Jackie's Week

by M. M. Wilshire

  "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 Vik
tor 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?"