Page 38 of Prisoner of War
From the main cabin, the voices came back to her. They were clearer now.
“Oh, baby, yeah,” a man murmured.
“You like what you see?” came a woman’s voice and Minnie’s eyes widened as she recognized Carmen’s throaty purr. She soundedquite drunk.
“You’re one wicked lady, all right.” It was a second man’s voice.
Minnie bit the pad of flesh on her thumb, trying to figure out what to do now. She had no intention of interrupting Carmen’s private party, but she needed the boat. Would she have to stay crouched here until the festivities were over? She wasn’t sure she wanted to listen to any more of Carmen’s idea of fun, though.
“Hey!” Carmen said sharply.
“Yeah, that’s it. Like that,” came the deeper first voice.
“Way to go, Jonesy!” It was yet a third male voice.
“Hey, don’t!” Carmen said, her voice lifting stridently.
“Don’t tell me ‘don’t’, bitch,” Jonesy returned. The sound of flesh meeting flesh came to her. A slap, Minnie realized. She swallowed dryly. This was not good. Not good at all.
“Usted puto mierda,” Carmen muttered.
“Oh yeah, talk dirty, honey. Come on, talk dirty to me. While you’re at it, you can deal with this.”
The unmistakable sound of a zipper working told Minnie exactly what the guy was doing now. She wrapped her arms around herself, chilled. What could she do? Whatshouldshe do? Carmen might actually enjoy this sort of attention. There were stranger things in the world than awoman who liked it rough. If Minnie busted in there, she was more likely to be forcefully invited to join in. A five-foot-two woman in an emerald green chiffon evening gown was no match for three men intent on getting their rocks off.
“Ow! Fuck!” It was Carmen’s voice and this time with an angry note in it.
“Ohmigod,” one of the lighter male voices murmured. “Just look at them, will you?”
“No, you don’t get it,” came Jonesy’s low, controlled voice. “That’s not what you get to do now.”
“Ow! Let go of my hair, you asshole,” Carmen cried. She sounded far less drunk.
“Not until you open up that pretty mouth of yours and take what I give you.”
Still, strained silence.
“If you stick anything in my mouth,” Carmen said with perfect enunciation, “I’ll bite it off.”
Again, a sharp slapsounded.
“Just try it,” Jonesy said. “Mick, grab her head, huh? Try using your brain instead of your hand.”
“Right.”
Minnie rose from her crouch. Enough was enough. She felt around in the dark for something she could use as a weapon. Anything. There was nothing in the anchor hold but heavy chain. Dragging that, they’d hear her coming a mile off. She eased open the tiny bulkhead door and slippedout of the hold into the main corridor. Bunks and lockers lined it. She had slept in one of these bunks on the crossing from Vistaria. The corridor was a slender fifteen feet long and the door at the other end opened up into the main cabin. She had to find something to use in this corridor.
She delved silently inside the lockers and cupboards, trying to figure out what her hand was resting onby shape alone. The most familiar and strangest find was a small iron skillet. She hefted its weight in her hand, considering, then went delving again. From the other side of the door, she heard the low crooning of one of the men and a choked sound that was possibly Carmen’s. It lent speed to her fingers.
She explored the angled shape under her hand, defining it in her mind. It felt like a gun,but it had a wide muzzle. Then obscure, buried facts surfaced in her mind and she realized that she was feeling up an old-fashioned flare gun. She pulled it out and held it in her left hand. From personal experience, she knew that staring into the barrel of a gun being pointed at her made that barrel seem about ten times wider than it was. The flare gun would, she hoped, look like a cannon to theseguys.
She padded toward the door, her heart in her mouth.
Then Carmen gave a tiny, choked sound and a moan of pain and Minnie’s fear evaporated. She exploded through the door, taking in the scene in one quick sweep of her head. A thin youth sitting by the steps up to the deck, a bottle of Corona in his hand. A second one sitting on the long bench, his hand buried in the hair on the back of Carmen’shead, great locks of her black tresses wrapped around his fist. His other hand was buried inside his unzipped trousers.
An older man stood in front of Carmen, who had been forced to her knees on the floor. He was slowly turning his head in reaction to Minnie’s entrance. Everyone was moving slowly. It was like time had slipped into a jar of molasses and was dragging its way through.
Carmen’sdress had been ripped from around her neck and now hung down from her waist. Her exposed breasts were reddened, as if they had been handled roughly.
