Jackie's Week

by M. M. Wilshire

  "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, p
opcorn, 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 min
utes 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."