The staked Goat

waved his hand. ”We haven’t touched him. He’ll probably come back here sometime tomorrow. He’ll find a broken window and door and a lot of blood sort of clumsily cleaned up in his basement. Then he’ll try calling Ricker to piss and moan about it. When he doesn’t reach Ricker, maybe our luck will change and he’ll call somebody else in the network. Or maybe he’ll panic and run. Maybe even run to someone else in the club.”
    ”How do you plan to prosecute these boys with so much ‘fruit of the poisonous tree’ lying around in the form of wiretaps, and homicide, and—”
    ”We don’t prosecute, John. We just get ‘em.”
    I looked back over to the van. A subofficial graves registration. It all started to sink in.
    ”Can you take me back to my hotel now?”
    J.T. tapped the driver, a slim blond MP in dress greens. ”Go ahead, Squires.”
    ”Yessir.” He shifted into drive, and we pulled away from the house.
    J.T. said, ”You don’t have a hotel anymore, or even luggage. Remember? Old Curl checked you out. I’ll take you to a safe house we use sometimes. We can outfit and feed you there.”
    And debrief me and debrief me and debrief me. ”Fine,” I said and started thinking again.
    Squires drove along the Interstate. I had a rough idea where we were. I saw a sign saying REST STOP, THREE MILES .
    ”We’re going to have to stop at that rest area ahead,” I said.
    ”John, we’re only—”
    ”Now, look, J.T., goddamn it!” I snapped. ”I’ve been knocked out, shot up, and stabbed at, and I goddamn want to go to the head. A real head. Now.”
    ”O.K., O.K.,” said J.T. ”You’re entitled, O.K.? Squires?”
    ”Yessir?”
    ”Pull in at the stop.”
    ”Yessir.”
    A few minutes later Squires swung the sedan off the highway and into the rest area lot. There were only two other cars and a brightly illuminated log cabin with a small RESTROOMS AND SNACKS sign.
    The MP parked curbside and turned off the engine. He pocketed the key. ”Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go, too.”
    ”Sure, Squires. Go ahead.”
    Good trooper, I thought. Knew enough to make coming with me seem his request rather than J.T.’s order. So I wouldn’t feel ”in custody.” Squires was lifer material.
    We got out, me leaving the blanket and walking quickly but uncertainly to the cabin doorway. A fat man, who wore a park ranger uniform none too well, sat behind a counter marked ”Tuckville Rest Area.” He barely glanced up from a magazine as we walked by him.
    Squires held the door for me. I walked in and sagged a little against a sink.
    ”You all right, sir?” asked Squires.
    ”A little unsteady, but O.K. Thanks.”
    ”Yessir.”
    I made my way to the nearest stall and clanged in. I dropped my pants, let out a groan, and smacked my hand hard, like it was my head, against the sidewall. I stumbled and shuffled to my left so that my right shoulder faced the door.
    Squires knocked. ”Sir?” He gingerly pushed the door inward.
    I truly was groggy, and he was a lot younger and more recently trained than I was. I was slumped half against the toilet paper dispenser, using my left hand to clutch the toilet seat.
    Squires leaned down. ”Sir?”
    I swung my right elbow up and out as hard as I could. It caught him on the right cheekbone and snapped his head back into the part-open stall door. I rose up and gave him a short, quick left to the nose, and he caved in. I didn’t think I’d broken anything on either of us.
    I buttoned up and stepped over him. I picked his pocket for his car keys and his holster for his weapon. I unloaded the weapon and dropped it into the next john. I clutched my stomach and dry-heaved my way out the door and toward the fat ranger.
    ”Hey,” I said breathlessly, ”the soldier and I are both sick as dogs. I think it’s food poisoning. We got a buddy in the car outside. Get him. Quick, quick!”
    The ranger bustled up and out a door next to the counter, the door locking behind him. As soon as he was outside, I grabbed a map and climbed over the counter. I unlocked and stepped out the back door, circling behind the cabin. I got around the corner just as J.T.’s heels disappeared into the cabin. The ranger was close behind him, snorting huge clouds of cold air.
    I chugged to the car, got in, and turned the key. I eased away from the curb and slid back onto the Interstate.
    The map showed a reasonably wide state road three miles on. I took it and headed east. Toward the town