The staked Goat

easy effort for a man his size, up the stairs.
    She turned to me and licked her lips. There was a rosy blush where he’d hit her. She began to rub the barrel of the silencer slowly up and down one thigh, then the other. She licked her lips again and stared at me. Her eyes were glassy.
    ”How about a kiss,” I said.
    She assumed her behind-my-head position. She leaned over and put the business end of the gun in my right ear. Then she smothered me with a wet, tongue-driven kiss, moaning throatily. Her breath tasted sweet, like marijuana, but given hours of semiconsciousness, my palate wasn’t exactly good litmus paper.
    She came up for air. ”You know,” I said softly, ”you could kill him and we could go away together.”
    She favored me with another kiss, still sloppy but shorter. She broke it. ”No, my father promise me to Ricker. Beside,” she said, straightening up as we both heard Ricker’s footfalls upstairs, ”I don’t think you let me be double vet’ran like Ricker.”
    Her husband stomped down the steps. He was seething.
    ”That fuckin’ drunk ain’t in his room! Or he ain’t answering his phone. And that fleabag he’s staying in won’t check on him.”
    ”Which one is it?” I said. ”Maybe I have some pull with the manager.”
    Ricker laughed, louder and longer than before. ”My lord, Lootenant, you do have a set of balls. You surely do.”
    He took the revolver back from Jacquie. ”The hell with the machine. If you even got one. The more times Curl goes to your place, the more likely he is to get spotted. Besides, even if he got the machine squared away, he still couldn’t very well call your clients and friends and pretend he was you. No, I guess we’ll just have to risk it.”
    He took his seat and nodded to Jacquie. ”You be good to my little bride, now, you hear?”
    His wife shook off her parka and swayed over to me. She was trembling, but not, I thought, from the cold. I had stopped shivering and started sweating. Profusely.
    Jacquie began undoing the last three buttons on my shirt. ”I’d like to take a leak first,” I said.
    ”No,” said Ricker.
    ”Shower and shave then?”
    ”No.”
    ”At least a little mouthwash.”
    ”No, Goddamn it,” said Ricker, his free hand awkward on his zipper. ”Damnation, I never did see a man try so hard not to get laid.”
    Jacquie finished with the buttons and pushed my shirt tails under my back and behind my neck. She was humming and singing to herself in Vietnamese. ”Jacquie do a lot of this in Vietnam, Ricker?”
    He had his own member in his hand, playing with it. ”Yeah,” said Ricker. ”Lots of guys. Lepers, mostly.”
    So much for even trying to get him mad.
    Jacquie slid my briefs down to my ankles. She backed off half a step. She undid her designer jeans and shoe-horned her hands down between the pants and the rump. She worked her legs and hips alternately up and down until she’d shimmied her way out of them. She kicked off her heels and stepped out of the pants. Her legs were chunkier than the jeans and heels had suggested. There was a six-inch scar on her right thigh.
    She smiled at me and reached down to tug up her sweater.
    ”Put your heels back on first, babe,” said Ricker, a crack in his voice.
    Jacquie complied. Her legs looked better again, dancerlike.
    She pulled her cowl sweater slowly over her head. Her bra and panties were black and lacy. The panties were crotchless.
    ”You like?” she said to Ricker.
    ”Perfect,” he said.
    She turned to me, smiling and licking her lips. Her smile faded, her face darkened.
    I had no erection for her. I had been picturing Beth, in her hospital bed and connected to a dozen tubes alternating life and death for her.
    ”Ricker, he not ready,” she said.
    ”Make him ready, babe.”
    ”Ricker...”
    ”Make him,” he said sharply.
    She slipped off her bra. Then she daintily plucked at the little bow that held her panties together. Her hand lingered down there a bit longer than necessary.
    ”Make him,” he said, his voice more desperate than sharp.
    She straddled me and lowered her shoulders. Her mouth was even with my navel, her breasts assuming the outline of my crotch. She began to move very slowly. Fingertips, breasts, lips, and tongue.
    She was very good. I thought of Beth. And the tubes.
    I heard Ricker groan and rise partly from his seat. Jacquie moaned to him and worked harder.
    ”He still no good.” Now she sounded desperate.
    ”Shit,” said Ricker,