Jackie's Week
by M. M. Wilshire
Copyright © 2010 M.M. Wilshire
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
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Prologue
The checkout guy scanned the Castle Rock cabernet, the hothouse portabellas with baby squash medley, and the package of Frenched veal chops priced at nearly twenty bucks a pound. Jackie handed him a fistful of twenties and got back a little change. The bagger fit the whole thing into one bag. Everybody wished everybody a Happy New Year.
She was parked at the far end of the lot, a good 200 feet from the entrance. For some reason, the lights were out down there, and as she entered the shadows, she found herself feeling uneasy. She stopped and steadied the bag with her left arm and fished out her keys, pressing the remote start on the Malibu, feeling less alone as it came to life 100 feet away. She arrived safely at her personal island of noise and light and was about to pop the trunk when he materialized. He was shorter than she was, but easily twice as wide.
In the dim red glow cast by her tail lights, her first impression was that of a gentleman in formal attire. This benign assessment was quickly erased by something more sinister. The man was wearing a T-shirt tuxedo, oddly enough with real buttons. In the blink of an eye, he was in her personal space. His rough hand on her throat sent shockwaves to her brain. The bare forearm attached to that hand was thick, hairy and powerful.
She knew the key fob in her hand had a panic button, but she'd never tried it, and now it was too late. At the sight of the small revolver in his other hand, she found herself wishing she could disappear down a hole.
"Vzjat’ na abordaž," he said.
She tried to scream.
Chapter 1
It was a safe place. After the brutal assault, the cops had come up empty-handed, so Jackie abandoned her home in Van Nuys and went into hiding in the sprawling apartment complex in Tarzana. She liked the unfriendly facade which rose up forty feet into the air like a medieval castle. She especially liked the round-the-clock security guards who patrolled the thousand-plus units connected by a confusing maze of twisty walkways. You practically needed a personal GPS system to find your own front door. The front door itself was made of steel, and for a few extra bucks she replaced the peephole with a security camera. Of course, the apartment was not in her name and could never be traced to her.
Naturally, the cops, when confronted about their failure, told her not to worry. She had nothing further to fear, they said, since it was doubtful lightning would strike twice in the same spot. But Jackie knew better. She knew he was out there. She could feel it.
She was starting to run out of money. They held her job at the bank for awhile, but then the bank went under and somebody else bought it and now there was no job waiting and no prospects of finding any. She couldn't sell her house because it was underwater and 3 months behind to boot. None of that really mattered right now. The main thing was to be safe, to hide until somehow he was gotten rid of. If they ever found him. Dealing with the cops wasn’t like watching Cops on TV, where they wrapped everything up in half an hour. Of course, the cops were in no hurry. They had time on their side, and could afford to make mistakes, a luxury she could not afford. Sometimes she wondered if the criminals of Los Angeles had to actually walk in and surrender to get themselves arrested.
Jackie established a careful routine, an orderly framework upon which to hang her frail psyche. A typical morning began with the vacuum cleaner. The carpet had perfectly aligned brush marks which she was careful not to disturb. When this was done, and most importantly, once a day, around 11 a.m., Jackie took a walk through the complex to the front lobby and picked up her copy of the LA Times. This was her personal sanity test. It was a huge problem for her. It took everything she had to do it, and over time, the amount of vodka to fortify her for the journey seemed to have increased. But she made the journey without fail, knowing the day she couldn’t do it, he would win. He would win without ever having to do another thing to her.
For now she was somewhat satisfied. She had her vacuuming in the morning and her trip to pick up the paper, the court shows in the afternoon, poring over the L.A. Times at dinner, and plenty of vodka and old movies during prime time. She had no computer, believing he might somehow track her down over the internet. It was safer to stay off the grid. She was safe—for the moment.
The only other problem Jackie had aside from the anxiety-ridden daily trip to the lobby pick up the paper was the dream she had every night. It always started the same way, with him popping up out of the shadows in that stupid T-shirt, showing her his gun and saying, "Vzjat’ na abordaž" in his deep whiskey voice. She then re-lived in nightmarish distortion the terrible events of the assault.
In the rehab hospital, she learned if she slept semi-upright, she didn’t sleep as soundly and was able to wake up when she found herself in the dream. Sleeping on a big stack of pillows was the best way to manage the nightmare. But for some reason, last night, she’d fallen asleep on the bed while watching an old Rex Harrison movie and her pillows had collapsed and as a result she had slept supine and deeply and was unable to awaken from the dream, which then unleashed its full fury upon her.
Upon awakening, she wished he had killed her. Being dead would have been better than having this dream slowly drain the life out of her. The dream, she felt, was sometimes worse than the actual attack, owing to the fact she knew what was coming and had learned to fear it in advance. The actual attack had only taken a minute or so, but the dream seemed to last for hours as her emotions screamed without relief.
Because of the dream last night, the day was starting out badly. She felt jagged around the edges and out of control. For one thing, she hadn’t had time to vacuum, and there were a few footprints messing up the brush marks on the carpet. For another, it was almost time to go down to the lobby and get the paper. She could forego the paper and start the vacuuming and then watch the court shows all the way through dinner. But no. Then she would have skipped her trip to the lobby and have no paper to pore over in the dead spot before prime time. If she skipped once, then she might skip again and it would be all over.
This was how it happened. You changed one thing and it all fell apart for good. She would be a virtual prisoner and who knew what kind of hell that would unleash? So just this once, she would have to forget the vacuuming and just start her day with her trip to the lobby for the paper. The problem was, somehow the vacuuming gave her some kind of mental edge as she worked up to going for the paper, and now she’d lost her edge. If she vacuumed now to get the edge, it would throw the timing off. She would meet more people on the twisty walkways, and there would possibly be no paper. She would have to go for the paper now.
She went to the fridge and opened the freezer and stared at the ice-covered bottle of Stolichnaya lying on its side. Normally, a sense of propriety inspired her to dress up the first drink of the day with some tomato juice and serve it with a stalk of lettuce. Having neither, she took it out and unscrewed the cap, pouring a couple of fingers into a clean jelly glass before going into the bathroom and regarding herself in the mirror. The hollow eyes stared back, the hair gone to gray, hanging like a mop. The first sip hit hard but went down smooth. At least it wasn’t the cheap stuff.
It was time. She checked the security monitor on the kitchen counter to make sure the front door was clear. She retrieved the box cutter from her pocket where she always kept it and held it firmly while she opened the door a crack, first making sure it was still on its safety chain. All clear outside.
But something was wrong. At her feet was a white envelope. She plucked it inside and closed and locked the door. There was something substantial in the envelope. She tore it open and out it came. Her charm bracelet. The one she had been wearing the night of the attack. The one he took from her on New Year’s Eve. He had found her at last.
It was not a safe place. She called the police and then called her sister.
Chapter 2
When Donna arrived, she found Jackie sitting on her sofa in the company of Johnson, the cop assigned to Jackie's case. Ignoring Johnson, she assessed Jackie's condition.
"I'm taking you to see my psychiatrist," Donna said. "Right now."
It was a quick trip from Tarzana to Sherman Oaks, and after a no-frills introduction, Jackie found herself seated, facing the doctor. The third-floor Ventura Boulevard office was cool and quiet. It was a place where secrets were told, and kept, a place where good things maybe happened, and maybe not. There was something comforting about Dr. Black's calm demeanor, suggesting perhaps that things weren't so bad after all, although Jackie knew they were.
"I'm not sure where to start," Jackie said.
"Why not start at the beginning," Dr. Black said. Black was a tall woman of obvious Native American lineage who looked like anything but a psychiatrist. She was wearing a simple turquoise shift and sensible tan flats. Her long black hair was pulled back tight to reveal ears strikingly pointed at the tips. To add to her striking appearance, she had the whitest teeth Jackie had ever seen, with remarkably pointed incisors.
"You're an Indian," Jackie said, then immediately regretted it. "I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry."
"Navajo," Dr. Black said. "I was born and raised in New Mexico. And it's okay to say anything you want to."
"I like the fact that you're tall," Jackie said. "What I mean is, you are nearly as tall as I am, which is six feet, three inches. You've probably suffered from big girl syndrome the way I have."
Black offered a half-smile, incisors slightly protruding.
"Hard to get a date, right?" Jackie said. "And all the teasing because you're fully developed in the 4th grade? Then when you get older, you are joining the big girls dating club and the nightmare really begins."
Black laced her long fingers. In the heightened atmosphere of doctor-patient intimacy, her every gesture seemed meaningful and pointed straight at Jackie.
"It's funny," Jackie said.
"What is?"
"I was wondering how many women have sat here for the first time, just like me. I can imagine them. I can almost hear their voices. I can imagine them wondering what good an hour with you could possibly do? Their problems are huge, and an hour is so little time. I imagine many of them felt like screaming."
"Is that how you're feeling?" Black asked.
Jackie became aware of the distance between them, a distance greater than mere measurement. A distance magnified by the awareness that Black was a serene, healthy woman and Jackie was anything but.
"What I feel like," Jackie said, "is curling up in this chair and falling asleep. Maybe because it is so peaceful in here."
"I gather it isn't so peaceful for you out there," Black replied.
Jackie thought about this for a moment.
"You really know how to ask questions," Jackie said. "I can see that little thing going on in your brain, there."
"That thing?"
"Yes. You know. The way you keep digging around my edges. The way you take anything I say and turn it into a question. Each time you do that, it's like you're giving me a little jab, trying to break through."
Black continued to focus her unblinking stare.
"What I don't like," Jackie said, "is the feeling I get that I have to answer your questions, but you don't have to answer mine."
"Did you have a question for me?"
They sat in silence for another minute or so. For some reason, as the silence continued, Jackie felt the pressure building up, along with a feeling that she was expected to perform, somehow. To say something that might justify her presence, to make a case that she was worthy to take up an hour of the doctor's time. She wondered how long they had been sitting there, but it was impossible to tell; there were no clocks in the room.
"To tell you the truth," Jackie said, "I'm feeling a little trapped in here. A little panicky, even. The truth is, and I know I shouldn't say it, but I could use a drink right about now."
Black's level gaze was unblinking. She tilted her head slightly. "Is that how you've been handling it?" she asked.
"Handling what?"
"The anxiety. Is that how you've been coping? By taking a drink?"
"Ah. It's not what you think. I was just thinking it might make it easier for me, that's all. And that's not why I am here. I'm not here because of a drinking problem, if that's what you mean." Jackie rolled her eyes. "Oh my God, I'm babbling, aren't I? I'm just wasting your time. "
"I have an idea," Black said. "I will ask you a question and you give me a quick answer. Just whatever comes off the top of your head. Then I will ask another question, and so forth."
"Sounds fair," Jackie said. She took a deep breath and with it the realization she'd been barely breathing. Her entire body was practically rigid, for some reason. She wondered if she'd even be able to stand at the end of the session.
"What happened to you, Jackie?"
"Oh God. The first question. Okay. Here it is. I was attacked."
"Okay," Black said. "Where did it happen?"
"You'll never believe this, but it was in the parking lot of Gelson's supermarket."
"When?"
"New Year's Eve."
"Who did it?"
"A man I never saw before."
"Can you describe what happened?"
Jackie stared at her hands. "He mumbled something in a foreign language. Then he grabbed me. The next thing I remember, I was in the hospital."
"And what did you do after that?" said Black.
"Now that is a long story, " Jackie said. "I was in the hospital for about three weeks. When I got out, I moved to a new apartment."
"Why?"
"The guy took my car and my purse. He knew where I lived. I had to find somewhere safe. I found this place where there are a thousand apartments that all look alike, and where there is a lot of security. Kind of like a prison."
"And what did you do after that?"
Jackie laughed. "What did I do?"
Black did not fire another question. Jackie felt her body becoming even more rigid. The air in the room seemed warm, as though the heater was on, unlikely, as it was late summer in Los Angeles and hot as hell outside.
"I guess that is the reason I am here isn't it, Dr. Black? Because of what I did after the attack. I am here talking to you because for the last six months what I did was hide in my new apartment and drive myself crazy. Oh. I probably should not use the word crazy, should I?"
Blacked laughed softly, a pleasant sound. "So tell me again," Black said, "why you are here today. What gave you the courage to come see me."
"Okay," Jackie said. "First of all, it isn't courage. It's fear. That's why I am here. The reason I am here today is because the guy who attacked me six months ago found me this morning. I am here because my sister said you could help me. Not just with my emotions, but also help me with safety issues. She said you had a group or something. That you teach women how to fight back"
"You said the man found you," Black replied. "You saw him?"
"No. He left me a message. When I opened my door this morning, there was an envelope on the doormat with my charm bracelet in it. The one I was wearing the night I was attacked. When I saw that bracelet, I guess I kind of fell completely apart."
Black leaned forward, the gesture pregnant with concern. "The random attack you experienced six months ago has gone to a whole new level. You're worst fears have been realized. You're being stalked," she said.
"Yes."
"By the same man who attacked you."
Jackie nodded.
"Did you notify the police?"
"Oh yes. In fact, the cop who has been handling my case is sort a friend of mine. He came and stayed with me this morning until my sister could bring me here. But there is nothing he can do. Not really. You know how the police are."
"Your sister was right to bring you here," Black said. "I do assist with safety issues as well as emotional healing. Right now, we have to arrange for your safety. You shouldn't be alone."
"I do have my sister with me," Jackie said.
"You need more than that. In fact, you need protection." Black got up and walked over to her desk and speed-dialed someone on her Blackberry.
Good Lord, thought Jackie. What is this? She could hear Black speaking softly to someone, just a few words, before ending the call. Black came over and sat back down in the opposite chair. "A few years ago," Black said, "I started a group for ladies just like yourself. It became to me apparent that women facing the threat of a stalker need more than therapy. They also need personal protection."
"You mean like a bodyguard?"
"For the moment," Black said, "yes. Until we can get a better handle on things."
They sat in silence for a minute or two.
Black checked a fresh text message on her Blackberry. "There's someone outside I want you to meet," she said. "With your permission, of course."
"Who is it?" Jackie asked. This was all getting a little too crazy, and she was starting to feel way out of control.
"My brother, Bobby," Black said. "He and I work together, in a manner of speaking. The group pays for his services. I want to bring him in on this. That is, if you are okay with it. It is up to you."
Jackie nodded, her tongue for the moment being stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Black opened a private door at one end of the room, and in walked a tall, slender man, obviously Dr. Black's brother, but perhaps older, his long black hair in a braid down his back. Despite the summer heat, he wore a loose fitting, dark windbreaker. Jackie remained in her chair, not sure what the protocol was. There was no handshake, and he kept a respectful distance. Dr. Black stood between them. "Jackie, this is my brother Bobby. What we are going to do is just have Bobby keep an eye on you for a few days until we can sort this thing out further."
"I don't know about this," Jackie said.
"You have a stalker," Bobby said simply.
"Yes. But I am going to my sister's house. She has a gun in her purse."
Bobby looked into her eyes. She could read nothing in his face, but the man's eyes had an aura of absolute confidence. He was probably in his mid-40's but his eyes were a thousand years old. "You'll never even know I'm around," Bobby said. "You just go about your business and don't worry about a thing."
Jackie began to cry, leaning forward and covering her face with her hands. The sobs became great heaves. Oh great, she thought. A great time to prove to everybody what a basket case I am. When she looked up, Dr. Black handed her a tissue. Bobby was gone. She never heard him leave.
"That's enough for today," Black said. "Tomorrow, same time. Call me sooner if you need to."
"Should I stay at my sister's house or go back to my apartment?"
"Whatever you like," Black replied. "You can even go home if you want. Bobby will keep an eye on things."
Chapter 3
Jackie, arm-in-arm with Donna, left the building, attracting more than a few stares along the way, what with Jackie being tall, hollow-eyed and disheveled, in stark contrast to the starlet good looks and perky demeanor of her ash-blonde younger sibling who was terminally radiant, as though the sun itself was a mere fashion accessory for the goddess. They arrived at Donna's classic ride, a tiny red MGB, which looked great on Donna but made Jackie feel like a clown
"Well?" Donna said, easing herself in and smoothly gliding out into the heavy Ventura Boulevard traffic.
"Not now," Jackie said.
"Yes, now," Donna urged. "I want the details."
"You mean like show and tell? Like, my first visit to the shrink?"
"Yes."
"I cried," Jackie said. "And the minute Dr. Black found out I was being stalked, she brought her brother in, the most dangerous looking man I have ever met. Apparently, as we speak, he is watching over us."
Donna eyed the rear view mirror as she approached the onramp to the Ventura Freeway.
"You won't see him," Jackie said. "He's a Navajo Indian. He's invisible."
"So what do you want to do this afternoon when we get back to my place?" Donna asked.
"Oh. Cancel that. Take me back to my place."
"Jackie, you can't be alone. You have a stalker."
Jackie smiled grimly. "Ah," she said. "But I also have a bodyguard."
"And you are sure you're safe?"
"Donna, you should have seen this guy, Bobby. It was in his eyes. Believe me, I feel safer than Fort Knox right now. And I feel a bit stronger after talking to Dr. Black."
The apartment was a safe place once again. Jackie left Donna at the curb and headed through the heavy doors, past the security guard kiosk, and down the landscaped pathway to her second-floor Encino apartment.
Upon entering and after carefully locking the front door, she went to the kitchen and poured herself a quick shot of vodka. Settling in on the couch, and not long after the first sip, a powerful wave washed over her, carrying with it a vast darkness, without form, and void of all feeling, thought or emotion. Within seconds she was in the grip of a deep and potent sleep.
Then the dream hit. She could clearly make out the T-shirt tuxedo, but for some reason she could not see his face.
"Vzjat’ na abordaž."
Chapter 4
Jackie had slept, to her astonishment, a good 16 hours straight on the couch. Unfortunately, because of the dream at the tail end of the sleep splurge, the day was starting out badly.
She shook off the thought. Today was going to be different. Better. She had a bodyguard, and she would be seeing Dr. Black later. The thought of it gave her an almost giddy sense of courage. She could tell Dr. Black about the dream. That would get things rolling to wherever they needed to go.
As was her habit, she decided to walk downstairs to the lobby and get a copy of the Times. Perhaps she would even see Bobby, her new bodyguard, and wave to him. She checked the security monitor on the kitchen counter to make sure the front door was clear. She retrieved the box cutter from her pocket where she always kept it and held it firmly while she opened the door a crack, first making sure it was still on its safety chain. All clear outside.
But something was wrong. At her feet was another white envelope. Just like the one from yesterday. She felt the sickening surge of adrenaline force her heart into palpitations. She plucked the envelope inside and closed and locked the door. There was something substantial in the envelope. She tore it open and out it came. Her jade ring. The one she had been wearing the night of the attack. The one he took from her on New Year’s Eve. Another message from the stalker.
Where the hell was Bobby?
It was not a safe place.
Well, this is it, then, she thought. She was crushed. She had put all her trust in Dr. Black and her brother and it had failed. She had stupidly trusted them and risked her life by returning to the apartment. The police had failed. Hiding had failed. She knew exactly what this meant. She was going to die.
She was certain of one thing. She would never allow herself to be attacked by that man again. She would kill herself first. She eyed the box cutter and looked at her wrist. The phone rang in the kitchen. No point in answering. Not anymore. On the fourth ring, the machine picked up.
"Jackie, pick up the phone," the machine squawked. Johnson. The cop handling her case. "C’mon, Jackie. I know you’re in there. Pick it up. Jackie ... Jackie. Okay, then listen. I think we busted the guy we have been looking for. He was booked in last night. It is urgent you call me. You know my number. If you don’t call me back I’m coming straight over and I’m coming in to get you."
"Oh my God," Jackie said aloud to the empty room. Johnson knew every detail of the attack. Especially the part about being penetrated with the foreign object. Somehow, his gruff congeniality had kept her from feeling emotionally naked, but whenever she pondered this, she sometimes felt in her heart of hearts he must think of her as a terrible loser.
She put down the razor, picked up the phone and hit the speed dial, her heart pounding right through her chest. First, she would call Johnson. Then she would call Donna for a ride to the police station.
Chapter 5
Johnson hunched over the folder and extracted a photo lineup of six different ugly male faces and slid it across the table to Jackie. She smoothed her hair out of her eyes and crossed her slim quick legs, taking a deep breath before looking at it. They were sitting in a room by themselves upstairs at the Van Nuys police station.
The third photo from the left made her want to scream. She could almost hear him. The only four words he had ever spoken to her. Vzjat’ na abordaž. She’d never forget that, or the pleasure she remembered registering across his face when he landed on top of her in the parking lot of the best supermarket in Encino.
She looked up and locked eyes with Johnson, a heavyset, middle-aged Norwegian type with a broad intelligent face, dead blue eyes, thinning gray hair and a large mustache, with a demeanor ranging from boyishly disarming to warrior fierce, depending on the occasion.
"Obviously you recognize somebody," he said.
"Oh yeh."
"Any doubts?"
"No." Jackie hunched forward as a flashback attempted to force its way into her head. With some effort, she somehow remained in the present. A wave of dizziness washed over her as her entire body began to sweat.
"You’re starting to hyperventilate. Breathe deep and slow," Johnson said, standing behind her, taking her head between his strong hands. "Keep doing that and you’ll be okay."
After a moment, Jackie’s head cleared and she managed to fumble in her purse, pulling out a small water bottle filled with vodka which she greedily chugged. "I need a Rolaids," she said. She knew Johnson lived on them. He pulled out two thick round pills from his shirt pocket. She chewed them gratefully, and swallowed a little more vodka.
"A morning drink is one of the ten signs of alcoholism," he said.
"There’s only ten?"
"It’s okay," Johnson said. "You’re doing fine. Better than most, in fact. Now all I need for you to do is put your finger on the man you recognize."
Jackie complied. Her nervous system had gone awry, and she felt like the picture burned her finger when she touched it.
"So who is he?" she said. Her voice sounded to her as though she was speaking from the bottom of a well. She took another sip of vodka.
"His name is Viktor Bout."
There. The man finally had a name. Something she could hate with all the venom her body possessed. "Viktor Bout."
Their eyes met and locked. "What the hell kind of name is that?"
"Ukrainian," Johnson said.
"Oh my God! Where is he?"
"We have him."
"How did you find him?"
"Bout was stopped late last night text messaging while driving and the officer ran him and came back with two priors. Turns out when they emptied his pockets, they found your driver’s license."
"A trophy."
"Apparently so," Johnson said.
"Did he say how he got my license?"
Johnson sighed. "He said he had a one-night stand with you last year and you must have left it in his car. Then his attorney showed up and he stopped talking."
A dark cloud invaded Jackie's mind. Something flickered in the midst of the cloud. "Oh my God," she whispered.
Johnson was quick on the uptake. "Is that possible? Have you met this guy before?"
Jackie hunched her shoulders and stared down at the table. "I might have," she said. "Look, Johnson, I was going through a bad period last year with my boyfriend. I started going out alone to drink myself into a stupor. I often got bombed at the Red Square in Encino. Sometimes things happened that I regretted. Things I can barely remember. Do you know what I am trying to tell you?"
Johnson nodded. "We've all been there a time or two. But it could explain everything. Maybe one dark night in a crowded bar you two hooked up and you rejected him. But it was just enough to trigger Viktor's diseased, Chernobyl-fried, reptilian brain."
"A stalker," Jackie said. "From Russia. That explains it."
"Explains what, Jackie?"
"Why he said 'Vzjat’ na abordaž' just before he grabbed me."
"He said what?"
"Vzjat’ na abordaž. I know it sounds like gibberish, but it's probably Russian gibberish."
Johnson went to the door and yelled loudly for somebody named Tommy. A few seconds later, a trim young cop with wide shoulders poked his head in.
"Jackie," Johnson said. "Tell Tommy here what the man said."
"Vzjat’ na abordaž," Jackie said.
Tommy nodded, raising his eyebrows up and down.
"Well, what the hell does that mean, Tommy?" Johnson growled.
"It's just Russian slang," Tommy said. "Not worth repeating in front of a lady."
"Tell me!" Jackie shouted.
Tommy and Johnson gave each other the stare. Johnson nodded the okay. "Basically," Tommy said, "he was saying 'I am going to come aboard your ship'."
Johnson exhaled loudly. "What the hell does that mean, Tommy?"
Tommy looked awkward. "He was saying he was going to rape her."
Johnson nodded and Tommy left. Time passed slowly, as though it were a commodity of no consequence to anybody, anywhere, instead of the precious stuff it really was, depleted and about to run out completely.
She looked up from the table and faced the cop. "So if Bout was in jail last night, then who returned my ring this morning?"
"What ring?" Johnson asked, brow furrowing.
"My ring. Bout took it from me the night he jumped me. I found it on my doorstep this morning. Yesterday it was a bracelet. What I am saying is, if Bout was under arrest, then who came by and left the ring? Apparently when Bout got arrested last night, he must have called a friend to come and scare me. The bastard knew where I was living all the time. How could he have known? The apartment wasn’t even in my name! I had my brother-in-law rent the place so nobody could trace it to me. All these months I thought I was safe as long as I was in my apartment. All this time."
"Jackie, I’m sorry," Johnson said. "After we picked him up, he must have had somebody deliver the ring to intimidate you. Don’t cry. Here, take this tissue."
"Johnson, what the hell is going on here? It’s starting to dawn on me what this photograph really means. Viktor Bout, having maybe once had sex with me at the Red Square Restaurant, who then followed me and attacked me and left me for dead in a supermarket parking lot, who has apparently kept tabs on me afterwards, is going to be brought up on charges, isn’t he? It means as bad as it was not knowing where he was; now it’s going to get worse. What’s it going to be, Johnson? A year filled with depositions, courtroom appearances, scheming defense attorneys—maybe even testimony at a trial? Maybe being killed by one of his nasty Ukrainian friends so I can’t testify?"
Johnson sat down. Thus far, Jackie had never seen him wear anything but black slacks and cheap white shirts, as though money was not a commodity the man was acquainted with. She was certain he did not own a tie.
"Jackie," he said. "There is something else I really should not share with you, but I am going to. Outside your apartment building this morning, we found the body of a man in the dumpster. A Ukrainian named Timur Agron. From what it sounds like, he might have been the guy who delivered your ring."
Jackie just stared at Johnson for a long minute. Dr. Black. Bobby was out there. It had to be.
"How did he die?"
Johnson scratched his head. "I shouldn't be telling you this, but the man's head was nearly severed completely from his body."
Jackie began to shake. Everything pointed to her bodyguard. To Bobby. The Russian gangster went up against the American Indian and never had a chance.
"Jackie, look at me," Johnson pleaded. "Stop shaking. It's over. You are not alone."
"Oh please. I am so alone. In fact, my life is over. It has been over for a long time. In fact, I can think of only one way out for me. To be dead. I mean, think about it, Johnson. What can I do about Viktor Bout? He has friends who are out there right now. They know who I am. And don’t tell me it’s all right. What the hell can you do about this, Johnson? What! Are you going to kill them all for me?"
Johnson took the high road and kept silent.
"I’m sorry, Johnson."
"It’s okay. Just remember. Justice will be done. I know we have been a little slow to move on this, but once we do, we will crush this thing flatter than the Berlin Wall."
"Justice," Jackie said, moving from shock to rage. "What the hell is that after what he did to me? Look at this scar on my temple! He nearly knocked my brains out." She looked around her, noticing for the first time how bright and clean the place was. A nice clean place for people to dump their pain. She stared at Johnson’s heavy brows. At the portrait of Bout in front of her. An shiver passed through her. She looked up at Johnson.
"Johnson, Is that look of concern on your face for real? Can I trust you?"
"It’s real. You can trust me. But here is the thing. I need you to pick Viktor Bout out of a lineup so we can hold him. Otherwise his attorney will have him out on bail in about 24 hours."
Jackie burst into tears anew as Johnson somewhat clumsily stretched out a comforting hand. In spite of herself, Jackie began to laugh.
"Stop it. You’re patting me on the head like a dog," she said.
"Sorry. I used to be a canine cop."
"Johnson, we’ve known each very superficially for at least six months. Let’s quit being polite. I am not a canine. I need someone to hold me like a man holds a woman."
She rose up and he pulled her close. She sensed immediately he felt more for her than she for him.
"I’m sorry for the outburst," Jackie said. "I feel like such a fool. But I’ve waited so long for this day. I was beginning to lose hope you’d ever find him, and now that you have, I’m scared to face it. I’m also feeling something else, something ... dark. I won’t feel safe if Bout gets out of this alive. I want to see him burned at the stake."
"Viktor Bout did time at Wayside as a teen in 1985 for assault with a firearm, and again as an adult at Lompoc in 1992 for the same thing. Speaking of burning things, we think Bout likes to play with matches. He is suspected of insurance arson. "
"So," Jackie hissed, "In addition to his other atrocities, Bout’s a raving pyromaniac? I suddenly feel very nauseous, or very nervous, like high and low at the same time." She took another short draught of vodka.
"That isn’t going to help."
"Shows what you know. The vodka is the only thing keeping me from curling up on the floor in my own puke."
"Okay then," Johnson said. "I should tell you that under the California three strike law, his crime against you, if he’s convicted, will put him away for good."
"You’re telling me he knows I’m his third strike?"
Johnson nodded. Jackie got up and walked to the window. Over the tops of the low buildings, in the fetid summer sky, a demon of fear rode towards her on its pale horse, hooves churning the frothing smog swirling across the once mighty but now blunted Valley dome. A sky filled with the tainted air which even now Viktor Bout was breathing while he planned to have his friends do only God knew what to her. She turned back to Johnson. "Where exactly are you keeping him? He’s not, like, right downstairs or anything, is he?"
"No. He was picked up in Hollywood, right outside the Russian Restaurant on Ivar street. He’s in a cell by himself downtown. We can hold him for awhile, but we need to do the lineup to really make it stick. The Ukes have pretty good lawyers, so we do need to act."
"He has friends," Jackie said, pulling out the envelope with the ring.
"Jackie, you should have told me about that. I never would have let you leave that apartment alone."
"I was a little confused this morning. Besides, Donna carries a gun in her purse."
"I am sending a team to your apartment. We can check the security tapes for the complex and also check the video on your door camera. Apparently after he was arrested, he called somebody to deliver the ring to warn you off. Who is now dead. The problem now is you can't go back to the apartment."
"That is not a problem, Johnson. Because I am never going back there again." She decided not to mention Bobby, the bodyguard, praying there would be no connection back to herself.
"Okay. A hotel, then. We can keep you safe there."
"You don’t get it, Johnson. You cannot keep me safe. This guy can take me anytime he wants. I will never be safe. And in a way, I am grateful for that, because now I finally understand."
"Understand what?"
"That safety is just an illusion. For me, going forward, it is either me or him. He knows I’m his third strike. He’s coming after me. He just sent me a message. I am not safe. I will never be safe as long as he and his friends are alive." With that, she headed for the door.
"Jackie, where are you going?"
"Anywhere away from here. My sister’s waiting for me downstairs."
"What about the lineup?"
"Johnson, I don’t know about that. I don’t know if I can ever see that man in person again."
"Okay. You just need a little time. I’ll schedule the lineup for tomorrow afternoon. You can meet me here around noon. We’ll prepare for it over lunch and then just go in and do it. Meanwhile, give me five minutes. I have to arrange for some people to keep an eye on you."
"Now where have I heard that before?" she said.
Chapter 6
Jackie joined Donna and they hopped into the MGB and took off down Van Nuys Boulevard. They headed west on the Ventura Freeway and then south on the San Diego Freeway before either of them spoke.
"I know it’s not our regular day for the beach," Donna said. "But, we might as well make it today."
"Johnson has people following us," Jackie said. "See if you can spot them. And of course there is Bobby."
Her sister, Donna, carefully searched the rearview mirror. "I don’t see anybody."
Jackie put her head back and closed her eyes while Donna drove them in her vintage MGB convertible over Sepulveda pass towards the ocean. Popping out of the mountain tunnel onto the downhill side of Mulholland, the cooler air carried with it a special energy.
"Ahhh," Jackie said. "Air."
"I don’t see how you can stand living in that shitty Valley," Donna said. "Every time I come over the hill, my throat closes up."
Jackie regarded her younger sister, admiring as always the fabulous tan and bouncy blonde ponytail, the very picture of the California girl-next-door.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Donna asked. "You were so quiet on the way to see Johnson, it scared me. Why did he want to see you today?"
"His name is Viktor Bout," Jackie said. "Last night, the police arrested him. They found my driver’s license in his car."
"Viktor Bout?" Donna said.
"Hideous name, isn’t it?"
"Yes. It truly is. It sounds like a fake name to me. "
"And guess what? They not only found Bout, but after they did, one of Bout’s friends left me another message on my doorstep—my ring. Then the guy who left me a message was found in a dumpster with his head cut off."
"Oh God," Donna said. "Bobby."
"Yes," Jackie said. "It has been quite a day. Quite a day indeed. I just found out I am a dead woman. Either I will kill myself or they will do it for me. I was planning on doing it myself, but for some reason I have changed my mind. I think my anger is finally breaking through. And there is something else."
"What else, Jackie?"
"Last year, I think I met Bout one night when I was blind drunk. So we think he stalked me because of that. I must have rejected him or something, but I don't remember."
"Oh no."
"Yes."
"Okay, Jackie," Donna said. "That’s it. Now that we know who he is, I am going to give my husband the go-ahead."
"What does that mean, the go-ahead?"
"You know. Go ahead and get rid of the guy. Get rid of Viktor Bout and his friends. For good."
"Bienenfeld is a banker. Why would you think he has the connections to pull off something like that?"
"Jackie, you know full well Bienenfeld has a dark side. Don’t tell me you never suspected as much."
"Great. Your husband’s a killer. Anything else you want to confess while I’m at the weakest point in my life?"
"Sometimes you need a killer. The world isn’t just made up of nice people, the world, it’s—"
"—don’t, Donna. As tempting as your offer is, I can’t let the stink of this thing get on anybody else I’m close to. No matter what your husband has done in the past."
"The stink is already on us. It’s ruining everybody’s life. And can we go on with the way you’ve handled it this past six months? By staying drunk and isolating in your hideous apartment?"
"Well, at least I won’t be going back there again."
"You’re right about that. You’re staying with me until this thing is resolved."
Donna signaled for a left onto Ocean Avenue which ran along the bluff.
"I think we should go somewhere else today," Jackie said. "I’m not sure how safe it is to walk in the park."
"Jackie, we have cops shadowing us. In fact, we are not going to walk in the park. We are going to the pier. It is about time."
"Donna, please. I’m not ready for all those people at the pier."
Donna reached out placed her hand over her sister’s. "Jackie, listen to me. Your eyes say it all. You have become a ghost. You’re scrawny. You need the basics of life right now. Food. Sunshine. A safe haven. There is nowhere left for you to run. You’ve got to start making a comeback or you are going to die."
Jackie gripped her hand. "Donna, what am I going to do? This thing is bigger than I am. Does anybody know what a woman goes through after she’s been attacked? You see it on the news every day. You see the film clips of the animals in the orange jumpsuits wearing chains, flashing their gang signs, with their shaved heads and smirky looks. You see guys like Richard Allen Davis, flipping the bird at the parents of the child he murdered. Then there’s John Walsh. They only just now closed the case on his kid. Doesn’t anybody care about the victims? Every time I watch the news, I can see the list of human sacrifices like myself growing longer."
"Everybody’s afraid," Donna replied. "But right now you’ve got to find a way to get on with your life."
"And that will be accomplished exactly how, please?"
"I told you. Dr. Black is going to help you."
"Oh Lord."
"Jackie, instead of trying to solve your entire life, you have to put first things first. The first thing is to keep seeing Dr. Black, one appointment at a time. After that, if it isn’t right for you, fine. We tried."
Donna cranked a right on Colorado and the Pacific popped into view, the sight of it freed from the grasp of tall buildings, its breathtaking panorama stretching away before them, cold, and blue and beautiful.
The Santa Monica Pier, now completely rebuilt and cleverly commercialized, extended itself hopefully over the water, its decks awash with tourists, sidewalk performers, portrait painters, con artists, gangbangers, fishermen, cops, homeless alkies, junkies, stunt men and women, movie stars and other unusual denizens of the world’s second largest city. The smells of salt air, popcorn, fish, and even a little tar assaulted the senses, creating an instant need to breathe deeply before consuming unusual foods.
"This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be," Jackie said. "Even the tar in the air smells good. Pull in next to the Japanese fried fish place. You think I should eat more? I’ll show you. I’m gonna get a big order of clams."
"We’ll get the clams later. But first we’re gonna get some cotton candy and walk down to the end. We can watch the people fish."
Just then a large filthy man appeared in Jackie’s window.
"Back off!" Donna hissed.
"Bitch," he hissed back, then stepped way back at the sight of Donna's small but lethal Astra compact.
The sudden appearance of the aggressive male threw Jackie into a flashback. Viktor Bout walked toward her, as always, the T-shirt painted like a tuxedo pulled tightly across his paunch.
"Vzjat’ na abordaž."
Oh, how she hated those 4 words! How could such a voice precede such pain? His eyes, red and watery, clearly communicated the presence of evil.
Oh my God, she thought. I’m being robbed!
His instructions were unclear; she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to give up. Her purse? The keys to the Malibu? Her groceries? She could see the supermarket guard by the entrance to the store. The guard, a woman in dark trousers and a clean, starched-white uniform shirt, was helping an elderly lady into her car, and wasn’t paying attention as she should have been.
She opened her mouth to scream. Maybe this time, she’d finally get the scream out and the guard would come running. But as always, his hand closed over her throat, shutting off her breathing and sending shock waves of pain all the way down to her feet.
"Jackie?"
She was back. The flashback was over. "Donna. Help me."
Donna whipped out her cell phone. "We're going to see Dr. Black now. You need a double session."
Chapter 7
An hour later they found themselves nearing the old Union Bank building at Ventura and Sepulveda, an area, in spite of the bankrupt nature of the state, rapidly becoming one of the richest commercial nodes in the world.
Donna guided Jackie to Dr. Black’s office on the third floor. The anteroom was a cheerful place with comfortable armchairs and a children’s table piled high with coloring books and crayons. A door at one end stood ajar and Black came out.
"Thanks for seeing us right away, Dr. Black," Donna said.
"My pleasure," Black said. Black’s handshake was dry and slightly calloused, the grip muscular and firm. She had a strong smile and good tan. Up close, Jackie could tell there was more than a hint of muscle underneath the glowing hot-pink pants suit.
Donna headed for the easy chairs while Black guided Jackie through the door to the inner sanctum. The room was light, bright, and airy.
Dr. Black performed a quick physical exam and took a little oral history before taking the opposite chair and gazing into Jackie’s eyes in silence. The seconds stretched out.
"Nice outfit," Jackie said. "I wish I had the guts to wear something like it."
Black regarded her for a moment. "I think we should admit you to the hospital," she said.
"The hospital?"
"Yes."
"I can’t."
"I would hope you’d see the wisdom in my decision," Black said. "And it is my opinion you need to be there. You appear to be anemic."
"You can’t make me," Jackie said. "It's not safe for me there."
"There’s nothing to be afraid of."
"Dr. Black," Jackie said. "There is plenty to be afraid of. Wait. Please. Won’t you at least listen to me first?"
"Okay," Black said, cradling the receiver. "I’m listening."
Jackie launched in, beginning with the attack on New Year’s eve, all the way to the arrest of the man responsible. The hour flew by.
"You left something out," Black said. "I think you know what I mean."
"You mean the rape. I was penetrated, but not with, uh, not with ...."
"I understand. With something else."
"Yes. The barrel of his gun. But I don't remember it. I think it happened after he knocked me out."
There. It was out. The dark ugliness of it spreading through the air between them.
"You remember it," Black said. "You remember every second of it. But you've managed to suppress most of it."
"I am so alone," Jackie said.
"You’re not alone," Black said.
"Is there any hope?"
"It all depends."
"On what?"
"On you," Black said. "Mind you, this isn’t a simple as taking a few medications and doing group therapy. There is a lot of trial and error until we find what works for you. But you can have a life if you want it."
"I do," Jackie whispered. "I want my life back."
"Before you leave today, I need your solemn promise to me you will call me if you start having suicidal thoughts."
"I promise," Jackie said.
Black called Donna in and charged her with watching Jackie.
"Okay, then," Black said, as the trio stood in her doorway. "Donna, Jackie and I will be working together every day this week." She walked back to the desk and scribbled on a pad. "In the meantime here’s a prescription to help with your anxiety, and one to help you sleep. And I also want to do some routine blood tests. You can take this slip to the lab downstairs. Once I get the lab results back, I will make further recommendations."
"Dr. Black," Jackie said. "I almost forgot. What should I do about the lineup?"
"I think you need to face it. This guy has got to be put away."
"But what about his friends?"
"Jackie, nobody is promised tomorrow, but you do have the police keeping an eye on you. And of course, Bobby will be around."
Should she tell him about the dead guy in the dumpster?
"Just don't go into the future," Black said in parting. "Stay in the now."
Jackie and Donna entered the elevator to go down to the lab.
"Believe it or not, I’m starting to feel a little hope," Jackie said.
"Good. Now let’s do the blood draw and fill your prescription and then we can go eat. I’m starving. After dinner, you’re coming home with me. We can watch Casablanca and crash out early."
After Jackie’s blood draw, they entered the parking garage and clambered into the car.
"I'm worried about Bobby," Jackie said. "What if the cops get on to him?"
"Bobby can take care of himself," Donna said.
Chapter 8
They pulled out onto Sepulveda and headed north. In spite of the palm trees and the carefully cultivated image put out by the tourism industry, the Valley weather wasn’t tropical, but desert in its character, living up to its name, California, which, literally translated, meant hot oven.
"You know," Donna said. "I do think there is a car back there which looks familiar. But it could be my imagination."
"Don’t drive like a maniac and lose him."
Donna smiled. "We’ll take Vanowen to Van Nuys Boulevard. We can fill your prescription at the Rite Aid on the corner and have a big starchy dinner at Taxco next door." She hung a right on Vanowen, where the westbound lanes were dead stopped for blocks, but the eastbound lanes moved well, as though the entire population of the eastern sector of Van Nuys was abandoning it, due to its spiraling decline into third world conditions, complete with trash strewn streets, wrought iron bars on every door and window, vicious pit bulls flinging themselves against chain link fences, and a billion watts of garish neon signage covering every inch of commercial space.
"Does anybody ever notice what’s happening to this city?" Jackie said.
"No, they don’t. And neither are we going to. What we are going to do is get you something to eat. We’re going to do the one thing we can do. The rest of the world will simply have to get along without us for awhile."
Donna swung into the Rite Aid parking lot and parked and they went in. A few minutes later, the pharmacy tech called them to the counter.
"Ativan is for anxiety," the tech explained. "You break these in half and take a half tablet three times a day, one at a time, with food. Then you will be taking Trazodone at bedtime. Take a whole one. Don’t take any more than that without checking with your doctor. Don’t drive or operate heavy machinery while using it."
"Okay. I’ll park the bulldozer. But is it okay to drink?" Jackie asked.
"No. It could cause a kind of hypnotic effect. Ativan is actually something which helps people with alcohol withdrawal. And you don’t want to mix a sleep medication with alcohol."
Jackie and Donna exited the coolness of the pharmacy and hit the blast furnace temperatures outside.
"Whew," Donna sighed. "Let’s make tracks to Taxco before we burn to death out here."
They hurried across the parking lot and took refuge in the cool dark foyer of the restaurant. The whole place was a pleasant miasma of stucco, exposed brick, wrought iron and tile, the walls adorned with huge velvet paintings of macho men in Charro hats. The singularity of the decor brought forth in the two women the strong emotions associated with a fresh arrival in a distant land. The atmosphere was heavy with the smells of sizzling lard and frying peppers. The booths and tables ahead and to their left, softened by candlelight, contrasted with the garishly lit bar to the right, stacked with bottles and a TV blaring the pre-game show. The proprietor, Manuel, a slim, pleasantly handsome, middle aged man with a trim mustache, eased himself down from his perch near the TV and gave each of them a hug.
"Donna, do you want to sit here in the bar?" he asked.
"Nah. In an hour the sports crowd will be screaming. I think we’ll take a quiet booth."
Manuel escorted them to a booth on the far wall and they slid in facing each other over the fat, globular, red-glass candle. Under Manuel’s expert supervision, a young man quickly set the table with ice water, bowls of hot, toasted tortilla chips and fresh-ground salsa.
"Manuel, you can bring me a Gold Margarita," Donna said. "Blended. Make it grande."
"A double vodka, neat," Jackie said.
"I thought the pharmacy lady said no alcohol," Donna said.
"Oh, please."