was just about out of options. My bonds were no looser than when I had arrived. Even if I could get loose, my hands and feet were so numb it would be a while before I could move around or act effectively. My body ached, but probably more from the mugging and my present accommodations than from Ricker’s spray can and needle. I couldn’t see any way out. I couldn’t see even a way to leave J.T. a message.
    Mindful of the sensor, I arched my back as slowly as I could and rolled up onto my wrestler’s neck bridge. I didn’t hear Jacquie getting up to check on me.
    I scanned as much of the room as I could see in the shadow light. Nothing new. No cutting edge, no communications device.
    My gaze refocused on my hands. My right hand. My pinkie.
    I remembered Jimmy Cagney and Al’s little finger. I fought back a cold rush with reason. J.T. knew nothing of the special meaning of 13 Rue Madeleine. Also, since Ricker used Curl to make it appear that I had left D.C., I couldn’t imagine my body turning up in the foreseeable future.
    I took a few deep breaths. I spoke inside with Beth, getting some advice. I said some prayers. I waited awhile, then said some more.
     
    I saw the headlights’ reflection and heard the gravel crunch and car door sounds again. Ricker’s truck was the only vehicle sound I could remember hearing. He had said it was a deserted neighborhood this time of year, yet both of them seemed real careful about making noise. Knife over gun, taped mouth, promises and all. I had pretty well figured that Jacquie would remove the tape during her first efforts. I decided my last act (I couldn’t quite characterize it as a hope) would be the best hollers for help I had left.
    I heard their combined footsteps above. The door opened, and they descended the stairs, Ricker in the lead.
    ”Well, now,” he said as he pulled up the chair, ”I understand my bride here has sort of given away the rest of tonight’s program.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows.
    I just stared at him.
    He frowned. ”Oh, come on, now, Lootenant, be a sport, huh? You realize how many guys go out a lot less happy than that? You forget how many grunts got killed on perimeter guard, floggin’ their dogs when they should have been lookin’ front?” Ricker spat on the floor.