Jackie's Week

by M. M. Wilshire

  "Are you sorry for your sins?" he asked.

  "I am," she said. "But I forgot to tell you a couple of them. For one thing, I think somebody got murdered last night by two men I know of, and I don't plan to tell the police about it. For another thing, I’ve become a boozer. I tried to quit yesterday and started back up again this afternoon. Also, I should have told you that I lusted after a woman while receiving a massage yesterday, and also that I hate God for what he allowed to happen to me. It’s a very strong feeling. One I’m not sure I can ever get rid of."

  "I understand," he said. "We can’t change ourselves. But are you willing to let God try to?"

  "Yes. But I have no idea how that could be done."

  "The main thing is to be willing. But it’s up to you. Now I’m afraid I have some bad news. You just confessed that you are involved in a conspiracy to murder a man, instead of following the law. So I cannot give you absolution."

  "But you said it’s a gray area. That I could follow my conscience."

  "It is, but something tells me you should cancel your plans. If you do that, you can receive absolution."

  "So I’m in mortal sin?"

  "Not yet. But if you have Bout killed, you could be."

  "Okay, Father. What you’re saying is that I’m in danger of hell if I defend myself. On the other hand, I’m in danger of death if I let Bout live."

  "You’re not thinking clearly," he said. "We really should spend more time on this. Right now, the real issue isn’t about going to hell. The real issue is that you’re yielding to temptation to murder. Good fruit cannot come from a bad tree. That is to say, something bad is going to happen to somebody if you pursue this. Innocent people could be hurt. You’ve heard the saying, ‘the wages of sin is death?’ That means that somebody innocent dies whenever somebody else is committed to acts of serious sin. I think you need to give this more time."

  "Which is what I don’t have, Father."

  "Jackie, you need to think long and hard about what you’re doing. At least promise me you’ll do that much."

  The whup-whup-whup of the returning ASD unit could be heard in the distant sky, as though the Holy Spirit was descending like a big mechanical dove. It touched down and Father Larry ran through the prop wash and waved good-bye. While Father Larry ascended into the evening sky, she walked back toward the limo and its amazed driver.

  "Let’s go home," she said. "I am still going to hell. But first I’ve got to get ready for a party."

  "Yes ma’am," the driver said.

  "Heinz!" she yelled.

  Heinz, sinless in his innocence, departed dutifully his perfect world of animal joy, returning to the sorry affairs of women and men and his place in the order of things.

  Chapter 32

  "Your dog eats a lot of meatballs," Ernesto Catalano said. "You should follow his example."

  "Everybody tells me I’m too thin," Jackie said.

  "Here," he said, extending the sliver of garlic toast, "try this bruschetta."

  Jackie and the elderly gentleman stood by the chest-high southern wall on the building roof of the Commercial Entertainment Bank of California building, using the top of the wall as an impromptu table to hold their little plates piled high with various hors d’oeuvres, alongside which rested their drinks—his simple tumbler of red wine, and her double vodka rocks.

  The penthouse behind them pulsed with party sounds, the laughter and conversational buzz supported by an underlay of popular music pumped out by the inevitable tuxedo-clad pianist on the obligatory baby grand with the single rose on one side and a large snifter seeded with tips on the other. The late summer dusk was slowly giving way to the pressures of the night, leaving behind a spectacular view of the vast, jeweled carpet of South Beverly Hills and beyond.

  "Thank you for seeing me tonight," she said.

  "Marsha insisted," he said. He paused to clip and light a long, thick cigar, which immediately enshrouded them in a thick cloud of sweet, acrid smoke.

  "You know it’s a federal offense to smoke these in the United States," he said. "These are the green ones that Kennedy favored."

  "You must be very proud of your niece," Jackie said. "She’s such a beautiful young girl."

  "She’s like a daughter to me," Catalano said. "When my brother died, I took her in. She was only six years old."

  "Do you have other children?"

  "No," he said simply.

  "I bet you’re looking forward to her children," Jackie said.

  "Why do you think I’ve lived so long?" he said. "It’s the final thing I want to see before I leave this earth. We’re praying for her to find the right man. I’ve often regretted having to raise her in this land of fruits and nuts. I should have sent her to Sicily. Marsha would have five children by now. But here in Los Angeles, the young people have all gone crazy. They just have superficial relationships that go nowhere."

  "I’ve never had carpaccio before," Jackie said. "If you’d told me I’d be eating raw meat tonight I would have laughed. From a viewpoint inspired by the global fear of salmonella poisoning, I’m surprised to find it being served at a party on a warm night."

  For the occasion, she’d decided to keep it simple, going with a dress borrowed from Donna, a short blue stretch-velvet number covered in glitter, and a simple pair of red leather thongs. A small red clutch helped tie the outfit together and hide the tiny stainless-steel Charter Arms five-shot revolver loaded with hollowpoint ammo.

  "Anybody with sufficient garlic in their diet is safe from any type of toxic poisoning," Catalano said. "And as for the carpaccio, I can personally assure you, it’s perfectly safe to eat. Even though the meat is served raw, it’s kept well chilled. The sauce you are tasting is authentic. I always insist on it. I won’t let them use that phony dressing like they use at Harry’s Bar and Grill."

  Catalano’s wardrobe choice was a melange of white linen mixed with a dash of lightweight summer wool, the shirt and slacks perfectly pressed and fitted, cleanly accessorized with small but obviously expensive rings and bracelets, ending with the infamous monogrammed bedroom slippers.

  "It’s delicious," Jackie said. "Perhaps the best meat I’ve ever tasted. Actually, I’m about to pop. I can’t even count how many of those little stuffed mushroom caps I’ve eaten."

  "You like vodka?" he said.

  "Very much," she said. "In fact, too much. Which is why I’m going back to AA soon. And the truth is, I wouldn’t even be here except for some pills my doctor gave me. What are you drinking?"

  "A little homemade red wine," Catalano said. "I made it myself."

  "That’s incredible," Jackie said. "You can do that?"

  "My father taught me," he said. "So I’d always have a taste of Sicily. My wife and I ferment the juice in my wine cellar in the basement of my home. We even have an old wine press down there. When we were young, we used to press the grapes with our feet, but we’ve gotten too old for that, so now we have the young men do it."

  "How long have you been married?" Jackie asked.

  "Thirty-nine blessed years," he said. "And as I said, we were not blessed with a child, which is why we are waiting on Marsha."

  "I envy you," Jackie said. "I haven’t been so fortunate. I’m seeing a man I don’t actually love. It may lead to something, but right now I am not sure."

  "Do you respect this man?" he said.

  "Yes," Jackie said. "Very much so. His name is Johnson. In many ways, he’s just like this bruschetta. He’s crusty on the outside, and a little peppery, but tender on the inside."

  "It’s better if you don’t love him," Catalano said. "Romantic love is the cause of most of the unhappiness in the world today. It’s selfish, frivolous and unrealistic. In my day, our marriages were arranged by our parents. When Sofia and I met, we hardly knew each other. But we were taught first and foremost to value commitment and responsibility. The love comes after that."

  "I’ve just about given up on finding true love," Jackie said. "But I didn’t want to gr
ow old alone. I think he and I would make good companions." As she spoke the words, she understood them for the smokescreen they were. She had an attraction for Johnson that went far beyond mere friendship. Blocked by her many fears, she hadn’t had the courage to admit it to herself.

  "Has there been any talk of marriage?"

  "We talked to a priest about getting married," she said. But it turns out my man is a recently divorced Catholic who can’t remarry in the Church, and when I talked with the priest today, I found out that apparently I am in a state of mortal sin which can’t be easily erased."

  "Nothing is impossible," he said. "There is always a way."

  The party people, an eclectic mix of movie moguls and hangers-on, including long-haired men with careful stubble, accompanied by slender, shrink-wrapped women, began to spill out onto the rooftop garden to survey their newfound kingdom over plates of finger food. She spied Bienenfeld in deep conference across the roof with a relaxed looking man who indeed appeared to be Charlie Sheen.

  A separate contingent of old fat guys stood around the outdoor piano bar, boosting mixed drinks into a rising cloud of cigar smoke. These disparate flowers of the entertainment field were attended by a small army of uniformed waitpersons flitting about like bees. Curiously, no one among this freewheeling group saw any reason to venture within thirty feet of where Jackie and Catalano stood.

  "My niece tells me you’ve been having a few problems," Catalano said.

  Jackie drew a deep breath. "There’s a man trying to kill me," she said. "His name is Viktor Bout. The cops grabbed him. He’s being held downtown somewhere, but they have to release him soon because I am afraid to put the finger on him. I got myself a gun but I’m afraid I won’t have the guts to kill him myself when the time comes. He has his men searching for me, I think. I have a cop watching my back, but that didn’t stop one of them last night. He came right to my door even with the cop there." Jackie omitted to mention Marsha's statement that Bienenfeld's thugs captured the offending pursuer.

  "I’m afraid I don’t understand," he said. "All this talk of cops and criminals has me confused. When I spoke to my niece, she mentioned something about you being out of work and in need of employment."

  "That’s what she told you?" Jackie said.

  "When she told me," he said, "I was very interested in meeting you, as I would be any friend of Marsha’s. I am, of course, retired, but I still have a few contacts in the movie business and certain banks who are always looking for the right person. With you background in bank operations, I am certain I could find you a suitable position."

  "I’m sorry Mr. Catalano," she said. "I guess there’s been a misunderstanding. I was hoping you could help me with Viktor Bout."

  "Please," he said. "I insist you call me Uncle. You know, Jackie, I’m afraid that I’m often the target of these kinds of misunderstandings. What with the foolishness of Hollywood and all, I’m sometimes slandered by the media in this regard."

  "Again, I’m so sorry," Jackie said. "I feel like an absolute fool. I shouldn’t insult you further, but I was under the impression that you were, you know, the enforcer for the mafia."

  "Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh," Catalano laughed softly, the sounds of his laughter licking the air with its rich undertones, escaping from his throat pitted and rough, as though his smoked-out vocal chords personally tortured each syllable before its release into the ether. "That’s a common mistake people make," he said, "probably because I waste too much of my hard earned money on making movies for nincompoops, like the deal they’re celebrating tonight. And after Francis made his movie with Brando and Pacino, the whole world thinks there’s a godfather in every city who has an enforcer who runs around and shoots everybody. But I can tell you that as far as I know, there’s no such thing as this. If there were, I’m sure that somewhere in my travels, I would have met him. Besides, everybody knows that the FBI got rid of all those hoodlums in New York and Kansas City. Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh."

  "Everybody believes there is a godfather," Jackie said. "This afternoon, I was sure of it."

  "Let’s just suppose for a minute," he said, "that there was a mafia in Los Angeles, and I was its enforcer. Out of curiosity, what favor would you have asked me to grant?"

  Caught in his gaze like a rabbit under the shadow of a California condor, Jackie felt the old man’s rheumy eyes bleeding through the cigar smoke into her soul. She had the distinct feeling that in spite of the party going on around them, that it was nothing more than a backdrop, that in reality, it was just the two of them discussing a little evil over hors d’oeuvres at the top of the world.

  "Viktor Bout brutally beat me within an inch of my life last New Year’s Eve," she said. "He thought I was dead, and I was, but somehow they revived me. I have spent the last eight months in hiding. In the past couple of days, his friends have threatened me twice. If you were the enforcer, I would have begged you to help me—by killing Viktor Bout and all his associates—before one of them kills me."

  "You must be very frightened," he said. "Is that why you have the dog?"

  "Yes," she said. "When I was first attacked, Bout came out of nowhere and was on me before I could react. I believe the dog can prevent that from happening again. No, I don’t believe that. They will just shoot the dog, won’t they? I believe I’m going to be killed, dog or not. Ernie, before I came to see you tonight, I made a thorough confession with my priest. I didn’t want to die in sin. Unfortunately, he refused me absolution."

  "Absolution will come in time. You’re a very wise young lady," he said. "I wonder if you’d be gracious enough to hear some advice from an old and foolish man."

  "Please," she said.

  "I have learned," he said, "that even the most serious problem will go away if you just relax with a little homemade wine. My question to you is, would you like a sip of my special batch of homemade wine to help your problem go away?"

  Jackie wondered what he meant. He was quite old. Perhaps a touch of dementia was filtering his conversation. But she felt boxed in. She’d have to go his way on this. There was no other way out except to go straight through the heart of this old vulture.

  "Yes," she said. "I would like share some wine to help my problem go away."

  He pulled her close and began to whisper in her ear. His voice was harsh, and full of gravel, but it was no longer the feeble voice of an old geezer—in fact, there was no mistaking the chilling power behind it.

  "I want you to sip my wine, Jackie," he hissed. "Then I will make a special batch, just for you. I will make it the old way, the Sicilian way. First, I will gather the grapes into my wine cellar. Then I will have a few good Sicilian boys pick and crush the grapes beneath their feet. As the grapes are being crushed, the juice will begin to run like blood. Do you understand?"

  Jackie’s soul began to vibrate deep inside like a dark, flowing river of energy. She stood on one side of the river, staring at the smoky, glowing white figure of Catalano on the other. She would have to enter the river and cross over. She now understood what Father Larry meant. The wages of sin were death. She was about to surrender herself to the power of the occult.

  "Do you understand?" He had shouted this last, or so it had seemed, the sheer force of his decibels sending shock waves through her.

  She quickly looked around, but nobody seemed to have noticed that the old man had screamed loud enough to be heard all the way down on the street, 20 stories below. Meanwhile, his voice had risen in pitch and intensity, a wavelength which stunned her, leaving her dazed. She surrendered to his power and opened herself to the flow of the river, plunging herself in and beginning to swim. His ragged, raging voice was her only lifeline to keep her from going under completely.

  "Do you understand?" he raged.

  She made it to the other side. "Yes, Uncle," she said. "I understand."

  "Is this what you want? To have the blood of your enemies crushed from their bodies and flow like wine?"

  Jackie shook like a leaf. She felt the
force of death whirling towards her. With a startling clarity, she realized it was hers to command.

  "Is this what you want?"

  "Yes," she whispered. "It’s what I want. I want the blood of my enemies to run like wine. I don’t care if it sends me to hell. Help me, Uncle. Help me."

  He pressed his lips to her scar and released his grip from her shoulders. The power of death vibrated palpably in the air between them. She understood now who he really was. His true name could not be spoken, not by anyone. He placed his glass of wine in her hand. At his nod, she swallowed the husky, acidic liquid.

  "All of it," he said.

  She forced it down, licking the final drops from her lips.

  "Jackie, I will make you the wine," he said. He handed her a card. On the card, scribbled in a thick #2 pencil, was a phone number. "You may call me at any time of day or night," he said. "And by the way, if you’re having trouble with your priest, I can talk to the Archbishop for you. He’s a very understanding man and knows how to cut through all that Vatican red tape. He will give you the absolution you seek. And perhaps the marriage can take place sooner than you think. When it does, I hope Mama and I will be honored with an invitation."

  "Yes," she said. "I would like some help on that." She turned and walked away, feeling her soul expanding, marveling at the size and space of it. She was careful to take an extra firm grip on the leash before guiding Heinz to the elevator and returning once again to the unwieldy fortunes of the gathering night.

  Chapter 33

  "Johnson," he answered, as always, on the first ring, as though his Blackberry were somehow coupled directly to his head.

  "It’s me." Jackie said.

  "Hi, me," he answered.

  "I can barely hear you. We’ve got a lot of static. I guess you aren’t at my house yet. Did you decide not to move in to my place after all?"

  "I’m moving in later tonight," he said. "I’ve got the van loaded."