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 short, not much taller 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. His bare forearms were thick, hairy and powerful. In the blink of an eye, he was in her personal space.

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 big revolver 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."

While waiting for their drinks, they began scooping chips into the pungent mixture of chopped chilies, onions, garlic, tomatoes, cilantro and other secret goodies. Manuel returned in record time with the drinks and poised himself for their meal request.

"I’ll have a number 9," Donna said.

"A number 13 for me," Jackie said, tossing down the vodka, "and another one of these."

"Jackie, I’m not sure that’s wise."

"Donna, please. Besides, this part of town makes me nervous. You know, I was thinking. Do you realize we’ve been eating here since high school? We feel safe here because we’re familiar with it. But it’s not really safe anymore. Not like it was."

Manuel cruised by and dropped off Jackie’s second drink. She uncapped her vial of pills and looked inside. "Look. They’re shaped like a house." She extracted a couple of the pills, tossing them down with a gulp vodka.

"Jackie, I thought the druggist said you had to crack that in half. You just took two."

"Donna, this neighborhood makes me nervous. I need some relief here. The worst that can happen is I’ll get a little drowsy."

"Whatever. If that’s what you need that’s what you need."

The heavy platters of food arrived and the sisters began to eat.

"Ooooh!" Jackie exclaimed.

"What? Too much jalapeno?"

"No, not that. I think I took too many pills."

"Oh great, Jackie!"

"Actually it is! This is the best I’ve felt in ages. I’m feeling an indescribably extreme pleasure from the disconnect of my fearing mind from my frontal lobe. Dr. Black has launched me on an emotional joyride into the awesome pleasures of sentient consciousness in a universe full of possibilities! And I don’t give a flip about doing any lineup!"

"Jackie? You’re speech is coming out all slurry. What the hell? I think you overdosed."

But Jackie wasn’t listening. With a tiny sigh, her forehead touched the table and she stayed that way, muttering to herself about nothing in particular. With no small effort Donna and Manuel managed to pull her to her feet.

"Walk her around a bit," Manuel said.

"Let me go," Jackie said. "Viktor Bout is going to kill me tomorrow. Everybody is trying to kill me, even me. Everybody."

"I’m taking her home," Donna said.

Chapter 9

Driving south on Van Nuys Boulevard, they surveyed the majestic palm trees which lent an air of curious respectability to the sordid display of pawn shops, sidewalk bins of children’s clothing, bail bondsmen, legal offices and adult bookstores, the heavy purple air glowing in the mercury vapor lamps, the whole nighttime summer sidewalk scene resembling a South American open air market lit up by military flares. The effect shifted the minute the car dealerships appeared, as though a giant movie set had hastily been erected, leaving behind the squalor for impossible opulence.

"Hey!" Jackie shouted. "Pull in to the Lexus dealership."

"No way. We’re going home."

"No. I’m all right now. Pull in!"

Donna stood up on the brakes, skidding the MG into the bus zone in front of the showroom window. The resulting smoke from the tires drew wary stares from the bus stop people.

"Nice stop," Jackie said.

"They made this thing before antilocks."

They got out and stood on the sidewalk.

"Jackie, are you feeling better?"

"Much," she replied. They were about to enter the showroom when a young man in slacks and loosened tie, coatless out of respect for the heavy warm evening, got up from his desk and sauntered slowly towards them.

"Oh great, here comes the shark," Donna said.

"I can do this," Jackie said.

"Do what?"

"This." She opened her arms and did a slow, stumbling twirl.

"Oh no," Jackie. You are way stoned. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. C’mon. We’re leaving."

"No! I have to do this. Donna, let go of my arm. Let go!"

"Ladies?" the salesman asked.

"Sir," Donna said, "will you please wait inside?"

"Not a problem, lady."

"And don’t give me that look. You don’t need to be offended. It’s not because you’re black or anything."

"Of course not," he said. "It's all post-racial now since BHO."

"Let me go," Jackie said. "I’m going inside and check out the red car."

"No you’re not. We’re going home and watch Casablanca."

"Wait a minute. I think I’m beginning to understand something. It’s like a yin-yang sort of thing going on with my animal brain and my spirit brain. The animal brain freaks out whenever it’s reminded of the attack, but because I’ve tranquilized my animal brain, my spirit brain feeds me the true information, and once the processing is complete, I can function."

"That’s it. Get in the car, Jackie."

"Wait. Don’t you get it? I have to look at the red car tonight. Don’t you see it’s my destiny? It’s all for a reason. I live in the city with the most cars, and I was attacked because some guy wanted my car, and I haven’t been able to drive since, so I have to assert my mastery over cars again if I ever want to feel safe! If I don’t find the courage to walk into this showroom right here, right now, and face up to a car, then they win!"

"They?"

"You know! Them!"

Donna relaxed her grip. "Okay. I am going to humor you. We’ll walk into the showroom and look at their stupid little red car and then we’ll go home."

"Donna, this may sound funny, but I have to walk in alone. I have to do this by myself. I want you to find something to do and pick me up in thirty minutes."

"And leave you alone? Get real. I totally promised Dr. Black I would watch you. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll go watch their big screen in the coffee bar while you look at the car. That’ll give you a few minutes to test your courage. But don’t buy anything."

"We call it Matador Red Mica," the salesman, who’s name was Mutab, explained about the color of the vehicle in question.

"I’ve never seen a color like it," Jackie said. "It’s cool, yet hot."

"I sometimes feel a little warm when I get too close," Mutab said.

They stood aft of the car, a year 2010 ISF which occupied the center of the showroom universe.

"This here vehicle," Mutab said, "represents the sum total of a highly complex and seamlessly integrated system of auto engineering which represents the last word in interglobal networking by anybody’s standard. The vehicle is designed to project dominance on the highway."

"Does it have a good radio?"

"What’d I just get through talking about? It has 14 speakers."

Jackie got in and took the wheel. "I want something fast. How fast is it?"

"Fastest thing around. It has 416 horses."

"Oooh."

"You married?" he said.

Chapter 10

After Jackie was through, she and Donna drove in silence, gliding up the hill past Studio City and rocketing down the slope into Hollywood, taking the Highland exit past the deserted Hollywood Bowl and hanging a left on Franklin to avoid being caught in the nightly Hollywood Boulevard freak show.

"I can’t believe you signed a contract," Donna said. "And I can’t believe I let you. You were so wasted he wouldn’t even let you give it a road test."

"Wrong. It was because I don’t have my license. Because Bout took it and now the cops have it in their evidence locker."

"I am too weak," Donna said. "I should have dragged you screaming from the man’s desk. But something stopped me. And those Lexus sales bastards are smooth. I got to talking with one of their people in the TV room and nearly bought one myself. I would have, but I am just not into new things. I don't like computers, period, and I certainly don't like cars with computers. The old ways were best."

"I did a mind control thing on you. That's why you couldn't stop me last night."

"Yeh, right, Jackie."

"No, I really did. I got in touch with this thing inside my head and I just knocked you right over."

"It did kind of feel that way. I think you took me by surprise. I haven’t seen you do anything but vacuum and drink booze for the past six months and all of a sudden this! But we can fight the purchase. That didn’t even look like your signature on the check you wrote. Jackie, why did you buy it?"

"Mutab invited me home."

"You bought the car because he flattered you?"

"It is a very effective sales technique."

"When can you pick it up?"

"Tomorrow," Jackie said.

"I still can’t believe you bought it."

"Why not? You know I needed a car. After Bout jacked my Malibu, I couldn’t face driving again. But now I am moving forward. I bought a new car. End of story. Besides, I’m going to need decent wheels."

"And that’s because?"

"Because I have figured it out. I am not going to do the lineup tomorrow, no matter what Johnson says. I am going to let Bout get out, so I can put the bastard in the ground, and I need a fast car to do it. How’s that grab you? Maybe I’m finally coming to know my true self. Jackie, the executioner."

"Jackie. You’re not going to kill anybody. You’re the type who cries when her goldfish dies." Donna took a left at Canyon Drive, the ancient street narrow but impressive with its hundred-foot-high bluffs and magical old homes. She drove north into the softly misting Hollywood hills, respectfully reducing her speed in deference to a double set of speed bumps. "That’s the house where they filmed Nicholson slapping Dunaway silly in Chinatown," Donna said. "Where he finally came to know her true self."

"He wasn’t acting," Jackie said. "According to the Enquirer, he likes to slap his women. Tell you what. Maybe this week I’ll go to a Laker game and bitch slap Nicholson in front of everybody. See how he likes it."

"Hmmm," Donna said. "Maybe you could slay somebody." She took a right on Spring Oak Drive and into the driveway of the smart white multi-million dollar tri-level, set neatly into the mountain, wreathed in a breath of summer fog. "I’m worn out. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to watch our movie and have a good cry."

She led Jackie down the hall to the back of the house, flipping on lights as she went, arriving at the kitchen—a tile, oak and marble affair, a little on the dark side, with pewter-accented fixtures to compliment the heavy, stainless steel facings of the massive refrigerator and double dishwashers. She tossed Jackie a sack of microwaveable popcorn, the kind with enough butter in the bag to meet the daily fat requirements of a team of Sumo wrestlers. "Nuke it. It's the last package since the State banned trans-fats. I don't know what we'll eat after it's gone. I’ll meet you in the den. I’m going to the basement to get the champagne."

Jackie popped another Ativan along with a Trazodone while watching the bag expand through the window of the microwave. She dumped the popcorn into a bowl, grabbed a can of ground parmesan from the cupboard, and headed into the den where she kicked off her shoes and flopped down onto the massive leather overstuffed couch. Donna arrived with an open bottle of champagne and a can of Diet Coke.

"The Coke is for you," Donna said.

"Fine if you put some vodka in it."

"That ain’t going to happen. Now eat the dang popcorn."

"Nothing smells better than freshly nuked popcorn," Jackie said. "Donna, I want your house. I want this white house on the hill. I want your happiness."

Donna filled a fluted glass with bubbly for herself and Coke for Jackie. "What happiness? If you were inside my head for five minutes, you'd throw yourself screaming into a wood chipper."

"No," Jackie said. "You have true happiness. Maybe you are just so used to it you can't see it. But from where I sit, on the outside, I can see it."

"Trust me. It’s not all that bloody happy." She fiddled with the remote control, igniting the 60-inch screen fed by the Blu-Ray before raising her flute as the movie began. "Here’s looking at you, kid."

"You say it every time we watch this flick."

"I can’t help myself. When Bogie says it, when he’s toasting Ingrid Bergman, it’s the ultimate love scene."

"In your opinion," Jackie said.

"You got a better one?"

"For my money, the best love scene is when he says We’ll always have Paris."

"To each her own, Jackie. Now quit "Bogarting" our popcorn and pass it here."

At the point in the movie where Rick reminds Ilsa of their last meeting the day the Nazi’s marched into Paris, Donna said, "You know, no matter how many times we watch this film together, I always feel so secure in our little nest. Our ritual of honoring heroes and heroines greater than ourselves. And I feel so comforted in the bonds of our sisterly love."

A soft snore escaped from Jackie’s lips. Donna reached for the Afghan and covered her sister’s sleeping form. "I love you Jackie. Here’s looking at you, kid."

Chapter 11

"Vzjat’ na abordaž," Viktor Bout whispered softly. The nightmare closed in. Jackie could not turn it off. She began to pray, Dear God, please kill me now in my sleep. Take my life. But God didn’t intervene, just as He hadn’t any other night since the attack. She was back in the parking lot with Bout sitting on her chest, pinning her arms, pointing the spray can. The pepper spray exploded in a fiery wave over her face, forcing her eyes shut. He released his grip on her throat and as always she opened her mouth to suck in some air, but when she did he sprayed inside her mouth and throat, crippling her breathing. The pain from the spray was like a violent, living force, as though someone had torched her head inside and out.

Jackie opened her eyes and the dream dissolved. She gulped for air. Why was the dream so real? When would the nightmares stop? The morning light was streaming through the window of the den. Somewhere deep inside the house, she could hear the sound of water running through the pipes, and a news announcer’s voice droning.

She got up and found her way to the kitchen, where Donna was pouring water into the coffee maker. The tiny flat screen on the counter poured out a steady stream of bad news, the chief item seeming to be the higher than expected unemployment figures-for all but government employees.

"You look like hell," Donna said.

"Feel like it too. I smell Jamaica Blue Mountain."

Donna smiled. "Coffee’ll be ready in a minute. Jackie, you’re shaking. Are you cold?"

"Nope. Just the usual. Had the dream again."

"I’m sorry, Jackie," Donna said. "But it can’t go on forever. Things are changing."

"I just want to go upstairs and hide."

"Jackie, when you fall off the horse you have to get back on. I’ll tell you what, a makeover wouldn’t hurt right about now. I think you need a change. You need to make yourself more attractive."

"More attractive for whom?" Jackie said.

"For yourself," Donna replied.

"I don’t want to be attractive. That’s what caused my problem in the first place."

Donna sighed. "Listen, I understand where you are coming from. This is why you are going to continue to see Dr. Black. She is going to walk through your interior with you and help you reclaim what Bout took. For now, what we should do is throw something on and go down the hill to breakfast, and after, we can go pick up your new car, what do you think?"

Jackie raised her head and stared at Donna.

"What do you mean, my new car?"

"Oh, Jackie. Funny."

"No, Donna. I’m serious. You said something about my new car. What are you talking about?"

"Jackie, it’s too early for this."

"Donna, I had the bad dream as usual, like every night since I got attacked, but what’s different is this morning, I woke up here on your couch instead of in my own bed."

"Jackie, are you saying what I think you’re saying? You were in a black out?"

"What I’m saying, dear sister, is this—the last thing I remember from yesterday is having a couple of shots with you at Taxco. But after that, everything’s a blank. Now what’s this about a new car?"

"You better get a grip, Jackie. Because last night after drinks we went out and you wrote a check for a new car. A red one."

Jackie ran to the den and pulled out her checkbook, examining it slowly before walking back to the kitchen. "I don’t believe this. Why didn’t you stop me?"

"I tried to, but you got very ugly. The sales guy saw how out of it you were and like the shark he is, he hustled you into signing the contract. And he wouldn’t tear up the contract after you signed it."

"What kind of car did I buy?"

"A Lexus."

"Which one?"

"The fastest one they make."

"And it’s red? I deserve death."

"You better have a cup of coffee." Donna poured Jackie a generous mug of the steaming brew.

"Awww. Donna. That check I wrote? It's bogus. The checkbook is from when I used to have a line of credit on my house, but the bank froze it when my house lost all its value. Which is another problem entirely, the fact I have almost run completely out of money and am basically unemployable. I certainly can’t go out and join Obama's youth core or whatever he calls them, or spend my days doing piecework at the solar panel factories. All those years I worked for the bank and now the freaking bank has gone out of business. I can’t even get welfare because the State is bankrupt. The bank is going to foreclose on my old house any minute. And nobody is buying houses in L.A. right now and if they are, they only give you a fraction of what it is really worth!"

"So let them foreclose. You don't live there anyway."

"Well someday I might want to again."

Donna took a big sip of coffee. "Stop whining. You are not going to run out of money. If it comes down to it, I will support you. But right now we do have a problem with your new car. They won’t cancel the contract. Dealerships are vicious, especially now since most of them are broke. They will claim the car is used and sue you for the instant depreciation. I’ll go get Bienenfeld. Maybe he can send one of his thugs to the dealership to convince the finance manager to tear up the contract. While I’m doing that, I think you’d better try and relax. Remember, you’re not alone anymore. You’re seeing Dr. Black again today. I’m sure she’s going to want to hear all about your little escapade."

"I just realized I have no way to pay Dr. Black."

"I’m paying for it."

"I can’t let you do that. You already do too much for me."

"Shut up. I’m rich, remember? Until you are back on your feet, it’s my job to take care of you."

"That makes me feel like some kind of a cripple."

"You are a cripple."

"Okay. Now we have established that, the cripple needs some toast or something. I can’t take my Ativan on an empty stomach."

"No more Ativan. Not after last night. Not until you tell Dr. Black what happened."

"Okay. A Bloody Mary, then. To calm my nerves."

Donna was silent.

"That was not a joke," Jackie said. "It’s either the Ativan, the vodka, or both, or I pull my hair out. I can feel the shakes already."

Donna remained staring and the beginnings of a frown formed.

"I’ll wait," Jackie said. "I know you’ve got a point coming."

"You know, dear Sister, even a bird builds a nest before she lays an egg."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it’s time you gave some thought to what you’re doing with your life."

"You’re wrong," Jackie replied. "Because I’m not your ordinary bird. I’m beginning to discover I’m more like the ostrich. The ostrich doesn’t build anything. She runs way out in the Babylon desert, drops her payload on the sand and splits. That’s me."

Donna frowned and dropped a couple of slices into the toaster. "I give up, Jackie. Eat some toast, have a Bloody Mary, take your pill, drink your coffee. Whatever. I wish you’d take a shower. You smell. But whatever. Do whatever you need to do. Meanwhile, I’m going to wake Bienenfeld up. Maybe he can help out with your car situation."

"Boom," said Jackie. "There goes Babylon."

Chapter 12

"So what happened last night that’s so important I had to get up?" Bienenfeld said. He was sitting at the table with the two women. "The party with Kiefer and Siobhan ended late. I’m in no shape for an early morning. No shape at all. I think I’m still a little drunk."

Clad in a pair of shiny gold pajamas, he was holding forth from the head of the kitchen table, slathering strawberry jam onto a piece of whole wheat toast. Bienenfeld, short and toad-like, with dark central Europeonistic features, a good head of hair only slightly gone to gray. Clearly a man who had no problem being married to a woman a foot taller than he was. He had made his bones at the helm of a private Beverly Hills bank catering to the entertainment industry, which continued to do well despite the failures of other banks. In America, when times got tough, the tough went to the movies, and those movies needed capital, and that capital provided Bienenfeld and his ilk with a handsome rate of return.

"Ira Hirschel," Jackie said. "Don’t hog all the jam." Jackie was feeling somewhat more relaxed. The pill had kicked in, taking the edge off the anxiety.

"I told you never to call me Ira Hirschel," he said. "Even my own mother wasn’t allowed to call me that. And you may note that she is dead."

"Sorry, Bienenfeld."

He passed the jam, which she ate from the jar with a spoon. "Jackie," he said, "now that you’re living in my house, you need to start showering. And you might consider having my housekeeper bury those sweats in the back yard, for pity’s sake. Wait. Don't. the coyotes would dig them up immediately."

"Get off her back," Donna said. "You know she has issues."

"I tried to shower," Jackie said. "But I just couldn’t. The best I could manage was a pirate bath."

"What the hell is that," Bienenfeld said.

"You know, a little splash under the armpits."

The trio sat and sipped their coffee in silence, each wondering in turn what neuropsychiatric algorithm caused Jackie to fear showering and the wearing of anything but the same old sweat pants and shirt.

"I got really wasted last night and wrote a ginormous check for a car," Jackie said. "A new crisis."

"No, not a crisis, which is a catastrophic blend of several problems. Sounds more like a single problem," Bienenfeld remarked. "Or is there more?"

"The car cost about 75 grand. She wrote a rubber check. She only has about 500 dollars left to her name," Donna said.

Bienenfeld sighed and rubbed his temples. "Your first mistake was buying a car on your own. I could have gotten you any car you wanted below dealer cost. And money wouldn’t be a problem for you if you’d followed my advice six months ago and sued Gelson’s market on whose premises you were assaulted under the very nose of their so-called security guard. Hell, by now you’d be a millionaire."

"Spoken like a lawyer," Donna said.

"Which I am," Bienenfeld replied. "At least on paper."

"Tell you what," Jackie replied forcefully. "Until yesterday, I just couldn’t face it. But I’m a new woman today. An angry woman. Today the idea looks good. You do the lawsuit for me."

"Okay," Bienenfeld said. "I’ll call Century City and release a toxic cloud of threats upon Gelson’s Legal Department immediately."

"Honey," Donna said. "Before you waft the toxic cloud, maybe you can have one of your people go down to the dealership in Van Nuys and fix things for Jackie. Make them tear up the contract."

"No," he said. "What’s done is done. And Jackie needs a car. Donna, this morning, why don’t you drive Jackie over to our bank and have her talk to Marsha? Tell her I said Jackie needs about a hundred grand to tide her over."

"We’re taking the limo," Donna said. "That way we can go to the bank and then fetch Jackie's new car and send the limo back for you, and I can stay with Jackie so she doesn’t have to be alone."

"Excuse me? Did I hear you say a hundred grand?" Jackie said. "Did I?"

"Why not? I make loans to lots of people down on their luck. One time I even loaned 50 grand to Mickey Cohen."

"Mickey Cohen? The gangster?"

"The kid from Boyle Heights—one and the same. Of course, he did threaten to kill me if I said no."

"Did he pay you back?" Jackie asked.

"Of course not. But then again, he didn’t kill me, either."

"How can you make me a loan if I don’t even have a job?"

"We have ways," Bienenfeld said. "You can pay the whole thing off after we kick ass when Gelson’s supermarket settles."

"I need a tissue," Jackie said. "Your generosity, it’s ... it’s ..."

"Jackie," Donna said, handing her a napkin, "I think you’ve reached a milestone here. As crazy as it sounds, you’re beginning to come alive."

"I’d call hitting me up for a hundred grand a bit more than merely living again," Bienenfeld said.

"Shut up, Bienenfeld," Donna said. "Jackie, you’re moving in with us."

"I ... I’d like to. But is it okay with you, Bienenfeld?"

"Consider yourself already moved in. I’ll send some people to your apartment to get the rest of your stuff, unless it's like the stuff you have on, in which case I will have it burned. Meanwhile, maybe you and Donna can see about getting you cleaned up. Maybe she can hold your hand while you're in the shower."

"Okay."

"If there is nothing else, I’m going back to bed. But I move we all go out to dinner tonight. Might as well try out Jackie’s new wheels."

"I think I would like that," Jackie said. "But I can’t picture you in a Lexus. You’ve always been a limo man."

"I can’t picture it either," he said. "No matter how much they advertise, the Lexus is a woman's car. But no matter."

"Beanie," Donna said. "There is something else. Something serious else."

"Shut up, Donna!" Jackie hissed.

Donna shrugged. "Never mind, Beanie."

"No," he said. "What is it, Donna?"

"They caught the guy who did it. But he sent somebody to threaten Jackie. And Jackie's bodyguard killed him. We think."

"Now that’s a horse of another feather," he said, sitting up.

Jackie stared at him. "His name is Viktor Bout. The cops are holding him, but if I don’t pick him out of the lineup, he’s going free in the next day or so. Donna was going to ask you to kill him," she said. "I asked her not to."

Bienenfeld searched her eyes for a moment, his face unreadable. "For the time being," he finally said, "I’ll have somebody keep an eye on you, just for your safety."

"Not necessary," Donna said. "The cops already have somebody watching us. And Jackie has her own bodyguard. Dr. Black's brother, Bobby."

"No," he said. "The cops are idiots. And even Bobby, whoever he is, has to sleep sometime. I am going to have a guy I know keep an eye on you. I’ll go and arrange it right now and then I am going back to bed." With a great stretch, Bienenfeld got up and disappeared up the stairs.

Jackie got up and began clearing the dishes. "He sure took that casually. Where’s the soap for the dishwasher?"

"You can leave those," Donna said. "Juana will do them when she gets in."

"Well, la-de-da, Charlotte," Jackie said.

Chapter 13

"That’s quite a scar over your right temple," Marsha said to Jackie.

"This scar across my temple is where the bastard brained me," Jackie said.

Marsha’s corner banking office resembled a cocktail lounge, with it’s polished black granite flooring, and orange-and-chrome decor and dim recessed-spots, which hid from view the multitude of financial sins committed daily by the bank’s primary clients—the mafia and their business managers to the entertainers.

Marsha was an elegant, petite woman, with an incredibly thick mane of natural, long blonde hair, its bright sheen only slightly chemically assisted. Marsha was confidently decked out in a little black dress, as though it wasn’t really Tuesday morning, but, rather, the hard edge of Friday night.

"I know a good plastic man when you’re ready," Marsha said.

"Why do people who recommend their plastic surgeon to someone always say 'When you’re ready?'" I’ll tell you what I am ready for—I’m ready for a good stiff drink."

"No problem, I’ll fix you one."

"If it’s no trouble. Anything with vodka."

"An early morning drink is a common request around here," Marsha said. She got up and opened the cabinet behind Jackie which contained a shelf of high quality booze and a small refrigerator stocked with the finer necessities of the drinking craft.

"I’ve never had a drink in a bank before," Jackie said. "I guess I’ve never been important enough for any banker to offer me one."

"You’re important to us," Marsha replied.

"Mmm. This is one good vodka martini. I shouldn’t. In fact, I think I can trace most of my financial difficulties to a few shots of vodka last night."

"Sounds more like a repressed soul making a bid for freedom if you ask me."

"Last night my ‘bid for freedom’, or whatever you choose to call it, took the form of blacking out and buying a new car."

"It wasn’t a blackout. You’re just in the process of discovering your true self. In a blackout, you know exactly what you are doing, but later the conscience represses it. Some people get beyond all that. I have. I do whatever I want and I don't need alcohol as an excuse."

"I started seeing a shrink yesterday," Jackie replied. "To deal with my flashbacks following the attack. To deal with everything."

A man poked his head in. "Jackie?" he said.

She fought to get her breathing under control. The man was menacing by any standard. For one thing, he was the largest man she had ever seen. His refrigerator sized frame was draped with a cheap baggy tan suit. There was some sort of a satchel slung over his shoulder by a wide strap. Behind him, to her surprise, she spotted Bobby right behind him, the long braid over one shoulder. Bobby wore a short Dodger jacket. On his belt was a large hunting knife.

"Yes?" she said, her voice squeaking.

"My name is Nasturtium," he said. "I just met your man, Bobby. The both of us will be keeping an eye on you. As per my arrangement with Mr. Bienenfeld."

"I have the police already doing that," she said.

"As I said, we will be keeping an eye out, as per our arrangement with Mr. B." With a half smirk, he disappeared.

"Oh my God," Jackie said. "He startled me when he popped through the door like that."

"I’ve seen him around before," Marsha said. "He’s some kind of ex Navy Seal or something who got thrown in prison for war crimes. Now he works for my uncle Ernie." She opened the folder as though nothing had happened and reviewed the paperwork, extracted a single sheet, and pushed it towards Jackie while extending a gold ball-point pen. "Sign at the bottom and you’re all set."

Jackie scrawled her signature across the bottom of the note. "You make it so easy."

"We’re treating it as a commercial note to avoid bothersome disclosures and red tape. When Bienenfeld writes the loan summary, he’ll probably make up some B.S. about how the money’s being used for the option rights to a book you're writing or something." She placed the note in the folder and handed Jackie a supply of temporary checks. "Use these for now."

"Do I get a receipt or anything?"

"No es necesario."

"I can’t believe I just got this loan. Are these funds from the government bailout?"

Marsha smiled. "This is not the type of banking enterprise that needs a government bailout. We do very nicely in rain or shine. It’s all about relationships around here."

"Thank you Marsha."

"De nada. And I mean you are very welcome. Why don’t you give me a call sometime and we’ll have a drink together? Maybe we can explore that area of you which needs to function in a blackout."

"I don’t get out much. I—oh hell, I might call you. I don’t know."

"It’s just a drink. I’m not going to eat you alive. And not to change the subject, but I’m curious—what happened to the guy who did that to you?"

"The cops grabbed him yesterday. But he’s getting out again if I don’t step forward and finger him. Now he is sending his friends after me."

"There are other ways."

"Like what?" Jackie asked.

"Like other ways besides involving the police. Nasturtium and Bobby for example."

"I’ll admit I’ve thought about it. But deep down I know I don’t have the guts. It’s really a police matter."

"Of course," Marsha said. "A police matter. Now I want you to have a very nice day. And give Donna my best. Adios."

Chapter 14

Donna was waiting for Jackie in the limo with the sun roof slid back. Jackie climbed in and felt the welcome rush of cool morning air as the huge vehicle glided away from the curb.

"I still don’t see our police escort," Donna said. "I bet he got lost in some sort of bureaucratic shuffle."

"It doesn’t matter," Jackie said. "Bienenfeld’s cavalry just rode in. The guy is huge."

"Well I am sorry it had to come to this," Donna replied. "So what did you think of Marsha?"

"Meeting her was rather strange," Jackie said. "For one thing, I think she offered to help me nail Viktor Bout."

"Bienenfeld’s having an affair with her."

Jackie's brain came to full stop and then chugged forward cautiously at this new revelation. "Say again? Donna?" But there was no need to question the statement. The pain was written all over her sister’s face. "Donna, are you kidding me?"

"Sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out."

"Why didn’t you tell me before?"

"Jackie, you have enough troubles without listening to mine. Young, isn’t she? And short, but she just escaped being pudgy and instead is impossibly curvy. Maybe my husband finally decided he was tired of me towering over him. You’d think she’d leave the old men alone. I wish she didn’t have such gorgeous hair. Marsha is the reason I first went to see Dr. Black. She talked me out of killing myself last year."

"Donna. Oh no. I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

"It’s a long story, but Marsha is the niece of Ernie Catalano."

"One of Bienenfeld’s mafia guys?"

"Catalano isn’t one of anybody's anythings. He's the enforcer for the Los Angeles family. Actually, he's the godfather, except they don't use that word anymore."

"I thought the mafia had been destroyed by the FBI."

"Don't make me laugh. Of course, they aren't what they used to be since the Russians and the Triads moved in. Not to mention the Latin Kings. But rest assured they are still here and doing what they do best. Catalano is the one who really controls the bank, although his name isn’t anywhere to be found. He hand-picked his board of directors from his collection of movie moguls and other perverts who owe him favors. Bienenfeld is just his window dressing, someone who can pass a background check and who looks good to the public while the rest of them launder the money they steal."

"Donna, I don’t understand how you can live through each day knowing your husband is doing Marsha. How can you stand it? What does Bienenfeld have to say for himself?"

"He thinks I don’t know. I’m scared to bring it up. To tell you the truth, I’m afraid of Marsha. I think she is dangerous. So, it’s just something I have to live with. What else am I going to do? What!"

"You’ve been keeping a lot of secrets from me. But it’s my fault. I haven’t really been there for you lately. I feel like I’m just now returning after five years in the Foreign Legion."

"Don’t worry about me. The main thing right now is getting you back on your feet."

"Marsha invited me for a drink," Jackie said.

"Jackie, stay away from Marsha. The mafia is real and it’s ugly. And as for her offer of help with your problems, you might be surprised what Marsha may have had in mind for your attacker."

"Marsha’s only the enforcer's niece. It’s not like she can order a hit or anything."

"Get real. Every mafia family is a nest of women and children who know everything, and not only that, they’re just as capable of lying, stealing and killing as the patriarch. They’re like rattlesnakes. The venom of the young is more deadly than that of the old. Why do you think I haven’t insisted Bienenfeld end his affair? The truth is, I’m scared stiff of these people. I don’t want to wind up in the La Brea tar pits. Or worse."

"Donna, I feel like I’m seeing you for the first time. And it scares me."

"Why, because I’m living with a man who scares me? Or because you finally learned that your sister is a loser? Jackie, every day I ask myself how in the world did my life get ruined like this. I was such a fool to marry him. I was young and naive, and here was this handsome hotshot. On our first date, he picked me up in the limo. I was just swept away by his money and power. I never asked myself any of the important questions. And every time I had doubts, we were off to some fabulous party somewhere, or doing something ordinary people only dream about. Now I find out he is just a punk errand boy for Ernie Catalano."

"It’s okay, Donna. Obviously you loved him once. Maybe you need to remember that. You saw something good in the man. Maybe you can find it again. Tell me something. Do you still love him?"

"Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe I do still love him."

"How in the world did our lives come to this?" Jackie said.

"Jackie, there’s something else. Bienenfeld got in trouble awhile back. A Times reporter was investigating the bank. My husband might have gone to jail for some rather serious financial indiscretions. But Ernie Catalano got involved and the reporter disappeared. Bienenfeld owes Catalano. I think my husband is an accomplice in a murder."

"Oh Donna."

"Welcome to my desperate world," Donna said.

They crested at Mulholland Drive but got caught at the light. The unbroken line of cars in the opposite direction, curving up from the Valley and escaping single-file across the intersection towards the Beverly Hills side reminded Jackie of riders at a theme park moving through a fantasy land. Facing Donna and Jackie was the sprawling pre-historic ocean floor of the San Fernando Valley, ringed by jagged brown mountains and crowned in a light wreath of smog. Jackie looked at her sister, surprised by the sudden look of determination furrowed across her brow, as though the combination of swerving vehicle and curving road could somehow purge the welter of emotions seething beneath the surface.

"Next stop, Paradise," Donna said.

Chapter 15

"New experiences can be overwhelming," Jackie said. "At times like these, I feel like such a fool. I can’t believe I bought a car this color!"

They were standing on the Lexus showroom floor in front of Jackie’s new car.

"It looks more like a cosmetic designer’s fantasy than a color for an automobile," Donna said. "I wonder if they sell matching lip gloss and nail polish."

They stared at the Lexus, a blend of stealthy shapes and aerodynamic efficiency. A big fat guy was carefully removing any trace of dust with a soft white rag.

"It’s a vintage baby diaper," he said. "Real cotton. I’m going to miss this car. Every morning I come out here and wipe it down with the diaper."

"You need to get a life," Donna said.

"Is that an offer, Sweetcakes?"

"Not." She took a sip of coffee from a large paper cup. "I take it back. The coffee you serve is really tremendous."

"It’s a special blend of Guatemala Antigua and French Roast," he said. "Then I add in a little cinnamon. It’s the preferred beverage of the lost generation who buy most of our new product line."

"Oh them. The men who wear double earrings and do stuff on the computer."

"I believe the correct term is metrosexual," he said. He got in and started the motor, which came to life vibrantly and smoothly. He slowly eased the car out through the showroom doors and into the staging area, where the morning sun sparkled over the flawless polished surface of the vehicle, taking a few minutes to bring to Jackie’s attention the many-colored dreams the vehicle offered, the most useful of which was a device to prevent weaving over the line when driving while intoxicated.

"It’s all yours, Jackie," he said. "Take it easy at first. That much power can get away from you if you’re not careful. Call us if you need anything. You always get a free wash whenever you stop by."

"Thanks," Jackie said. She eased herself gingerly into the front seat.

"Jackie," Donna said. "Get out. I’m driving, remember?"

"No," Jackie said, locking the doors. "And don’t get in. I need to do this myself. Take the limo home."

"Jackie. Unlock the door!"

"Nope."

"I can’t leave you alone. I promised Dr. Black!"

"I’m okay. Hopefully, I have police protection, not to mention Nasturtium and Bobby from The Thug Store. I’m seeing Dr. Black at 2 o’clock. Meantime, I am going to go try out my new toy and go have lunch with Johnson. He thinks he can talk me into doing the lineup over lunch. But he’s wrong. I have to find a way to tell him I’m not ready to face Bout. Other than that, I’m living my life with a whole new philosophy."

"Which is?"

"Dr. Black told me to quit worrying about dying." She put the car in gear and released the hand brake. "Well, I’m going now, Donna, thanks for rescuing me yesterday. And I really mean it." It was a side of her sister she’d never before seen. Donna, in rescue mode. For most of their lives, it had been the other way around.

"You should not be driving. What if you have another blackout behind the wheel?"

"Donna, I can’t return to normal if everybody keeps treating me like I’m not." The idea of just being normal again appealed to Jackie. She almost couldn’t wait to move in and spend an afternoon with Donna, washing each other’s hair, watching their old movies together, and swapping outfits. She realized, with a start, it had been years since she’d had that kind of relationship with her baby sister. True, they both had their problems, but the thought of sharing them together made the whole thing a tad less onerous.

"I’m upset with you, Jackie. "Really upset."

"Donna, come here and listen to me."

Donna approached the driver’s side and leaned in.

"You know," Jackie said. "When you quit dreaming, you don’t tell anybody. There comes a day when you’re in the bookstore and you realize you’re not going to meet a cute guy and you’re not going to get married and have a string of children. You’re always going to push the shopping cart alone."

"That's really depressing, Jackie," Marsha said.

"I think as of yesterday that feeling has left me," Jackie replied. "I’m starting to feel something stirring inside. Right now I want nothing more than to be your big sister again, the way it used to be. It’s a feeling I have of wanting to be with family while I still have some precious time left. And I’m going to be okay. I feel safe in this car."

"Well," Donna said, "I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I will just pray that you really are okay. I hope so. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to have my big sister back. I’ve really needed you." Her eyes sparkled with tears and her ponytail wagged. Donna was in the prime of her life. Jackie could almost take strength from the sight of her.

"Don’t forget about dinner tonight," Donna said. "We’ll meet at the house and start heading over there around 7 o’clock. But do not tell Dr. Black I left you alone."

"I won’t say a word," Jackie said. She pulled out onto Van Nuys Boulevard and gave the pedal a light push. To her amazement, the car bolted forward, shooting into the next lane, nearly throwing her into the backseat.

The fat guy was right, she thought. It’s powerful—like a jet. That’s what I’ll call you. From now on your name is Jet.

She hit the Ventura Freeway westbound onramp and floored it. Jet gathered speed like an F-22 Raptor. She eased back on her white-knuckle grip, understanding Jet to be a sensitive hunk of metal, preferring to be guided rather than grabbed. The vehicle surged forward and began to perform, each surge of power greater than the last. Jackie was thrilled. She had a new car. "Go Jet go!" she screamed.

If only I could freeze this beautiful moment, she thought. If only I could stop the entire world so I can fly along this freeway with Jet forever.

Forever was not without cost, however, and her obligations to the here and now finally wormed their way back in. Jackie reluctantly doubled back to Van Nuys for her lunch date with Johnson to discuss the lineup.

After parking the car in the pay lot, she made her way across the shady, tree-lined plaza, past the civic leaders of tomorrow—kids on skateboards—and the bronze statue of the naked Indian guarding the entrance to, or escaping from, depending on your point of view, the Van Nuys Public Library.

Standing before the police building, she hesitated briefly before climbing the steps to the visitor’s entrance, whereupon she announced her intentions to the desk sergeant, clipped on a visitor’s badge, made it past the scanner and was led by a cadet to a large corner office on the third floor where Johnson greeted her with a surprise—a large police dog. The dog got up and sniffed her toes and licked her hand.

"I’m not going anywhere with that," she said. "Get him away from me."

"Fear not. He’s just a big sweetie," Johnson said. "His name is Heinz. He’s actually a retired police officer. I’m taking him home to live with me."

"Why?"

"His partner was killed last month."

"Oh no."

"Yeh."

"It never stops, does it, Johnson?"

"Nope."

"So what do you tell yourself?"

"I tell myself somebody has to hold the line. Otherwise you have anarchy."

"Johnson," she said, "if you had a cop protecting me, we never saw him."

"He was there. I told you he was discreet."

"Well, I’ll have to take your word, I guess."

"Do you want me to have him sneak up behind you and buzz you the next time you’re out?"

"No. Definitely not." She decided it best not to mention the other protection arrangements now in place.

"My man tells me you have a bodyguard," Johnson said. "Tall guy, with a braid and a large knife."

"Oh shit, Johnson. I was going to tell you."

At Johnson’s suggestion, they walked themselves and the dog the short block to Van Nuys Boulevard and grabbed a booth inside a local stir-fry joint. A short, leathery, impossibly old Asian man came to take their order.

"We’ll have the special, Charlie," Johnson said. "And a couple of large ice teas."

"I see you know everybody in here by name."

"I don’t know that guy. I just call ‘em all Charlie."

"From when you were in Vietnam."

Johnson nodded.

"You bigot. He’s probably a valiant Hmong who fought on your side."

"True," he said. "But now he’s over here and his teenage sons are draped with bling and pushing meth."

"Ouch. A cop’s world view. Let’s change the subject. I hope I like what you just ordered for me."

"Trust me—it’s a beef and mango stir fry. They slice a steak real thin and fry it up with lots of fresh mango, ginger and garlic."

"You ever been to Taxco?"

"Nope. What is it?"

"A Mexican place down the street. Donna and I have been hanging out there for years. Next time, we’ll go there. I once took a business client there for lunch, a Mexican guy, and he cried. He said the tamales were the way his grandmother used to make them."

"It’s a date then," he said. "Jackie, I almost hate to bring this up, but the lineup is set for 2 o’clock. You’re going through with it, right?"

"No," she said. "You’ll have to postpone it. I started seeing a shrink yesterday. That’s one of the issues we are going to discuss this afternoon. Right now, she thinks I’m not ready."

"Okay," he said.

"That’s it? You’re not going to swat me with a phone book being a no-show?"

"Nope. I had a feeling you weren’t ready. So let’s just enjoy our lunch."

"Thank you for that."

Charlie brought the large ice teas and Jackie took a sip. "Mmm. Jasmine. It’s good." She took another sip. "So tell me. We’ve talked off and on for the past six months, but I don’t really know much about you. Have you been a cop all your life?"

"I joined the Department shortly after I returned from my big Asian vacation. I was 20 years old and full of piss and vinegar."

"You wanted to save the world? To protect and serve?"

"No. I wanted to be able to beat the crap out of people I don't like and never have to look for a job ever again."

"Job security. Now there’s an original idea. You’re full of surprises. Take this dog thing."

"I like dogs. I worked with a dog in Vietnam, and did the same for the department when I was younger, but now I’m too old and fat. The guys who work with the dogs start at 5 a.m. They have a lieutenant and four sergeants above them and they all have to sit down and eat nails together every morning."

The plate lunches arrived, piled high with rice and covered overall with a thick, savory sauce. They both took up chopsticks, which each wielded expertly. Jackie plunged a healthy amount of the mixture into her mouth. "Mmm." For awhile they ate without talking, the quality of the food arresting any function but that of consuming greedily the savory concoction.

"So what’s it like being a K-9 cop and siccing your dog on people," she said.

"It feels good. And if by people you mean felons, you of all people must be aware that felons aren’t people. They’re humanoid trigger pullers."

"Heinz seems very polite. He hasn’t moved a muscle since we got here."

"He is polite. Until he’s not."

"And then what?"

"Then he's horrendous."

"Johnson, what are the chances of a lady like me ever owning a dog like Heinz? If I’d had a dog that night ..."

He looked at her searchingly for a moment. "In a perfect world, every lady would have a friend and protector like Heinz. But in the real world, the chances of you getting a dog like this are zero."

"Figures."

Johnson nodded then suddenly locked eyes with her. "Jackie, this is terrible and I shouldn’t just blurt this out, but do I even have a chance with you?"

"Johnson! Are you out of your mind?"

"I’m sorry," he said. "I take it all back. Let’s just pretend I never said it."

"Johnson, don’t go getting your feelings hurt. Besides, you don’t know what you’re asking. You wouldn’t want me if you really knew me. C’mon, Johnson, I’m a lush. I don't bathe."

"It’s a start."

"No, I mean a real lush. I do stupid things. I bought a car in a blackout last night. A Lexus. And I nearly went home with the salesman."

"I know."

"You know about the car?"

"Yeh. My man told me."

"Is he watching us now?"

"No. I’m watching you now. It’s no big deal. Now let’s drop the subject."

"Quit acting like a kid, Johnson. What could I possibly offer you? I am a basket case."

"We all have problems. Everybody goes through hard times. Maybe you should see yourself the way I do. I like you just the way you are."

The words expanded inside her, filling her, releasing her from the prison of shame and guilt. Her darkness was not counted against her by the man sitting across from her. A revelation.

"Okay, I’m a little flattered," she said, then frowned. "Oh, wait a minute. I get it. You’re a man who likes to work with dogs, to train them to follow your every command and be obedient. And now you’ve found a woman who is weak and vulnerable and scared, and you think you can just overpower me and mold me into the perfect little woman to obey your commands."

"Jackie, it’s not like that."

"The hell it isn’t."

"But it isn’t! Or is it? Is that what I’m doing? Geez. You know, you could be right. That is scary." He began to chuckle.

"Johnson," she said, frowning. "What exactly the hell are you looking for?"

"Well, it has nothing to do with training you, believe me," he said. What am I looking for? Very simple. Just to see you more often. Even in the midst of all this."

"And do what with me?"

"Please, Jackie. I can’t really explain it. There’s just this ... this thing I feel when I’m with you. It’s crazy. It makes no sense. How can I put this? It’s more about this feeling that I have the day after I see you. I know I won’t be seeing you again for awhile, and it makes me feel kind of, uh, well, empty, or hungry or something."

"Oh my God, Johnson! You are pathetic. You’re just lonely, that’s all. And do you know how I know that? I know that because you think I’m the reason you’re feeling lonely, but it can’t be, because you don’t really know anything about me. Not the first blessed thing! Do you ever wonder what I do all day? Well, I will tell you. I drink vodka and I vacuum all morning. Then I get the paper. The rest of the afternoon, I sit on the couch and watch court TV. After that, I read the paper, and then I go to bed and watch old movies. Am I getting through to you! Me! Vacuum! Vodka!"

"That’s okay with me," he said.

"Then you are an idiot. What kind of life could we possibly have together?"

"Well," he said. "That’s a good question. The truth is, I kind of have this fantasy in my head about what it would be like. In my fantasy, if it ever came about that we found ourselves together, then I would take an early retirement. I wouldn’t have much money, but I have a friend who lives in a trailer on 20 acres in Dos Palos and breeds police dogs, and he wants to partner up with me. We’d move to Dos Palos and live in a double-wide somewhere on the 20 acres and train the dogs. We could live like country folks. Once in a while, we’d get in the pickup and go into town and browse around the Rexall Drug. I’d probably buy you some candy."

"That’s it? That’s your big plan? A dog ranch in Dos Palos?"

"It’s not as bad as it sounds. Dos Palos is quiet. No hustle and no bustle. It’s a respectable farming hub east of Interstate 5, in the middle of nowhere. The main crops out there are mosquitoes and whiteflies, I think. They don't even farm anymore, since the Enviros shut off their water to protect some kind of fish. Then you have the weather. The summer heat is absolutely blistering. Then you get a nice fall season followed by about three months of dense fog, followed by a spring full of allergens."

"And there we would be, waiting to sell a dog so we could buy groceries," Jackie said.

"No," Johnson said. "Because there is decent money in police dogs. There’s a good demand not only in Los Angeles, but also in the Bay Area."

"Just suppose we were living in that double wide," Jackie replied. You, of course, would be busy with your dogs. But exactly what the hell would I be doing all day?"

"I don’t know. You could vacuum all day, drink vodka and watch court TV same as you do now. Or you could become a country girl. Learn to ride a horse. Join a crafts club with the other farm ladies. You could even learn to work with the dogs."

"That ain’t going to happen. By the way, Johnson, I can’t believe how fast you gobble up your food. You eat like a dog. You don’t chew, you gulp. It’s not an appealing sight."

"I think it’s a cop thing," he said. "A rookie learns to do it. I can’t count the meals I’ve tossed out the car window when a trouble call came in."

"I can cook," she said.

"Oh really?"

"It used to be my passion. So there’s something, at least. After a hard day of working the dogs, you could come home and find me in the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron and cowboy boots, whipping up something divine."

"That certainly puts trailer life in a new light."

"Yes it does. And after dinner, we could fold away the dining table and trip the light fantastic. But before we get to that point, you’d have to learn to eat like a human being, slowly, and not try to talk with your mouth full."

"I suppose I could take a class or something," he said.

"I’ve never dated an older man before," she said.

"I’ve been waiting for that to come up," he said. "But we’re only eight years apart. It’s not that big a deal, is it?"

"I don’t know. I really don’t. Do you still have your prostate?"

"Yes," he said. "Oh hell. I knew it wouldn’t work out," he said. "Right now, I’d give anything to be younger. Or at least have more hair."

"That’s very sweet, Johnson."

"No. Not sweet. Desperate is more like it."

"I’ll spill another secret," she said. "Every night, I have this terrible dream. I have to re-live Bout attacking me. But quite often, in that very dream, you appear and attempt to rescue me."

"I do want to rescue you," he said.

"Well I hope you do better in real life, because in the dream you always fail."

"I won’t fail in real life."

"Well, I have just learned something, Johnson. This is not Casablanca, final scene. We aren’t walking into the mist at the start of a beautiful friendship. What we have here instead is an L.A. classic movie. Two very lonely people, entirely wrong for each other, who want to shamelessly use each other and damn the future consequences. I want to use you to feel safe, and you’re a lonely old fart who wants to stoke the fires one last time. I should walk away right now, but in spite of your terrible table manners, I am not going to flat out reject you. I will give it some serious thought."

"Do you mean that?"

She took a final sip of iced tea and stood up. "Yes I do. And to prove it, I’m going to do something really stupid right now. Brace yourself."

"I’m ready."

"Johnson, would you like to go out with me tonight? On a real date? Actually, it’s a double date with my sister and her husband, but one where you would be required to make table talk and not eat like a dog. Will you?"

"You know I will," he said. "Now I have to ask you something else. Do you know anything at all about the guy who was killed in the dumpster?"

"No," Jackie said.

Johnson laughed softly. "Jackie, I have been lied to for thirty years by experts. You are no expert. We both know your bodyguard was involved. I am going to run interference for you, tell the guys working that case you don't know anything."

"You'd do that for me?"

"I just did."

Chapter 16

Jackie arrived at Black’s office building 15 minutes early to find the doctor waiting for her in the lobby.

"Where’s Donna?" Black asked. "She’s supposed to be your shadow."

"Oh, she went next door for a cup of coffee," Jackie lied. "I’m going to call her when we’re done here."

"I got your stat blood work back," Black said. "Your liver function tests were at the high end of normal. It’s really something of a miracle. You need to quit the alcohol or you’re going to wind up with cirrhosis. I’m comfortable enough with your liver tests, however, to start you on a trial of Paxil to help with the anxiety and depression. And here’s a prescription for iron, vitamins and a potassium supplement."

"I really just want medication to stop the flashbacks," Jackie said.

"Unfortunately," Black replied, "there isn’t a medication to guarantee that."

"There isn’t?"

"No. I’m sorry, but there just isn’t. But your biggest problem isn’t flashbacks. Your biggest problem is anxiety. It's the anxiety that triggers the flashbacks. That explains why you’ve been medicating yourself with alcohol, which is the classic—and worst, medicine. Later, I will teach you some simple medication techniques to use when you feel the flashback coming."

"Dr. Black, I told the police I wasn't ready to pick Bout out of the lineup. I know you don’t want me doing the lineup the cops had planned. I’m not ready to face Bout. But I feel guilty for being so weak."

"Forgive yourself, Jackie. You’re under a lot of stress. You need to take it slow. If the lineup becomes absolutely necessary, I will help you deal with it."

"Would you go with me?"

"I might. But for now, let’s go take a ride."

"Where to?"

"No place in particular. We’ll just drive around and talk. I got a new car and I don’t feel like sitting indoors." Minutes later they were cruising down Ventura in Black’s brand new blue granite metallic three-quarter ton Suburban 4x4.

"Don’t speed," Jackie said. "There’s a cop following us."

"Police protection?"

"I call it protection-lite. He’s there somewhere, but you never see him." She examined the interior. "Ah, that new car smell. Is this the new ‘green’ technology?"

"Hardly," Black said.

"But what about the melting ice caps?"

"All that science is phony," Black said. "Those hacked E-mails should have proved that to any thinking person. And I should drive a Malibu? God forbid!"

"Well funny thing," Jackie replied. "I used to own a Malibu. But I'm done going green. Last night I went all in on a red Lexus. The racing model. Apparently you inspired me to get on with the rest of my life."

"Apparently," Black said.

"Dr. Black, I think your brother Bobby killed someone."

They got immediately stuck in stop and go traffic. Black was silent for several moments.

"Tell me about a time when you were afraid of something besides Viktor Bout," Black said.

"Dr. Black, did you hear what I just said?"

"Like you said earlier, Jackie, you have to answer my questions, but I don't have to answer yours."

"Okay. Well to answer yours, I remember being very afraid after the Northridge quake," Jackie said. "My house lost its chimney, and everybody was living in terror of those horrible aftershocks, do you remember them?"

"Do I! They scared the hell out of me! So when you felt afraid, what did you do?"

"What could I do? I went shopping. I drove over to Melrose and blew 150 bucks on a pair of red mules. I put them on and traipsed in and out of the shops. That pair of red mules was my way of showing everybody I was going to make it."

"Sometimes a pair of red mules is what it takes," Black agreed.

"It was the day I met Al," Jackie said. "The guy I wasted the last four-and-a-half years of my life with. I wandered into Wacko’s, and I saw a guy buying this inflatable Japanese monster and I laughed out loud. He looked at me and said, "Nice shoes", so I said, "Nice inflatable. Do you have anything else that inflates?" We both broke up laughing."

"That is hysterical," Black said, smiling.

"I think we laughed away the entire earthquake. Afterwards we felt hungry, so we caravanned over to Pink’s and gorged out on chili dogs. No Freudian symbolism there. It turned out he had a house in the district over in Gower gulch. The jerk drove a Rolls Royce. I was so impressed. That's where we first made love. In the back seat of his Rolls. We didn't even wait to go inside."

"How’d he make his money?"

"His dad started a big scrap iron business in the 30's, when all the dust-bowl people descended on this place in their falling-apart cars. Al succeeded him."

"So where is Al now?"

"Gone like an old shoe. Al was the reason I was at Gelson’s the night I got attacked. I used to be something of a gourmet cook and I was planning a special New Year’s Eve dinner for him. But instead I gotten beaten to death. After that, Al couldn’t handle it. He broke up with me."

"Ouch," Black said. "So what I am hearing is, when you find yourself feeling scared about something, you escape into a new relationship."

And I seem to be doing it again, Jackie thought. Should I tell her about Johnson?

"Somebody got into the garlic," Black said, changing the subject.

"Sorry. I had an amazing lunch today at this stir-fry joint near the police station."

"I’m glad to hear you’re eating. Especially garlic. You’ll find some breath mints in the glove box."

Jackie leaned forward and opened the glove box. The light in the box came on and illuminated the heavy black frame of a huge revolver. "Doctor Black!"

Vzjat’ na abordaž. The flashback raced through her mind like wildfire, forcing her back to the supermarket parking lot. My God, my God, she thought. She felt the man drop, knee-first, on top of her, felt his hideous weight, experienced the pain as his knees crushed her arms into the broken glass on the pavement.

"Jackie!" Black shouted.

"Whew," Jackie whispered. "The sight of your gun set me off."

"The gun triggered a flashback, because you were raped by one. But you are not helpless. Jackie. Listen to me. You are not helpless. I want you to reach forward and close the glove box."

After a moment, Jackie, with trembling hand, reached forward and shut the glove box and the gun was no longer in sight.

"Good," said Dr. Black. "Take some deep breaths. You did very well."

"I keep going back. It’s unfair. I’ve died a thousand times since it happened."

"You found the strength to close the glove box. It’s the second time you’ve fought back. Now you can see why I want Donna with you. And why I don’t want you driving just yet. Eventually, you will learn to handle the flashbacks better. There are techniques. The main thing right now is to understand that as bad as they are, they aren’t real, and they can’t kill you, and you can fight back and have a life."

Black suddenly swung the SUV left onto Hayvenhurst and into the Gelson’s supermarket parking lot.

"Dr. Black! What do you think you’re doing?"

"Jackie. We won’t leave the safety of the car. We’re going to drive by the spot where you were attacked."

"I can’t breathe."

"It's just the adrenaline. Slow down and take deep breaths. I’ll drive slowly around—and when you’re ready, you can point out the spot."

"But it’s not safe here."

"Six months ago it wasn’t safe. Today is different. Today it still isn’t safe, but you are with me. We are in a big safe vehicle with a gun. You have a bodyguard. So you are as safe as can be. Besides, you already had your flashback. You probably won’t have another for at least 12 more hours. You’re in a window, right now, where you can get out and make a life."

From another world Jackie’s cell phone twittered.

"Answer that," Black said.

"Jackie, it’s Donna. I’m over here at Vito’s place on Doheny. He’s just had a cancellation. He can see you at 4."

"I’m too tired to get my hair done. Doctor Black just shocked the hell out of me."

"You will get your gray frizzy hair to Vito’s at 4."

"Donna, I need you to come over here and bring me the limo and let me use that and you drive my car. I can’t drive. I’m still having flashbacks in broad daylight."

"Okay. I’ll be there shortly."

"Meanwhile, you’ll never believe what me and Dr. Black are doing right now. She just deliberately triggered me."

"Yes, I can believe it. I was the one who introduced you to her, remember? You can tell me all about it later."

Jackie heaved a sigh and returned the phone to her purse.

"You lied to me," Black said. "You drove yourself to the appointment. And Donna is nowhere around."

"Sorry," Dr. Black.

"Jackie, you could have killed yourself, or somebody else. You could have had a flashback while you were driving."

"I said I’m sorry. What the hell do you want from me? What? Do you want me to open a vein?" She looked out upon the ordinary day at the ordinary parking lot. "I’m sorry. It’s hard to look at this place. After all, I was clinically dead on this site for 7 minutes."

"Can you point out exactly where it happened?" Black said.

"Yeh. There it is—right by that third light stanchion, where the silver Bentley is parked. Whoever parked there has no idea they’re parked on top of several pints of my dried blood."

Black pulled up next to the Bentley. "Jackie, why don’t you close your eyes for a moment? Good. Rest for a minute. Now imagine yourself at the beach. It’s a sunny day, with a gentle offshore breeze. You’re lying on your towel, eyes closed, listening to the surf. You’re feeling rested and relaxed. You hear a small plane overhead. You open your eyes. A long banner trails from the rear of the plane. Can you see it?"

"Yes—I can see it."

"Now I want you to picture children with happy faces, pointing to the banner and jumping up and down and clapping with joy."

"They’re clapping. And jumping."

"As the plane gets closer, you can read the writing on the banner. The writing is in bold red letters. THIS IS JACKIE’S WEEK."

"Awww, Dr. Black. Nobody’s going to do that for me." Her voice came out childlike, quivering, her emotions overwhelmed at the thought of a life where she could be safe for a week, loved by happy children, with nothing to fear. The tears began coursing down her cheeks. Jackie opened her eyes and looked at Dr. Black.

"Then do it for yourself. Even a pervert like Warhol gives everybody fifteen minutes of fame," Black said. "But I think a week is better. Part of your recovery is to take back your world from the enemy. Sometimes a little meditation helps. By coming here today, you’ll start to understand that what happened to you was an isolated event in time and space. Things have moved on."

"I just now realized now why I bought the race car," Jackie said. "I bought it to show myself I’m still in the game. When Viktor Bout tried to kill me, he also took my car. Way deep down, I think I picked the Lexus to show myself he can’t take away my life."

"Judging by its color, you’re showing the whole world."

"Maybe I am. It’s funny, though. All this time, I thought I’d die from fright if I ever came near this place again. Right now, I feel strangely calm."

"Later this week, we’re going to get out and stand on the spot."

"I’ll never be able to do that."

"Yes you will."

"If I ever see you again after today."

"Any reason you shouldn’t?"

"Well, for one, you’re a real bitch."

Black laughed.

"That doesn’t offend you?"

"Not at all."

"Why not?"

"I’m proud to be a bitch. And by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be a real bitch too. Meanwhile I want you to change the Ativan to one whole tablet 4 times a day. You need to keep this up until the Paxil kicks in. I hoped you’d cut down on your drinking, because I think that is one of the reasons the Ativan isn’t working. If you can’t cut back on the booze, a couple of weeks in de-tox is looming on your horizon."

"I’m sorry, Dr. Black. I ignored your advice about drinking, and Donna, and driving, and everything. From this point forward, I’ll try to do better. I’ll quit the booze. I know I can. I did it once for 90 days a long time ago. I’ll just start back in on the 12 Steps and take it one day at a time."

Chapter 17

"It’s a Pierre Jourdan Brut," the young woman said.

"It’s very bubbly," Jackie said. "I really shouldn't. I just promised my doctor I'd quit." She took a sip from the long stemmed flute. "It tickles the nose."

They stood in the brick-floored kitchen at Vito’s of Beverly Hills, a 1940’s Tudor-style on Doheny just off Sunset, with pointy roof lines and a wooden arch door. The interior of the place had been gutted and remodeled to meet the demands of business and yet somehow retained a homey feel throughout.

"I’m Scotia. I’ll be working with you this afternoon. You are Donna’s sister, correct?"

"Yep," Jackie said. "I’m here at my sister’s insistence."

"Your sister was right," Scotia said. Your hair is end-stage."

"Donna thinks Vito can fix it."

"You’ll like Vito. More importantly, your hair will like him. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go draw your bath."

"My bath? I’m only here for a haircut."

"Honestly dear, not to be mean, I don’t know if you just came from a workout or what, but you’re more than a little ripe. Let’s face it. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to let me take those sweats you’re wearing and just burn them."

"You know, now that I think about it, I haven’t been in the tub since yesterday. And that wasn’t a real bath."

Jackie sat down at the oval antique table beside the kitchen hearth and sipped some more champagne. She fingered the lilies in the vase on the table. Real, not silk, and very fresh. Her eyes feasted on the mantle collection of white ironstone pottery—pitchers and crocks—filled with artichokes and limes. The air was an olfactory ambrosia, heavy with scents from bowls on the table brimming with fruit, and a big vanilla candle mingling its scent with the sweet smell of the lilies.

"Maybe the son of a bitch will give me a new lease on life," she mused aloud.

"And which son of a bitch is that, dear?" A brisk man of indeterminate years came through the archway. Jackie sized him up--smooth shaven, perfect skin, with a full head of bright, shiny, short-brown curls, slim and quick, in a lemon silk jersey over jeans and Reeboks.

"I’m Vito."

"Jackie."

"Enchanted. And don’t look embarrassed. I can be a real son of a bitch at times. And it appears that you are a bit of a stinker yourself."

"Sorry."

"These lilies on the table are for you. They’re Casablanca lilies. Donna told me how much you like the film, so I ordered them special."

"I must say, I’m overwhelmed. As you can see, however, this is all just a gigantic waste of everybody’s time. My hair is hopeless."

"That is for me to decide. You’re not the first person who has managed to achieve the homeless look by her own hand. By the way, how do you like the champagne? It’s the latest thing from South Africa."

"It’s perfect. Very creamy."

"I buy it because it has the most bubbles. Don’t you think the whole point of champagne is bubbles?"

"I’ll tell you what I think," Jackie said. "I think I’d like a refill. Unless, of course, you have some vodka."

"Scotia will keep your glass full—of champagne, not vodka. I think you have had quite enough vodka for a lifetime. Now let’s get down to business." With probing fingers, he began exploring her hair and scalp. He gently touched the scar which ran from her left eye to her ear. "You’re face tightens when I touch this. Does it hurt?"

"What do you think?"

His fingers began working themselves across the top of her head towards the back.

"Ouch."

"Sorry."

"So what’s the verdict?"

"What disturbs me is I can tell your scalp hasn’t been cleaned properly in months. It is scaly, with oily white flakes and emits a very unpleasant odor. On the positive side, you’ve got a beautifully shaped head."

"That’s the first time anybody’s ever told me that."

"I’ll go think some thoughts about this and see you after you get cleaned up."

Scotia appeared. "Jackie, your bath is ready. "

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"I know you’re phobic. But your phobia stops here and now, if I have to wrestle you into the tub. Here’s your robe. Put those filthy old sweat clothes outside the door. I’m tossing them. I’ll have something sent over from Neiman’s. Call me when you’re done with your bath and we’ll do the massage. Oh. And here’s a razor. After the bath, use the shower to shave. What’s it been, six months?"

Alone, and with no way out, Jackie eased herself slowly into the tub, filled to the brim with its heady brew of scented suds. For awhile, she sat their, rigid, feeling unsafe, as though the door would fly open and a monster would rush in. There was something vulnerable about being alone and naked. It was damned unpleasant. Nonetheless, she closed her eyes and slowly felt herself begin to relax, aided by the pleasant weight of the heated water, the crisp crackle from the foam, the soothing smoothness of polished marble, and more than a little champagne. It almost made her feel young again.

Here I am, she thought. And why? To be made pretty again? And for whom? Donna? Bienenfeld? Myself? The World? Johnson? Oh, I can’t believe I invited him for dinner! What was I thinking? Me, dating a cop? A cop with a dog, no less. Johnson is a beast, an anachronism. He probably listens to the Chi-Lites and shoots pool in some cop bar. Worse yet, he’s the old-fashioned type. He’ll open doors for me and light my cigarettes—and I don’t smoke! I can’t imagine his circle of friends. Wait. I can imagine them! Help! Other old cops with severe smile impairments!

After her tub soak and a good half hour battle shaving in the shower, she dragged herself out and wrapped herself in a thick, oversize towel and hit the speed dial on her phone. "Johnson, it’s Jackie. I’m getting cold feet about tonight. I’ve had a lot of stress just now and—"

"—It’s only dinner. We’ll be chaperoned. You’ll have a policeman right at your table."

"Thank you for that. You probably won’t recognize me. I just shaved my legs for the first time in months. I’m at Donna’s day spa. They’re knocking themselves out to get me beautiful. I think they’re burning my sweat pants as we speak."

"And all for me, right?"

"Not."

"Jackie, I hate to bring this up. Bout’s lawyer is screaming for his release."

"Oh no. Already?"

"Oh yeh. Did you talk to your psychiatrist about doing the lineup?"

"Sort of. She said she would help me if I decided to do it. Johnson, what if Bout is released."

"Don’t worry about it."

"Don’t worry about it? I think my stomach is trying to crawl out of my throat. I don’t think I can handle doing the lineup. No. Make that I know I can’t handle it. If I have to see Bout in person, I just might lose my mind completely."

"Hang in there. I’ll see you tonight and we can talk about it over an Old Fashioned."

"Nobody drinks those anymore."

"I do. I drink the real ones, not the fake brandy spritzers the bartenders do nowadays. I make them myself sometimes. I dissolve a small lump of sugar with a little water in a whiskey-glass; add two dashes Angostura bitters, a small piece of ice, a piece of lemon-peel, one jigger whiskey, and mix with small bar-spoon and serve, leaving spoon in glass. I’ve got a cop friend named Mulroney who owns a bar in Van Nuys. I taught him to make them."

"Johnson, is there no end to your talents? I’d feel a whole lot better if I lived on another planet with you. But maybe having an Old Fashioned at your dog ranch is the same thing."

She entered the massage cubicle and stretched out on the table face down. Scotia began applying a soothing lotion.

"Your fingers are like steel," Jackie said.

"Too hard?"

"No. I need it hard. I can feel the kinks coming out of my back. You should become a professional."

"I am a professional," Scotia said. "I’m a certified massage therapist. But around here, I also do a lot of other jobs because our team is small. Our clientele is smaller than a lot of salons, because Vito doesn’t want to sacrifice the quality of the experience here."

"Whatever it is, it’s working. I feel places relaxing I didn’t know I had."

"Some of what you’re feeling may be due to the Oil of Malacia we put in your bath. Relaxation is very important to Vito. If the bath and massage doesn’t do the trick, he might put you through some guided imagery to try and cut down on your internal chatter."

"My internal chatter never stops."

"A big part of why you’re so tense. Did you know most internal dialogue is negative? We’re always telling ourselves we could’ve done better, or we can’t stand ourselves. Vito tries to eliminate some of it so you’ll be more open to his creativity."

"I can’t stop worrying about my date tonight. It’s like I’m a condemned woman about to have last meal."

"Stop worrying."

"At my age?"

"Why not? You’re very attractive underneath this bag lady disguise you created."

"Sorry about that."

"It’s nothing new," Scotia said. "There are a lot of neurotic, wealthy women here in Hollywood. You’d be surprised how many movie stars come here to get put back together after they fall apart for a year or so."

"It’s that common?"

"It’s very common. Do you think Lindsay Lohan shaved her legs when she went on her most recent bender? I think not."

"Scotia, I thought you had the optimism of the young. Instead it appears you have already begun to look forward to the day when your own life begins to turn into a nightmare of disease, loneliness, helplessness and poverty."

"Not me. I plan to take care of myself. You know what I think? I think you should try just being an ordinary person for awhile. You’ve probably been working too hard at being the perfect victim after your attack. You can stop living up to the event. Try letting go of it entirely. It’s okay to have weakness. Everybody is weak. And enjoy being your age. Try and divorce yourself from the L.A. youth-worship culture. Think Lauren Hutton."

Scotia’s words exploded in Jackie’s head like a bomb. Especially her speech on being the perfect victim. She felt the truth of it cutting into her shell.

"Everybody is a shrink lately," Jackie said. "But you’re probably right. I think I turned into a bag lady because I did not want any man to target me."

"You’ll feel better after your haircut. And you might be surprised by what life has in store for you. Maybe you’ve finally come to the place where your life is beginning to really take off. Don’t give up before the miracle happens."

"I used to hear that phrase in AA."

"You were in the Program?"

"For 90 days when I was younger," Jackie said. "I was one of those crazy kids who went in on a DWI program. I sat there in the back with a frown on my face the whole time. But I did learn a few things."

"I’m a 12-stepper," Scotia said. "Except my whole world was crystal meth. But everybody is in a different place in life. You’re at the place where you need a good cut."

"Is that all it takes? Is that what the entire universe boils down to? A good cut?"

"Sometimes. I think Einstein was working on that theory. That’s why his hair was the way it was. Your hair is more than a piece of material covering your scalp. Your hair says everything about you. It tells the world who you are. It represents the battle we all must face to live in this world. You’re not here only to get it cut. You’re here to give your soul a new breath of life. The great haircut is the frosting on the cake."

Scotia’s fingers located an inflamed nerve and began to work it.

"Oh, the pain that refreshes," Jackie said.

"So where’s your favorite place?" Scotia said.

"Right where your fingers are now."

"No. I mean your favorite place in the world."

Jackie sighed. "I used to have a favorite place, but not anymore. It was my house in Van Nuys. It’s a two-story cape cod with a pool. My favorite place was poolside under the arbor. It’s got a really great old guava tree covering it, and in the summer I could sit there in the shade. And there were mockingbirds singing all night long. Of course, after the attack, I’ve been afraid to return. So I guess you could say at the moment, I have no favorite place. This guy I am interested in has one, though. But it’s a dog ranch in Dos Palos."

"You need to find a new favorite place. Everybody needs one."

"I bought a new car last night. I love the interior. Maybe that will become my favorite place."

"Sometimes, when we can’t have a place on the outside, we have to find a place on the inside. Even if it is the inside of a car."

"Oh my, Scotia," she breathed. "Scotia. Lower. Oh my God!"

Chapter 18

"You’ve lost a lot of hair," Vito said. "It tells me your body has been through enormous trauma in the last six months. I’m also quite sure you haven’t been eating normally. You need to start eating a healthy diet rich in vitamins and minerals, with lots of vegetables and fruit."

"Are you my hairdresser or my mother?" Jackie said. She was in a small, back bedroom in the middle of the hardwood floor, sitting, draped, wearing her new shorts and a T-shirt from Neiman’s, on a low, cushioned stool.

"I’m neither. Just think of me as a friend."

"So how come I’m in here all by myself instead of being out with all the other ladies?"

"We do nails and facials in the living room. Which you also need to have done before you leave today. At least get the nails cut and painted. But I must have complete privacy when cutting. I cannot be disturbed by ringing phones or other factors which could break my concentration." He extended a silver dish with assorted bon-bons. "Take one—it’s a reward for making it this far. It’s no small thing you’ve arrived in my cutting room. It means your life is about to change."

Jackie popped a tart orange candy into her mouth and felt her saliva glands explode from the tang. "Oh man, that’s good. I could eat a dozen. By the way, why are there no mirrors in this room?"

"When I am creating a new style, I need complete control of the artistic process. The creative process is a right brain activity. I tap into an altered state when I work. I took the mirrors out of the room because I don’t want your existing insecurities to spill over into my head. I don't want to be drawn into your reality. If you watched me in a mirror, it might cause me to fog over when I pick up your rigid fears and preconceptions."

"You’re a smooth customer, Vito, but you can save that ying-yang crap for your Beverly Hills brats. I’m just a Valley girl. The only preconception I have right now is I’d like another bon-bon."

"Nerves."

"Can you blame me? I mean, it seems like all of a sudden the entire universe is focused on my impending haircut."

"Jackie, I’m going to suggest we go short."

"Short? How short?"

"Very short."

"Oh man. We can’t do that. I’m too old to pull off a Sigourney Weaver. And my scar will show."

"Actually, you look a bit like Sigourney. And even she was able to get a date, even though it was with a fang-dripping alien. There’s a lot of those in this town. I used to do her hair, until we had a violent disagreement about that little flip job she wears now. Don’t worry about your scar. It gives you character. I find it exciting. It’s modern. People are into highlighting their flaws now. Look at the huge glasses everybody is wearing. Like wearing a huge sign that says, ‘I Am Blind’."

"I bet you find a lot of things exciting."

"One amuses oneself the best one can. It’s past time you made this move. You need to show the world you’ve got a new attitude. And by going short, we eliminate the need for any chemicals, which will avoid your head being designated an EPA Superfund emergency site."

"But what about my gray?"

"You haven’t cared about your gray up to now. Look, gray hair isn’t for everyone, but you’ve got the face and skin color to pull it off. You’re about 50 percent gray now, so you’ll have a nice salt-and-pepper look. But the choice isn’t about going gray, or going short—it’s about whether or not you’re ready to start being yourself for the first time in your life, instead of trying to be whatever it is you think they want you to be."

"Well okay. I already bought a red car when I was blacked-out drunk last night. I might as well cut off all my hair today."

"Beautiful. I’ll sculpt you down all the way past the damage and the frizz and then do a tight, geometric cut. It’s going to be outstanding." The scissors in Vito’s skilled hands began to snip away and the hair fell like dirty snow around Jackie’s draped form.

Chapter 19

"It’s not as easy as it looks maintaining a dog this size," Johnson said. "Finding a good restaurant can be a challenge, even in L.A. But, with a little ingenuity, any dog can have his day in the City of Angels. Of course, we can’t go shopping at Neiman Marcus anymore, not since somebody’s poodle bit the forefinger off one of their shoppers."

Johnson, accompanied by Heinz, had shown up in his white van at the Spring Oak Drive residence about 7:30. At Bienenfeld’s insistence, they all piled into Jackie’s Lexus and hightailed it to Chillers at the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. It was a perfect night to sit outside. The evening ocean air was well-oxygenated, smogless, warm and soft, halo-like under the combined fusions of mercury vapor lamps and fritzy neon sign displays.

Heinz, coat freshly groomed, in harness and tied to the other side of the patio railing, watched with intelligent interest the ambient crowd of evening mall traffickers, most of whom moved well away from the large canine.

Jackie felt like a new creature. She had to admit to herself that her hair looked fantastic. Radical, but full of life.

"Dogs are actually good for restaurants," Johnson said. "A lot of people don’t know this, but many of the finest hot dog stands in L.A. provide dog-friendly accommodations to give their food stand a competitive edge."

"Because the owner always buys a dog for his dog," Jackie said.

Everybody chuckled, fueling the fire of Jackie’s feel-good moment. It had been a long time since she’d had a simple evening out with good friends and was free to joke around and be herself. This was the other side of life she’d almost refused to believe existed anymore, and yet here it was, laid out before her for the taking. She was proud of Johnson. He looked sharp in his suit, and he mixed easily with Donna and Bienenfeld. She began to size him up for serious relationship potential, and he sized up nicely. The thought of being with him suddenly began to feel very right.

"I like your dog," Bienenfeld said. "One good thing about bringing him here is that we don’t have to worry about some homeless psycho sneaking up and grabbing our food out from under us."

"You got that right."

The waiter arrived with a round of Old Fashioneds.

"Take mine back," Jackie said. "And bring me a Coke."

"You’re not drinking?" Donna said.

"I met a lady today who’s in AA," Jackie said. "I’m trying it on for size. I’m admitting that I am powerless over alcohol and my life is unmanageable. One day at a time, of course."

"Oh please," Bienenfeld said. Don’t take the drink back. Just set it right here. I’m practically ready for my next one anyway." He drained his first tumbler and hoisted his second in a toast. "To Jackie’s new car. Which, I may add, is cramped and uncomfortable as hell in the back seat."

"Well we can’t all ride around in our personal limo, Bienenfeld," she answered, raising her water glass. "But thanks for the toast anyway. Here’s to you for being here for me. And here’s to the untimely death by hanging in his cell of one Viktor Bout."

An awkward silence ensued.

"What, we can’t talk about it?" Jackie said. "We’re just supposed to sit here and make small talk?"

"Jackie," Johnson said, "I have a present for you." He held out a small gift bag.

"Oh my gosh," Jackie exclaimed. "A Nintendo portable!"

"Now you can play Avatar anytime," Johnson said.

"Avatar?" Bienenfeld said. "That's already on Nintendo?"

"Yup," Johnson replied.

"Thank you, Johnson," Jackie said.

"No offense," Bienenfeld said, "but after dinner, we are going to leave you two alone to enjoy your Avatar. I’m having the limo pick me and Donna up for the return trip."

"We're going home to play adult games," Donna said.

"Jackie," Bienenfeld said, "you brought up Bout, so I may as well ask Johnson, here, how he identified this Bout insect."

"He got stopped for driving while text messaging. They found Jackie’s license in his car."

"Text messaging?"

"Yup."

"And they searched his car for that? Will that hold up when his attorney finds out?"

"Does it matter?" Johnson looked annoyed at the questioning, the annoyance directed at Bienenfeld, which seemed to reduce Bienenfeld to something less than substantial, as though his third dimension had somehow ebbed away.

The waiter arrived with Jackie’s Coke and a platter containing fried zucchini’s, and mushrooms stuffed with warm goat cheese.

"I’m concerned for Jackie’s safety," Donna said.

Johnson broke off a piece of pumpernickel and lightly moistened it in the saucer of herbed olive oil. "Not to worry. I’ve got a man keeping an eye out. And Bout’s a "Three-Strike" candidate. When convicted, he’ll have to do a mandatory 25 years. And if bail is set at more than fifteen grand, he can’t be set free unless he wins in court—which he won’t."

"I think you should let him out of jail," Bienenfeld said.

"Excuse me?"

"Let him out."

"Why, so you can go vigilante on his ass?"

"And that is wrong because?"

Jackie realized the truth. Bienenfeld had probably killed someone, or at least sanctioned it. She could see in his eyes an absolute certainty, as though he was staring across time and space to the gates of hell where his victim was languishing in the flames.

"He may get out," Johnson said. "His lawyer is pushing, and we don’t have the lineup to bolster our charge."

"Maybe you two jerks can stop playing God long enough to order a lady a drink," Jackie said. "Besides, if anybody’s going to get Bout, I think it should be me."

"Maybe you should wait until the steaks get here," Donna said.

"What, to kill Bout?"

"I’m talking about you having a drink. I thought you were going to lay off tonight. You just said you were powerless."

"I am, which is why I now need a drink. A double vodka rocks. I’m feeling a little breakthrough anxiety, I guess."

Donna frowned. "You’re not doing the Ativan, are you?"

"Nope," Jackie lied bravely.

Bienenfeld signaled the waiter who scurried for the double vodka.

"You look too beautiful tonight to be scared," Donna said. "Those dark, heavily-lacquered 'power lips' of yours should be smiling, not frowning."

"Jackie, you’re radiant," Johnson said. "In fact you’re sparkling."

"It’s only the shimmer powder," Jackie said.

"What?"

"Special body makeup. Donna’s idea. As well as this metallic backless top."

"Pinch me," Johnson said.

"Will you look at that," Bienenfeld said, "That weirdo over there? He’s eating out of the garbage can. What did I tell you? Johnson, sic the dog on that dude."

"Bienenfeld, you’re getting drunk and acting ugly again," Donna said.

"Speaking of in the garbage," Jackie said. "That’s where Bout’s going to wind up. He’s going to be sorry. He’s going to get his justice."

"You bet he is," Johnson said. "We’re gonna take Bout down."

"Oh yes. I’m scared of facing him, but I’ve decided I’m not going to let Viktor Bout destroy me. I intend to destroy him! I am going to do the lineup! I am!"

Everybody applauded, drawing well-oiled glances from the many eyes of the surrounding patrons.

"It takes a lot of courage to do what you’re doing," Donna said.

"Courage my ass. It’s you guys who keep me going. And as long as I have you all, I can stand proud. Good Lord, where is my drink?"

The waiter arrived with a Jackie’s double vodka and four embarrassingly large steaks piled high with ribbons of fried onions, the platters sizzling. A fifth steak, cut up, was delivered by Johnson to Heinz, who gobbled greedily the expensive cuts of broiled bovine.

"Is that legal?" Donna said.

"Sort of," Johnson said. "Of course tipping the captain 50 bucks helped. The health laws on patio dining aren’t really clear. Hell, if you think about it, Heinz is probably cleaner than the guy who served these steaks."

"You’re a class act, Johnson," Jackie said.

"Thank you," he said. So are you. And it’s good to see you not so scared."

"I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. But at least I’m feeling something."

Chapter 20

After dinner, they approached the Lexus. "You’ve had too much vodka to drive," Johnson said. "The keys please."

Jackie handed them over and he helped her into the passenger seat. Johnson put the car northbound on Ocean Avenue driving slowly up the four-lane divided highway which paralleled the park at the edge of the ocean bluff. They were down to a threesome, Donna and Bienenfeld having departed via limousine.

"Where to, Jackie?"

"Back to the Valley. I want to show you my house. But first stop somewhere along here. We’ll let Heinz sniff around the park for a few minutes."

They pulled in to a space on the bluff overlooking the Ocean at the spot where the mighty Wilshire Boulevard abruptly terminated. The focus of this terminus was the statue of Saint Monica, the city’s namesake. The statue, a concrete obelisk facing west and positioned at the tripartite juncture of ocean, earth and sky, resembled, in typical L.A. fashion, somewhat more akin to an alien interplanetary probe than a venerable saint.

The trio exited the vehicle. The play of light and shadows, originating from the light of a half moon, mixed with the flashing headlights of the passing cars, imparting to the arboreal venue a primitive feeling, accented even more by the sight of the wolf-like figure zipping back and forth.

Jackie and Johnson walked to the edge of the bluff and rested elbows on the white railing, allowing their senses to drink in the essence of the mighty Santa Monica Bay before them.

"Saint Monica bore a son," Jackie said, "who made Hugh Hefner look like a schoolboy. But she prayed for him for about a hundred years and he changed from his evil ways to became Saint Augustin."

"You’re Catholic?"

"Born and raised. I’m somewhat lapsed at the moment. Although I should start back in, seeing as how I have racked up considerable time living like a saint."

"Same here," Johnson said. "I was raised Catholic, but after Vietnam my fervor dissipated."

"When’s the last time you went to Mass? And I don’t mean for a wedding or a funeral."

"Uh. I think it was last Easter. Oh well. There’s always purgatory for people like me."

"No there isn’t. Because purgatory isn’t a make-over for lapsed Catholics. It’s actually for the good ones. You have to earn purgatory. People like you and me are going straight to hell."

"Not me. I have a priest on speed dial. If the end comes, I'm getting absolution and slipping in under the wire."

"It’s no joke, Johnson. Hell is real. I believe in it more now than ever. I am seriously thinking of going to confession."

"I understand. I’m a big believer in confessions. I like to beat them out of the perps."

"Is everything a joke with you, Johnson?"

"Sorry. Maybe I’m nervous, too. This is our first real date, you know."

"Do you believe in love, Johnson?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you believe in love?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Making it last is the secret I haven’t mastered," Johnson said. "And neither have you. But I have heard that older people who marry may have a better chance."

"A better chance of what?"

"Of making it last."

"Sure they do, Johnson. Because for one thing, they don't have to make it last very long, and for another, they are too old to cheat.

He got down on one knee. "Jackie, I want you to marry me."

"Johnson, you’re making a complete ass of yourself. Now get up and call Heinz. It’s time to hit the road."

Heading back to Van Nuys, Johnson chose to avoid the freeway and cruised Sepulveda Boulevard, which paralleled the brightly lit freeway and yet somehow retained a spooky, dark, and lonely character as it curved and dipped into the recesses of the mountain pass.

"It was stupid of me to propose the way I did," Johnson said.

"It wasn’t stupid. It’s just ... I keep thinking how could such a thing come flying into my life at such a terrible time? Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You are an idiot and I’m an emotional cripple."

"Is there anything I can do to make up for my bad behavior?"

"Yes," she said. "You're a cop. I want you to drive like one."

He stomped on the accelerator and the car shot forward like a rocket. The tires began to scream as he headed up the onramp to the freeway at an insane speed.

Chapter 21

"I’ll never forget that ride as long as I live," Jackie said. "But I never want to repeat the experience."

It had been one of the greatest moments of her life, being forced back into her seat, passing cars on the freeway as though they were standing still, shamelessly swerving into the breakdown lanes to bypass the jockeying crowds at the interchanges. When she saw the speedometer hit 145, her soul had sprung forth from her body, shouting "Yes, I’m alive!"

After leaving the freeway, they proceeded down Orion Avenue, one of several named after heavenly clusters no longer visible through the neon-fortified smog, and into a warren of tiny box-like homes, the front elevations gamely attempting to break the monotony with faux ranch or hacienda trim. Diminutive front yards menaced would-be intruders with warning labels on sticks fastened to the turf like stakes driven into the heart of crime. The landscape was heavy with rat-infested ivy, disease-rotted walnut trees, and whatever additional flora could tolerate the near-drought conditions. Impatiens were popular in a few isolated patches, but on the whole, the area was hard-up for color. There were more than a few foreclosure signs scattered here and there.

"Pull in here," Jackie said, pointing to the only two-story in a row of single-story units, a somewhat disheveled Cape Cod number, white with contrasting green fake storm shutters astride a cracked asphalt driveway. Johnson and Jackie got out of the car.

"This is your old place, isn’t it?"

"Yeh. I lived here before I went into hiding from Viktor Bout."

She hadn’t seen the house in months. It looked small, and faded, lacking the warmth and light of happier times. Was this where she’d been planning to spend the rest of her life?

"I inherited this from my parents. But I will probably lose it to foreclosure. There’s a realtor next door who is dying to do something called a short sale. I just got a loan from Bienenfeld to catch up the back payments. But it's not enough to cover the underwater part of the loan. Screw it. I know I’ll never feel safe here again, not as long as Viktor Bout lives and breathes. Do you want to go inside?"

"Sure. I’ll leave Heinz in the car. He’ll discourage any punks."

She walked to the brick porch, put her key in the deadbolt and looked up at him. "You look kind of handsome tonight. But I think I like you better without the tie."

"The tie is coming off," he said, grabbing it with both hands and stripping it free with one well-practiced motion.

They stood in the small entryway. "The three choices from here," Jackie said, "are a straight shot down the hall to the living room, up these stairs to my bedroom, or left through this archway to the kitchen for a drink."

"I vote the stairs."

"Dream on. I’ve already decided on the kitchen." She led him into the tiny galley, the whole of which opened onto a breakfast nook. Johnson parked himself at the oak dinette.

Jackie opened a cupboard and took out a cocktail blender. From the counter, she selected a fresh pint of dark rum, cracked the seal, added five shots of the potent, almost syrupy rum to the blender, removed a plastic lemon from an otherwise empty refrigerator, squeezing the juice from the lemon into the shaker before topping off the mixture with a dash of powdered sugar—straight from the box—along with some ice cubes from the bin, which had frozen together in a clump and had to be whacked apart on the rim of the sink. She set out a couple of squat tumblers and strained the potent liquid into one of the glasses. Into the other she poured a diet Coke. It was a well-rehearsed routine, carried out with swift efficiency.

"It’s 151 rum so be careful," she said. "Sort of a half-baked rum sour. Like everything else in my life."

He took a sip. "Nobody can say you don’t know how to make a drink."

She took his hand. "I’m self-medicating, as my doctor likes to say. So here’s to self-medication."

"Cheers."

"We’ll go out by the pool." She led him past the living room and through the glass sliders. She flipped on the pool light and the shadows began to play on the surrounding grape stake fence. The sultry Valley air seemed to envelope them. Small talk was suddenly rendered impossible by the passage of a Jumbo Jet directly overhead, its huge bulk and winking strobes clearly visible in the soft, smoggy air.

"I can’t believe how clean your place is, since you don’t even live here," Johnson said.

"I hire a service to make it look lived in. They clean and mow the lawn and do the pool and even keep the sheets washed even though nobody sleeps on them. They have the lights go on and off randomly and stuff. Otherwise the foreclosure thieves would have stripped the place by now."

"Well it looks great," he said. "Like a nice bed and breakfast."

"So where do you live, Johnson?"

"Out by the Burbank Airport. Directly under the flight path, at the point where they reverse thrust as loudly as possible."

"That sounds ugly."

"It is. The neighborhood’s a dump. The place I inhabit—I won’t call it ‘living’—is an apartment above a garage. A friend of mine owns the property. There’s an undocumented family in the front house. They’re nice folks. We barbecue together from time to time."

"Do I dare ask why you live in a dump? I thought senior cops made pretty good money. Or are you some kind of loser like me, who’s closing in fast on retirement and has nothing to show."

"What can I say? I’m just a tiny speck embedded in the overall global financial meltdown."

She led him beneath her arbor, the scent of the guava tree heavy in the night air. "This is why I brought you here tonight. To show you what was once my favorite place in the world. It was a personal ritual of mine to have coffee out here every morning before going to my job at Washington Mutual, which is now defunct. I used to grind my own beans fresh. Every month I’d blow a fortune on a pound bag of Jamaican Blue."

"You can have the good life again."

"No. I can’t. Viktor Bout took that away from me. He took my favorite spot, my car, my job, my health and everything else. The only reason I’m able to be here tonight is because I’ve got enough alcohol and pills in my system, and because I’m with you and your man-eating dog. Johnson, can you teach me how to handle a gun?"

"Yeh."

"So what kind of gun do you think I need?

"Something small. A handgun," he said. "A revolver. I’ve got a small Charter Arms detective special you can try on for size. It’ll fit in your bag."

"Isn’t that illegal?"

"It's only a misdemeanor-unless you kill somebody."

"There's just one small problem," Jackie said. "At the sight of a gun I pass out. Doctor Black showed me one yesterday and I just disappeared."

Johnson reached down to his ankle and produced a small revolver. Jackie stared at it, feeling a slight wave.

"You're not passing out now," he said.

"So I am not. Maybe doctor Black's methods have some merit."

"So there you are. You can start carrying a gun. I can loan you this one if you like."

"I'm not quite ready to carry," she said. "So what if someone attacks me? And that gun is in my bag?"

"When you approach your car, you keep your hand inside your bag and your finger on the trigger guard. If somebody makes a tricky move, you blast them right through the bag." He returned the gun to his ankle holster with a smooth practiced motion.

Jackie was momentarily staggered at this casual description of how to apply lethal force. He spoke of it in the same tone Rachel Ray might use if she were describing how to make a decent soup stock. On the other hand, Jackie couldn’t help wondering how different her life would have been if she’d had such an edge when Bout approached her last January.

Jackie stood up. "Let’s go back inside." She led him into the kitchen and began mixing another shaker. "I’m a decent woman. I think I’m worthy of a little serenity in my life, even if I have to carry a loaded handgun in my purse to achieve it."

Johnson placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. "I can think of something better than a handgun."

She pulled away. "Don’t. I’m not ready. I thought I was, but I’m not."

"Yes you are."

"Maybe you’re right. Let’s find out." She stepped into his arms. Another jet cruised overhead, its gushing whine enveloping them in a wall of sound. For a moment, he was all she was and she was all he was. The great city revolved around them as though humbly acknowledging their position as the center upon which all else depended.

"Johnson, I want you to do something for me," she whispered.

"Okay. I’m game."

"I want you to tell me the truth about my hair. And I don’t want you to spare my feelings, especially about the gray."

"The truth is, when I first saw your new look, it depressed me, because until that moment, I thought I might have a chance with you. But when I saw how beautiful you really were, I realized what a stupid old fart I was to not realize you were out of my class. It’s why I acted so crazy and asked you to marry me. You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. You’re the kind of woman when people see us together, they’re going to think, How did an ugly toad like him get her?"

His answer floored her. The guy was really starting to look like husband material. How could such a thing come flying into her life at such a terrible moment, when she was still washed up on her emotional beach, gasping for air? Yet come it had. Was the guy for real? Or had he simply had more years to practice his line of bull than the guys she’d known before him? Was it true what they said about the older men, that they weren’t as pig-headed and selfish as their younger counterparts? Dare she hope?

"Johnson, stop lying. How many beautiful women do you know who have a huge scar running across their eye?"

"I’m sorry about your scar, but I myself find it very endearing. If you really think about it, your scar is what brought you into my life."

"You know, Johnson, I can tell you’ve spent years dealing with people and learning how to schmooze them. I don’t believe a word you just said, and don’t think by saying it, you’re going to get anywhere. Although I do admit, I like you better than I did before. And don’t go thinking I’m "in your life". We’re two people who’ve been thrown together by the actions of a criminal."

"Jackie, I don’t care how we met," he said. "I just know that I want you. All of you. Every square inch."

"Oh, hell yes," she said.

It was the moment of truth and she understood it to be such. She was ready to risk it in exchange for whatever time away from her pain his body would take her. And never mind the consequences. She stooped down and removed her ankle bracelet, dropping it on the counter. "C’mon," she said. Then stopped.

"What?"

"Johnson, I can’t be going back and forth like this. I think I’m ready and then I’m not ready. I don’t know who I am anymore. Since Bout attacked me, I have had absolutely no interest in men whatsoever. The truth is, I think I’ve become frigid. I was just going to use you to see if I might wake myself up, but the thought of doing that suddenly seems loathsome to me."

"Okay. Let’s just be friends. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do another hug. I could use at least that."

"Johnson? Don’t you hear that?"

"Hear what, baby?"

"Heinz! He’s barking like a maniac!"

"Wait here." Johnson pulled away and moved quickly towards the front door.

Chapter 22

"This isn’t a random thing, is it?" Jackie said.

"No," Johnson said.

Jackie, Johnson, and Heinz, along with a couple of uniformed cops and Sandy, the realtor from next door, stood in the driveway examining the note left on the windshield of the Lexus.

Vzjat’ na abordaž, the note read. It was brief, but it spoke volumes in what it implied. It tapped the wellspring of fear deep within Jackie’s guts, and the fear began to vibrate its way through her system, burning off anything free, happy, or charitable it found in its path.

"He was a bold little prick," Johnson said, "what with Heinz in the car going ape shit while he placed the note under the wiper blade."

"What’s it about, Jackie?" Sandy, the neighbor said. Her normal, confident Realtor persona had faded badly in the wake of this too-close-to-home true crime event. Sandy looked lost and vulnerable, standing in the driveway in her bathrobe and slippers.

"I was going to identify the thug who attacked me in a lineup tomorrow," Jackie said. "He must have had some punk friend of his leave this note on my car to scare me off. I can tell you, it worked. I’m so scared right now, I can’t even scream."

"We’re gonna look around the neighborhood, but don’t expect anything," a uniformed cop said. The two cops returned to their black and white and slowly drove around the corner.

She was back in the dream. Destined to suffer the baptism of pain forever. "Oh my God," she prayed. "Even your precious Son suffered only once. Please take my life. Please end it here." It was not to be. The pain of the dream had become an eternal force greater than God Himself. Jackie, yesterday, today, and forever, in pain. She felt the inhuman pressure of his weight upon her chest as she plunged into a world without light, without air. "Vzjat’ na abordaž." The high, effeminate voice. The fire in her throat and eyes. The cylinder of the gun turning, turning, until the trigger released the hammer, snapping it down, vibrating through her guts. She waited for the blast which would end her life, but the blast never came. The pressure fell away from her ear. I’m still alive, she thought. She managed to get a ragged breath of air and forced one burning eye open in time to see the blurry figure overhead raising the gun like a club.

"Hail Mary," she said. She expected to feel great pain from the blow and was surprised instead by a popping sound, accompanied by a bright flash, followed by a surge of heavy darkness.

"Jackie," Johnson said.

She was lying on the living room couch, a worried Johnson pacing the floor and Sandy sitting beside her, soothing her brow with a wet washcloth.

"Help me."

"You had a flashback," Johnson said. "Just take it easy. You’re going to be okay."

"You scared us half to death," Sandy said. "I nearly called the paramedics."

"Sandy, how did you get here?"

"I saw a strange car in the driveway and I came by to peek in and see who was in the house. When I saw a strange man in the kitchen window, I went home and called the police. As soon as they arrived, I came over."

"Thanks, Sandy. I keep seeing Viktor Bout, who attacked me, and I keep reliving what he did to me. I should have expected it." Jackie sat up and quickly put her head between her knees. "I think I’m going to be sick."

"It’s only the adrenaline. Keep your head down," Johnson said. They sat together for a few moments.

"Sandy, there are some pills in my purse. Can you bring me one, with a glass of water?"

"Who is Bout?" Sandy asked, handing her the vial.

"He’s the man who is going to kill me. And there’s nothing anybody can do."

"Nobody’s going to hurt you," Sandy said.

The two cops in the cruiser pulled back to the curb. Johnson walked out and they spoke briefly before he returned to the living room. "All quiet on the western front," he said.

"Sandy," Jackie said. "This is it. I want this place sold. How much can I get if I price it for a quick sale?"

"If you want it sold fast, these are going for about 175,000 on a short sale. I know that is less than you owe, but at least it won't ruin your credit the way a foreclosure will. The government is offering first time buyers a tax credit. We should be able to move it fairly quick."

"It was worth 500 K two years ago. That totally sucks. Okay, Sandy. Do it. Here’s the key to the door. The alarm code is 20 for on and 21 for Off. You can lock up after we go. Help yourself to whatever’s left of that shaker of sours in the kitchen."

"Okay," Sandy said. If that’s what you want. I can send somebody to wherever you are staying with the listing agreement."

"Get it ready for me," Jackie said. "I’ll get hold of you as soon as I can."

"Jackie, I’m probably going to rearrange things a bit, just to stage it for the buyers. So I will be in and out quite a bit, most likely in the evening after work."

"Whatever you think best, Sandy," Jackie said.

Chapter 23

Johnson headed back to the freeway, running a couple of red lights before slowly ascending the southbound onramp. "Nobody jumped the light with me. I’d say there’s nobody following us."

"That’s sorta comforting. Is your man covering us?"

"Not when I’m with you."

The midnight hour traffic was light, what with the last of the working folks in bed leaving the streets to the barflies and those whose livelihood depended on shadows and the ability to move quickly.

"We lucked out tonight," Johnson said. "If Heinz hadn’t started barking, the intruder might have tried to do more than leave his calling card. You would have had to watch me blow his brains out."

"You call it lucky? You know, Johnson, when I was first attacked, I remember how it shocked the community, not only because of the violence of the crime, but because it happened at Gelson’s in one of the so-called nicer areas of the city. But what I remember most in the first few days was everybody telling me how lucky I was. The EMT’s told me I was lucky to be alive. The neurologist told me I was lucky the swelling in my brain was under control. So apparently, by all accounts, I’m the luckiest woman alive. So why do I feel all of a sudden like somebody walked into my life and pulled my life support?"

"It’s the shock. And also the after-effects of all the booze we’ve consumed. The body can only take so much."

"It’s not the adrenaline wearing off. I feel let down because for a brief moment, for one beautiful moment, I felt safe. I was doing all the right things. I was in a well-lighted place. I was in the arms of a cop. I had a police dog in my car. And yet with all this safety surrounding me, some vicious punk walked right up to my house. It makes me sick."

"You’re suffering from post traumatic stress."

"How did you know?"

"I recognize the symptoms," he said. "I’ve suffered from it myself off and on over the years."

"You’re kidding," she said. "This is the main event of my life, and yet you talk about it like it was a common cold."

"I had it bad when I got back from the jungle. I was one of those guys who checked behind every door."

"So what happens to people who have it?"

"They eventually work through it. It’s either that, or they kill themselves. But there is no cure. I found a way to meditate that keeps it at bay."

"That's what Dr. Black said. Meditation." The revelation shocked her. To think that someone like Johnson himself could have suffered the way she was suffering was hard to grasp. Johnson? A survivor of PTSD?

"You know, Jackie, once you have PTSD, you’ll always have it. It’s a cage without bars. I went through a bad period a long time ago. At first, I couldn’t leave my house, then I couldn’t leave my room, and finally I couldn’t leave my chair. But it can get better over time."

"Johnson, are you saying you still have it?"

"I do. I still have a day now and then when I can’t leave my room. I just sit there with my dog and drink. Not the best solution, I might add."

Jackie regarded him closely. "You must have worked through it. Obviously you didn’t kill yourself."

"I’m not the suicidal type," he said. "I’m the homicidal type who’d rather kill someone else." His quick grin flashed, but added to it was just a touch of ambient evil, and she was reminded of somebody telling her once that there wasn’t a lot of difference between homicidal maniacs and cops; it was just a matter of which side of the law they were on.

"I’ve just begun to realize what a mess I’m in."

"It’s okay, Jackie. There’s things you can do to fight it. For me, it was a matter of getting angry enough to fight back. That's why I gave you the Nintendo. Playing Tetris helps."

"You’re kidding, right?"

"No. There’s something about Tetris that prevents flashbacks. If something upsets you and you think you’re going to have one, play Tetris. I play it all the time, at home and at work."

"Okay," she said. "I’ve heard enough. I hope I can come up with the courage not to kill myself."

"You will."

Johnson punched the accelerator and shot through the curving underpass to take the Ventura Freeway heading east. "The pressure’s on. We’re going after a "Three-Strike" candidate."

"Not anymore. I’m getting out of L.A. I’ve got enough money now to go back into hiding."

"Jackie. I know how you feel, but you can’t quit now. Not when you’re so close to taking back your life. There must be something I can do."

"Johnson, right now, I have only one priority in life—to be safe. And only one person can keep Jackie safe, and that’s Jackie."

The car merged onto the Hollywood freeway southbound, heading up the hill past the imposing structures of Universal Studios, leaving the celestial sprawl of the Valley behind, hurtling towards Hollywood through the gauntlet of a neon world which ran the gamut by degrees from upscale to funky before terminating at the corner of Highland and Franklin in a nexus of downright weird, a fitting landscape to ponder stalking criminals and noble ideals.

"Okay," Johnson said. "And you’re probably right. I’m not going to say something stupid like, I’ll protect you or anything like that. Hey, I understand fear. Bout should be feared. He’s a dangerous man. He’s got a crew on the street, so locking him up won’t mean you’re safe. Even if your testimony caused him to be bound over for trial, the truth is, you probably wouldn’t hold up as a witness."

"What do you mean I wouldn’t hold up? After all I’ve been through, you don’t think I could handle it in court?"

"Maybe not. The defense may argue due to the amount of stress you were under at the time of the attack, your perception was impaired, and because of the pepper spray, you didn’t see anything. They’ll argue you weren’t alert to your surroundings and your memory was interfered with because of the blow to your head. The sad thing is, Bout did everything right. He’s an intelligent thug. He deliberately left nothing behind to help anybody incriminate him."

"Now that is just plain wrong."

"The problem is, if you refuse to identify him, he is going to walk."

"What difference does it make? He’s going to come after me either way. I don’t care if he walks." But deep down she knew she did care. She knew she’d arrived at a turning point. She was one of those little faceless people behind the statistics who could make a difference. She was at a crossroads. She could run for her life or she could stand and fight. If she went forward against Bout, he’d be taken out of circulation. He wouldn’t hurt another woman the way she’d been hurt. But in the process, she might be sacrificed. An impossible position! This is why crime victims commit suicide.

"Look," she said. "Maybe tomorrow things will look different. Maybe we can do the lineup then."

Johnson pulled into the driveway at Donna’s place.

"Hey," he said, "a deer feeding in your yard."

"Get used to it. The hills are swarming with them. They work their way over from Lake Hollywood and eat everything in sight. Not to mention the coyotes who sneak into our yards whispering sweet nothings to our pet pooches. Imagine coming out to get the morning paper and finding Fifi’s coughed-up remains on the sidewalk. Face it, Johnson; wild animals are taking over everywhere you go."

"Well that takes the romance out of that."

"I’ll say good-night here," Jackie said. "And don’t worry about a good-night kiss. I’ll spare us the embarrassment."

"You’re sure."

"Johnson, it’s 2 o’clock in the morning. We’re both tired. I’ll call you tomorrow. Good-night."

He stood watching as she worked her way up the three flights of flagstone ramps and onto the tree-shrouded front porch. The tree hid her from view as she opened the front door and went inside.

Chapter 24

"Jackie," Dr. Black said. "I am stunned. I don’t know how you managed it, but you have undergone a total transformation of your appearance. I wouldn’t have recognized you."

"You can thank Donna," Jackie said.

"Okay, so let’s get started. What is going on?"

"Yesterday, I responded to a woman’s touch," Jackie said. "A complete stranger, the masseuse at my hairdresser’s place. I was hungry for it. My whole body came to life. And last night, I turned Johnson down at the tail end of a semi-romantic evening. Dr. Black, I don’t know what’s happening to me. And when I am driving my car, I never want to stop. I love that car. It makes me feel so powerful. Like I’m high on something."

"What’s happening is that since you’ve decided to seek help, your body is starting to let go of it’s tightly wound defenses. And letting it happen with another woman who was giving you a massage was just your way of safely allowing something to return that has been dormant. You’re starting to feel again. You’ve been numb up until now. "

"I must confess, though, right now it’s taking everything I’ve got just to stay in L.A. I was planning to run for it."

"Being a violent crime victim," Dr. Black said, "Requires an attitude of absolute defiance, a determination one will prevail at all costs. That’s the attitude you’ll need to stay in this fight. You have to walk out into the middle of the street and give God the finger."

"I’ll try."

"I’m glad," Black said. "Before we take our expedition to the place where you were attacked, I’ll need to work with you here for an hour or so."

Jackie had arrived at Black’s office bright and early. The office, with drapes closed and minimal lighting, took on the air of a secluded refuge from the world. Jackie had thrown away her old sweats and instead wore a pale-blue T-shirt and a faded pair of Calvin’s borrowed from her sister. Black, in her usual high-color-spectrum fashion, wore a pair of crisp, robin’s-egg-blue slacks combined with a striking metallic hot-orange tee, topped off with an amethyst ring the size of a California avocado pit. A large calico cat crouched by her chair, green eyes wide and locked onto Jackie’s like a laser sighting device.

"Nice cat," Jackie said.

Black picked up the cat and stroked her fur. "This is Kali. I named her after the Tibetan goddess of death and destruction. As a kitten, she was very fond of going on rampages before mealtimes."

"Everybody I’ve met lately seems to have a thing for animals. I had dinner last night with a friend who takes his dog everywhere, even to trendy restaurants. I’m wondering if maybe I shouldn’t get some kind of animal myself. A tiger, perhaps, or a rogue bull elephant."

"If you’re looking for a pet, I’ve got a perfect answer for you. She’s a large, handsome, white-and-gray cat with big golden eyes. She started hanging around my back door last week. My next door neighbor moved out and I think she simply abandoned her."

"How cruel. I can’t imagine why anyone would abandon a helpless animal like that to die on the streets."

"My neighbor was caught up in some kind of cult. She once confided to me that she talked to her cat."

"Everybody talks to their cat," Jackie said.

"No. She really talked to her cat. Every night, according to her, she and the cat did an out-of-body thing right after dinner. They’d channel themselves to this place in the universe that she referred to as a cat hive."

Jackie smiled. "This is crazy. But all of a sudden I’m hearing this voice inside my head say take the cat. You know what? I’ll take her."

"I’ll bring her tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll love her on sight."

"I just hope I live long enough to enjoy her."

"Why do you say that?"

"Viktor Bout sent a thug to my house last night. It’s obvious he’s going to kill me if he can."

"What did the police say?"

"The usual. And I thought I was safe. I was with a cop, and not only that, a bodyguard for the mob, as well as Bobby, were supposed to be protecting me."

"How do you know they didn't?"

Jackie thought about it. True, there had been a note, but that was all. No sign of the guy who left it. Maybe Nasturtium or Bobby had taken care of it.

"I don't," Jackie confessed.

"I know several ladies who can take you in until it’s safe, if you don’t feel safe with your sister."

"That’s okay. I’ll stick with Donna. Her husband is practically a mobster. Nobody will try to get me at his home. I found out one thing, Dr. Black. There is no such place as safe."

"Jackie, I want you to close your eyes for a moment. I want you to imagine somewhere in the future a new world, a world made especially for you, a world with none of the problems you now face. I want you to describe to me what you see."

"Can I pet the cat while I imagine?"

Black transferred Kali to Jackie’s lap. The feline was a laid-back, mellow beast, and settled right in, foregoing for the moment, a rampage. Jackie began slowly stroking the animal’s short rich fur. The room was quiet save for the rhythmic purring of Kali.

"Where are you in your dream, Jackie?"

"Me? If you must know, my dream has always been to be happily married ever after. Like a fairy tale. The princess in her castle on the hill. Not much of a dream, huh?"

"It’s a beautiful dream. We must follow our dreams. God is a dreamer. Every religion speaks of how important our dreams are. Your dream to be happily married and live in the castle is the dream of your heart. It’s important for you to try and follow your dream. Even if your dream doesn’t come true. If we don’t follow our dreams, we slowly wither away until there is nothing left."

Jackie opened her eyes. "Wow. I think your cat really put me in a serene mood. I’m going to name my new cat Moody."

Black stood up. "I’ve got a surprise for you. Follow me." She picked up the baseball bat from its place in the corner and led Jackie out the door and down the hall. They entered another room. The walls, floor and ceiling were covered in heavily-padded canvas. The only light came from a single recessed spot in the corner. From the middle of the room, a life-size dummy hung from the ceiling by a chain.

"A padded cell," Jackie said. "Has it come to this?"

Black inhaled sharply and let go with a shriek.

"Hey!"

"Now you try it."

"Me? Scream like you just did? I can’t."

"You know, a good, sharp, powerful scream can do wonders."

"I never screamed once when I was attacked," Jackie said. "I tried, but he grabbed me by the throat."

"You waited too long. You deferred to him because he was a man. In a sense, you were actually waiting on him. In fact, you still are. You’re even following his orders about not picking him out of the lineup. You’re following his command to die. That's what your entire life has been the past six months. Being the perfect victim in your apartment, awaiting further orders from your abuser. It's a variant of Stockholm syndrome."

"Oh. You’re right. That is sickening."

"Women are raised to comply with men’s orders. If you’re going to survive, you’ve got to stop waiting on men and learn to think for yourself. Next time, you’ll strike first, and she who strikes first, wins. It’s why I have this room set up like this. I want you to scream. Once your scream is well underway, go ahead and whack the dummy. Keep it up until you go into a frenzy. You are to scream and yell as loud as you can and beat the dummy to a pulp. Pretend you’re back in the parking lot at Gelson’s and fighting for your life."

The bat was small and made of aluminum. The non-slip rubber grip was reassuring in her Bout.

"I’ll see you back in my office when you’re done," Black said.

Jackie couldn’t scream. Not here. The thought made her angry. It was okay for Bout to cave her skull in, but it wasn’t okay for her to scream. She tried a tiny little scream. It came out awkwardly, like the squeak of a frightened mouse. But in its own way, it felt kind of good. She gave the dummy an experimental tap on the leg. The leg took the shot with a satisfying crunch, as though the object was filled with marbles. She filled her lungs, gripped the bat tightly and let it rip. Midway through the piercing screech, a bolt of energy shot through her body, and she wound up and let fly at the dummy’s head.

The satisfying crunch of the dummy mixing with the animal sounds from her throat overwhelmed her and tears began to flow—not the tears of a victim—but of righteous wrath. Her crying became an uncontrollable torrent as she issued one terrifying scream after another, followed by blow upon blow to the dummy’s face, chest, arms and legs. She leaped and spun in the air as the dummy began to swing wildly on the chain.

The grief poured from her heart as the sweat streamed down her body. The screaming no longer terrified her—it transformed her from the prey into the predator. There was no safe place for the dummy, no place it could run, no place it could hide, as she rained upon it one strike after another. Her right arm gave out and she transferred the bat to her left and continued the bludgeoning, as her spirit fused into her arm and became one with the bat, one with the dummy, and one with the screams. At one point she collapsed but felt a force flowing through her from somewhere in the center of the earth, a force which raged through her limbs like lightning, and she was at it again, with an intensity and a power she’d never felt before.

It was a power she recognized, a power very old, a power reaching to her from a part of creation history before the fall, a power rotating in the center of her body and imparting to her tired limbs a force she knew instinctively could not be defeated by man or animal.

The dummy broke free of the chain and collapsed in a heap, a mass of plastic pellets pouring free from its torn canvas scalp. Jackie sank to her knees. She could not release the bat, which felt welded to her hand. From somewhere in the room a wind seemed to be blowing, a Divine presence which flowed freely through the rooms of her mind.

A vision of her own face floated up before her, a vision of a face strong, determined, and peaceful. Gone was the grief she’d borne in her face and body. In front of her blossomed a new face and a new life. She had broken through into a greater presence. She had become a new creature. A warrior. A soldier, ready to fight.

"Viktor Bout," she whispered. "You have a date with me—at a lineup."

Chapter 25

"The Chinese call it fa jin," Dr. Black said. "It’s a special energy or force, one which is lively and spirited."

They’d returned to Black’s office, and were safely ensconced in soft leather, Jackie gulping heavily from a big bottle of Poland Spring.

"If I’d had this kind of strength when Bout attacked me, things might have gone differently."

"The point of the exercise was for you to discover the connection between your fear and your strength. When you can do that, you’ll be stronger than Bout."

"I thought I was trying to get rid of my fears."

"Oh no. Because you’ll always have the fear. You’ll have it for the rest of your life. This is why the fear must become your ally. Fear can paralyze, or it can be the source of superhuman strength. You must make up your mind that you won’t let it paralyze you ever again. That if you’re ever threatened again, you’ll push past the paralysis and launch yourself into combat as a proud warrior, one who would rather die fighting than die whimpering. The dummy is just an exercise to bring out the beast. But it doesn’t cure anything. It gives you a new tool, but you haven’t built anything with the tool yet. But you will."

"So the damage is permanent."

"Yes. You have to respect that damage. But you can still have a life if you are willing to fight for it."

"I’ve discovered that a woman is worth fighting for," Jackie replied. "Especially if that woman is me."

"One problem we will be working on is your guilt. That is an area where we can reclaim a lot of lost territory."

"My guilt?"

"Guilt is the biggest problem a victim has. It is corrosive. It is not only a physical force but a spiritual one. You’d be surprised at the role guilt has played in your self-destruction. Guilt presents you with a lopsided view of yourself. We have to counterbalance the weight of your guilt by uncovering your other personae." Black stood up and took her by the hand. "There’s plenty of time for that. First things first. We’ve got a little more work to do this morning. Follow me."

She led Jackie back down the hall and into another room. The heavily draped chamber was dark and dimly lit, the flickering light furnished by a row of votive candles on a table. Incense burning beside the candles filled the air with a sweet but acrid scent. On the floor in the middle of the room sat a good-sized coffin. Black walked over and opened the lid to reveal a lining of shining, white, padded silk.

"The manufacturer calls this model the Rose Taupe Victor," Black said. "An odd name for a coffin, don’t you think? I call her Victor for short. I picked her up from a casket company on the Internet. It’s amazing what you can buy on-line these days. Now, when I leave the room I want you to lie down in the coffin for awhile. When you come out, we’ll talk about it."

"Dr. Black. I’m sorry, but there is no way in the world you’re going to get me to lie down in a coffin."

"I understand your reluctance. The coffin is a symbol of our death. And our upbringing teaches us death is an unpleasant subject. But until we face our own death, we aren’t truly alive. Anyway, the coffin is merely symbolic. It can’t hurt you."

"Dr. Black, I feel as alive as I need to be. I already faced my own death. Death came for me in the corner of a supermarket parking lot."

"You didn’t face your own death. If you had, you wouldn’t be here today."

"I faced death."

"No, Jackie. What you faced was Viktor Bout’s idea of your death. You allowed yourself to be drawn into his sick vision. There’s a huge difference between the two. One is reality, the other isn’t. It’s up to you to discover which one is real."

"Awww." Jackie stared at the stuffed-silk-lined box. The silk would be cold. The box would be suffocating, dangerous to her spirit, her mind. The box was like a black hole in space, sucking all the light into itself, light which would never shine again. The light of life which she possessed was transient, that much she knew, but she had no desire to rehearse what would one day visit her again, and which was even now, in the form of Bout, threatening an early termination to her existence.

Many people were talking about the end of the world as conditions continued to decline, but Jackie, with her more intimate knowledge of death, understood that the true end of the world was when one found oneself lying on her back in a parking lot with a gun barrel tearing into her most sacred place.

"Dr. Black, do I have to?"

"No. But I think you should. All the women I work with have been in the coffin."

"When my sister Donna was seeing you—was this part of the routine? Did my sister get in the coffin?"

Black nodded. Jackie started out the door.

"Jackie!"

She looked back and was startled by the sight. Black had prostrated herself face down on the carpet, arms stretched towards her.

"Jackie," Black said."

Heaven help me, Jackie thought. What manner of lunacy is this?

Still, she had to admit, never in her entire life had anyone—not counting Johnson’s clumsy genuflection in the park—thrown themselves to the ground for her the way Black was doing now. She understood without thinking that the one doing the groveling was stronger than the one standing and running away. The force of Black’s beseechment sucked Jackie back into the room and forced upon her a mantle of responsibility like that of a froward penitent returning to her Mother Superior.

"Okay," Jackie said. "You can get up now. But you should know I don’t appreciate your helping me get over my fears only to start up new ones with this coffin routine. I suppose this is going to show me another facet. Well I think it is stupid."

Black’s face, tear stained, slowly lit up in a way the sun would have envied. Jackie had never before been in the presence of such unearthly beauty. It was as though an inner light was shining throughout Black’s frame. Her face was almost too bright to gaze upon directly.

"Help me," Jackie said, sinking to her knees. Black stood above her, and placed a hand on her head. A current began to flow into Jackie’s mind and soul. Inside the current, she could hear a voice speaking.

"None of us wants to die. We can’t imagine ourselves without our bodies. But until you make death your friend, you’ll always walk in fear."

Jackie realized the truth. She had always been afraid to die. The feeling had been there, just under her skin, her entire life. Bout had not introduced anything new into her system. He had merely tapped into what was already there. He had been the dark priest and she his unwitting acolyte. But she realized, as she remained kneeling beside her mentor, that things might be about to change.

"Do I have to shut the lid?"

"Well it’s not like it’s locked or anything. I’ve punched a few holes in the top. You won’t suffocate." Black left the room, shutting the door quietly behind the still figure on the floor. The minutes ticked by, Jackie’s soft breathing the only sound in the room save the occasional hiss of burning wax from the candles. Her eyes snapped open. She stood up.

"Hail Mary, full of grace." She made the sign of the cross and sat down in the coffin. The tears began to flow as she stretched herself full length onto the shining silk cushions.

She slid into a supine position, reached up, grabbed the underside of the lid and pulled. It shut with a click and she sucked in a breath as everything went dark. Where was the light? It was supposed to be shining through the air holes Black had punched into the top. She’d have to open it a crack to stem the tide of claustrophobia, to keep it from flooding her system and overwhelming her sensory apparatus to the point where she’d leap forth screaming in panic.

Pushing upward, the lid didn’t budge. Her arms were exhausted from clubbing the dummy, and legs were of no use, they being effectively hemmed in by the narrow confines, to the point where she couldn’t draw them underneath her in any sort of effort to shove the jammed lid open.

For a moment, everything within her stopped and there was a signal silence. But not the sort of silence generated by interior peace, rather, the final few seconds of shock as the organism realized it was in a trap. The silence shattered and she began to scream.

Chapter 26

"Dr. Black, has anyone ever sued you for pulling these kinds of stunts?"

"Not yet," Black said. "But some never return."

"I’ve never felt such fear in my life," Jackie said. "Not even when I was attacked. Not even in the months after the attack have I felt what I felt in that coffin. Dr. Black, all I can say is your methods are cruel. There was no value in putting me through such an ordeal. That was downright kidnapping. Holding me against my will."

"On the contrary," Black said. "There was great value."

"Not hardly. What, did you think you’d scare the fear out of me? That the shock would somehow cure my mind of its prior fears?"

"Like putting a bag over one’s head cures hiccups? No. But it seems to me you needed to confront your fear of suffocation, since Bout pepper sprayed your throat. You needed to learn that you can still fight even if you are suffocating. That you still have several minutes of vigorous fight left in you."

"If that’s true, then why am I more afraid than ever before? I feel completely defeated. Doomed to have the past dominate my mind and heart for all eternity."

"You’re not more afraid. You’re just starting to allow yourself to really feel things again. And don’t be fooled by your prior obsession over the past," Black said. "The past is not where the fear comes from. All human fear is about the future, even if it’s a future death that’s only seconds away. Since the future never comes, all human fear is useless. A simple concept, but hard to understand with the finite mind. Now let’s go get in the car. We have to go visit the scene of the attack.

They returned to the scene of the crime, sitting in Black’s air conditioned Suburban near the back wall of Gelson’s parking lot.

"Dr. Black, I’m afraid. Still. Of this stupid parking lot. It’s no different than yesterday."

"You’re not afraid because of what happened here six months ago—you’re afraid of the transformation you must make to be able to face the world again. The truth is, you've gotten comfortable playing the victim. You must change, and begin operating in a whole new world."

She put the Suburban into gear and exited the parking lot, heading west into the pleasant hills. They drove for awhile in silence until they crested on Mulholland, finally stopping at a turnout to admire the view of the sprawling Valley below.

"You know what I really want? I want someone to rescue me."

"We all expect rescue. But sometimes we don’t recognize it when it comes. What you are experiencing right now is a fallback to your old self. You received the spiritual input to master your problem when you agreed to face your death by entering the coffin, but the input you received is like a tape that’s stored up. As time goes by, it will start to play out. Until then, we still have to work on the old you."

"I learned nothing in that coffin."

"You learned the most important lesson there is," Black said. "You learned that you still have the will to live. That’s why you screamed in the coffin, and thrashed around in it until you forced the lid open. That’s why you know you can’t take your own life, or allow someone else to take it without a fight."

"Why didn’t the lid open right away?"

"Because I came back in and held it shut."

"You bitch. I needed air. It wasn’t me screaming. It was only my body responding."

"Exactly. And you are your body. That was you screaming for your life. Because you want to live. At the core of your being, your will to live is very strong."

"Oh, yeh. You’re right. I did want to live. Badly. But I’m disappointed that I’m still so scared of everything after all these cruel exercises."

Black stared deeply into her eyes. "Jackie. You’re not going to magically recover. It may take years. The damage may never be fully repaired. But at least now you know that you’re strong enough to face the months and years ahead."

"No! I’m going to get well. And it’s going to be soon! I’m going to be as before!"

"No, you’re not going to be as before. You’ll be different. Your old self is already dead. What remains to be seen is who you become. You have tried all your life to be perfect, so when imperfection entered your world in the form of Bout, you now blame yourself, as though the evil was caused by some failure on your part. This has caused a lot of guilt, a force so powerful it produced within you an unquenchable wellspring of anger, which, of course, you are now turning on yourself. You are demanding of your own self that it erase all feelings and memories associated with the horror of your assault. You’ve even tried to erase your sexuality, and you were surprised to find it still alive when you went for the massage."

"You’re right. I was angry at myself. While lying in the hospital bed I had time to examine my life. I realized my life before the attack was a lousy life. It was a life not worth returning to. After Bout, I was left with nothing, my former personality had been erased and I realized forty-eight years of living hadn’t amounted to a blasted thing. I’d wasted it all."

"You’ve got a lot of guilt. What you’re saying is, you blame yourself for not knowing how to live life. A big load to carry. That’s what we are going to be working on for a long time to come. The good news is that your conscience is functioning again. It's building a bridge between your truer self and God. The real you is starting to emerge."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I am ready to try life again. While I was in your coffin, I began to understand Bout didn’t kill me. He failed. He’s the loser, not me. I finally understood I’m still alive. As pathetic as my life is, it’s my life, and it’s worth a lot more than I gave it credit for. I think I want to build a new life, but the problem is, I don’t know how."

"It’s going to take time. Believe me, I know. I’m still working every day on mine."

"But where do I even start?"

"You start by respecting the damaged area. By accepting that it’s there, and that just because it’s there doesn’t mean your life has no value. You start by understanding that you must face the evil which has lodged itself in you. You must face it a hundred times a day and beat it back. Then it will begin to leave."

"Okay. I’ll try and respect the damage. And I’ll try and adjust to the notion that I’m going to be screwed up for years. Anything else?"

Black laughed. "We’re going to start by throwing a party," Black said. "Today is Wednesday. I want you to call the people most important to you and invite them to a party on Friday morning. We’re going to have balloons, food, champagne, cake, music, and the works. We’re going to celebrate the start of your new life!"

"I think I’m going to cry. That’s the most beautiful thing anybody’s ever said to me."

"You should celebrate. You’re a beautiful person. You’ve come to terms with what life’s all about."

"Which is?"

"There’s that old Japanese saying. You only live twice. The first time is when you are born. The second time when you look death in the face. A meaningful life is a life lived in the face of death. A near-death experience is a kind of baptism. It’s actually a promotion. A gift that leads to true life. Death is actually what makes life so precious."

"You act like I’m one of the fortunate ones."

"You are. Most people are unconscious from the day they born until the day they die. You have been chosen for something greater."

"I know for certain one day I’ll die," Jackie said, "but until then my job is to make my life worth living, not only for myself, but so I can help others—especially Donna."

"And with the help of the people who love you," Black said, "your life will unfold into something beautiful beyond your dreams. So tell me, are you going to pick Bout out of the lineup today?"

"I think so. I keep going back and forth. I’m going to decide for real when I see Johnson."

"A final instruction, if you will. You need to rediscover religion in your life."

"That’s a tall order. Seeing as how I probably do not want to ever speak to God again."

"What religion were you raised in?"

"Catholic. But I’ve been away too long. I can’t go back."

"You might try again. At least you’re familiar with it. It might help you begin uncovering the graces you received during your assault."

"Graces received during my assault?"

"Evil does not exist in a vacuum. It is always accompanied by a greater good. It may be hard for you to grasp, but the basis of all healing is the belief that the universe is basically good, in spite of appearances to the contrary. Somewhere, deep down inside of you, hidden away, are the graces you received in your soul at the same time you received the marks of evil."

"Dr. Black, inside myself, there is only darkness. All that remains are my fears and my desire to get revenge on Viktor Bout. I just don’t have any religion left in me. I have awakened in the night many times after the dream, soaking in sweat, and I have cursed God with all my might at those times."

"Then make that your starting point when you reconnect to your religion."

"My spiritual journey starts with me cursing God?"

"What? God can’t handle a little trash talk? He's a big boy. He's a professional. Besides, that’s where everybody’s journey starts. You don’t think Adam maybe cursed God just a tad when he was thrown from the Garden into the field of thorns?"

"Dr. Black, what is your real name?"

Black looked at her and then away. "My name is Karen Qumayousie," she said. "Then something terrible happened to me as a young girl, and I changed my name to Black. Black is not a color. It is the absence of color. But Black also contains all the colors within itself. That's how I see myself. I contain all the colors, especially when things turn black."

Jackie looked around her, at the place where she nearly lost her life, at the proud oasis of Gelson’s at the foot of the Santa Monica mountains, with it’s tall green hedges of oleanders and vines, its magnificent patio covered in smoked glass, the bright-orange brick facing with its foam-white trim, at the flow of living souls moving within and without the great, colorful organism.

"You know," Jackie said, "I can’t tell you how hard it is to hear what you’re saying right now. If you were to ask me an hour from now what you just said, I couldn't tell you. But somehow some part of me is hearing you. But in spite of that, I suddenly feel very glad to be alive. I’m going to take it on faith that something good is waiting for me beyond my pain. Although it will take a miracle to bring life to my dead insides."

"Just don't fight it. This is only your first few days," Black replied. "You’ve got a lot of balls up in the air. It won’t come together all at once. Sometimes you’ll be moving forward, and sometimes it will seem like you’re back where you started. But it’s all taking you to your destiny in a universe filled with love. Religion is part of that universe. Think of your soul as a burning flame. It needs a place to burn safely. Religion is the fireplace where your soul can burn without destroying your house."

They shared the moment in silence, comforted and cushioned from the outside world by the spacious chamber of the Suburban, its heavy leather-on-metal surroundings a comfort to the body, it’s weaponry in the glove box a comfort to the mind, it’s powerful engine a comfort to the soul and spirit.

"Dr. Black, when I invite the people to my party, where shall I tell them to come?"

"Tell them to join us in the Gelson’s parking lot. We’re going to celebrate your new life on the very spot where you lost your old one."

Chapter 27

Johnson picked up the phone. "Johnson."

"It’s me," Jackie said. "There was a delivery guy at my doorstep this morning with flowers and a pound bag of Jamaican blue, but no card."

"Is there any doubt who sent it? You no longer have a favorite place, but you can still have a favorite coffee."

"Thank you, Johnson. That was very sweet. If you are trying to buy my affections, it’s working great. But there is more you can do."

"Such as?"

"You promised to help me learn to use a gun."

"We’re still on? I wasn’t sure after last night."

"Johnson, stop being the center of the universe. Just because you didn’t get laid after a first date which ended in a criminal threat to my life, you think the world has ended. Of course we’re still on. Although I don’t know if I’m really ready for anything with you. I avoided telling my shrink about you. Well, I mentioned you, but in no great detail."

"Why not?"

"I started to tell her about our date, but I just said that I had dinner with a cop. I didn’t dress it up any. And as for why not, for one thing, the woman is like a psychic fire hose. She just blasts away at me until there is nothing left. I’ve given her so much in so short a time period, maybe I just want to keep something for myself. Something private that won’t be messed with."

"Kind of like I’m the bad boy you don’t want Mommy to know about?"

"Kind of. It’s like I really don’t want anybody to know. Maybe I don’t even want myself to know. But forget about that for now. What about the gun?"

"I need to give you at least one lesson. The truth is, you should take a course requiring you to learn the law, and combat techniques, and proficiency. I would normally expect you to fire over a thousand rounds before I thought you had even a perfunctory knowledge of the handgun. But to hell with that."

"There’s just no time for that," she said.

"Very true. So we’ll at least have one lesson today. Although plan on having many more."

"Good. Meanwhile, I’ve got some good news."

"We can always use that around here."

"The good news is I’m through being the perfect victim. I’m dropping that gig. I’ve decided instead to be an amazing person. No matter how many flashbacks I have."

"You’re amazing me right now."

"I’ll show you amazing," Jackie said. "Amazing is, I’m speaking to you from right outside your office."

"I know," he said.

"Yeah. My cop shadow told you. But did he tell you Bienenfeld loaned me his limousine? He said I shouldn’t drive the Lexus, because Bout’s buddies have seen it, but if I took the limo, Bout’s friends couldn’t recognize me even if they had my usual places staked out."

"Bout lost a few teeth this morning," Johnson said. "Not because of me. He slipped and landed on his face in the toilet in his cell."

"Right."

"I’m coming down. I’ll be on the sidewalk in ten seconds," Johnson said.

"Not so fast. I’m coming up. I’ve got a present I want to deliver."

She disembarked the limo and entered the building, signing in and clipping on the badge.

"I never really noticed those plaques on the wall before," she said to the desk officer. "Those are the officers who lost their lives in the line of duty, aren’t they?"

"Yes ma’am."

"Johnson tells me Heinz’ owner lost his life in the line of duty. Is his name on the wall?"

"No," the officer said. "That would be Jack Visio, who lost his life in pursuit of a felon in the Devonshire Division. His plaque would be down at Metro, where the K-9 Platoon is stationed."

Jackie wondered if Visio’s widow now had some kind of mental disorder. She wondered just how many damaged, hurting women there were in the world. Putting the thought aside, she climbed the stairs and found her way to Johnson’s corner office. She realized there was more than the usual amount of heads poking above the cubicles on the main floor—heads staring in her direction.

She recognized what she saw in the men’s faces. It was something she hadn’t seen for a long time. Their eager appraisal drenched her insides like a soft spring rain. It’s me, she thought. They are looking at me. She stood in the doorway. Johnson was on the phone, his eyes down. She struck a pose and glanced back. All eyes were still upon her. She looked at Johnson, noticing that even he had on a new shirt, a little frayed around the collar, but what used to be a nice one. It also appeared he’d gotten a much-needed haircut.

"I can see I’ve done and said a number of things you don’t like," he said to whoever it was on the other end of the phone. Looking up, he glanced at Jackie and made a ridiculous clown face. "Okay," he continued. "I’m sorry you feel that way. I understand. Sometimes differences come up between two people that can’t be resolved. Good-bye." He hung up and waved her to a chair. "My ex-wife’s lawyer. The guy’s going to have a bad fall from a roof one morning and give a whole new meaning to the phrase terminal velocity."

"Ex-wife? You never told me you were married before."

"I’m sorry. I should have said something."

"Johnson, I thought I knew you! I can’t believe this! You just took my trust and threw it right out the window."

"I hate myself," he said. "I was trying to figure out how to tell you. First of all, I never really thought you and I would become an item. And when things started to develop, I panicked. I was afraid if you knew I was finalizing a divorce that you’d throw me under the bus."

"What else aren’t you telling me? Do you have kids?"

"A daughter. But she’s married and lives in Phoenix. And she hates me."

"Johnson, I could kill you. We hardly know each other and you’re already keeping secrets!" She fumbled in her purse and came out with her vial of pills. "Excuse me," she said. "But you have totally upset me. And at least this is better than vodka."

"I’m sorry. It’s not something I’m terribly proud of. I was afraid you wouldn’t want me with all my baggage. My marital situation has been very painful the past two years. But it’s just about over."

"I am trying," she said, "with all my might, to stay in the room with you right now. And whether I continue to do so depends on two questions, and you better not lie, because this time I will know."

"I’ll tell you anything you want to know," he said.

"Question one. Why did you leave your wife?"

He sighed and looked down. "That’s a tough one," he said. "There is really no easy answer. The truth is, I was married to the job. A couple of years back, when my daughter got married and moved out, my wife told me it was over. She hit me with it right out of the blue. She told me that she’d kept the marriage together all those years for the sake of our daughter. She asked me to move out."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. No counseling, no trial separation, nothing. So I did, and she seemed content with that. But six months ago, she told me she met somebody else and had me served."

"Second question," Jackie said. "Why me? Why haven’t you found somebody else? You’ve had two years to dig up somebody whose not too picky."

"Over the past two years I’ve been in a fog," he said. "Most of that time I was still technically married. I dated once or twice before I discovered that old fat guys don’t date well. Then the divorce took awhile. She pretty much wound up with everything. Truth is, I guess I had given up. Until our paths crossed. I can’t explain it, but for some reason I feel drawn to you. I’ve told myself a million times to forget it, but I can’t let it go. Don’t ask me why."

"You pathetic old fart," she said.

"Jackie, are you crying?"

"Johnson, do you remember I said I brought you a present? Come and get it."

He emerged from his clutter and noticed the heads staring at him and her from the tops of the cubicles. "Okay people. Stop the prairie dogging. Pop those little pin-heads of yours back down in your cubbyholes. I’m sure you all have better things to do."

A couple of wolf whistles and some other appreciative comments were tossed their way from the floor.

"No," Jackie said. "Let them look. Here’s the present I promised." She grabbed his face, went up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. He started backwards in surprise, but she held on. The kiss, when he returned it, was soft and welcoming, like a flower opening in the rain after a long dry spell. The whistles, applause and cheering which broke forth full force from the floor excited Heinz, who popped out the door and began wagging his bushy tail with abandon. Heinz resisted the temptation to bark. He was, after all, a highly disciplined police officer.

"Johnson?"

"Yes?"

"We have a problem," she said.

"And that is?"

"That kiss was a test. I was hoping for a spark, but I felt nothing. And yesterday, I felt something stirring when I had a massage from a young woman. I’m all mixed up. I think I am a lesbo."

"Jackie, don’t be in such a hurry. Maybe you’re just not ready to feel anything for a guy yet. Another woman is safer, somehow. I mean, you used to enjoy men, right?"

"I’m starting to wonder. I know I thought I needed them. I had a couple of those so-called long term committed relationships, but nobody married me. But now I think I’m starting to hate men. Look at what Bout did to me. And my last boyfriend, Al. He used me for four years and left me with nothing. Johnson, I ask you. What the hell good are men?"

"No good whatsoever," he said.

"Well, you’re my only friend, besides my immediate family," Jackie said. "So I guess that’s something."

"It’s a start," he said. "I could use a friend like you. I’m not sure I have the energy to keep up with a younger woman anyway. Besides, I practically need to wear a sling to keep my enlarging prostate from dragging on the ground behind me."

They both began, in spite of themselves, to giggle.

"What’s in the bag?" Jackie said after she had recovered.

"Guns and ammo and other assorted goodies," Johnson said. "You know. Things that kill people like Viktor Bout."

They’d entered the limo and settled back on the plush calfskin, Johnson having already cracked open a window for Heinz.

"That’s going to look bizarre," Jackie said. "The sight of a stretch Lincoln with a dog snout poking out of the window."

"Heinz isn’t a dog."

"I know, I know—he’s a police officer."

"Retired. No more training sessions at 6 a.m. No more building searches at 2 o’clock in the morning, no more romps through the Hollywood Hills, no more biting weary, brush-cut felons."

"I’m starving. Maybe because I haven’t hit the vodka this morning. Can we have lunch before we go to the range?"

"I know a Cupid’s on Victory where we can grab a bite."

"Chili dogs in a limo?" Jackie said.

"It wouldn’t be the first time. This is L.A., after all, where stars name their children things like Suri and Lourdes."

Chapter 28

Sitting beside Johnson in the Stretch reminded Jackie of years gone by when she’d had occasion to ride with brides and bridesmaids in their limos. A bittersweet pang struck her as she realized she’d never had the big church wedding. Was sitting next to Johnson, now, with his dog, as close as she was going to get to that experience? Summoning her will, she did her best to shut it out of her mind.

The chili dogs, fries and cokes were glommed down greedily in the air-conditioned comfort of the stretch, which continued its way west on Victory Boulevard before hanging a right on Sepulveda and a left on Saticoy to it’s destination—a medium-size concrete building with a single door between a pair of blacked-out windows covered with iron bars.

"So much for understated ambiance," Jackie said.

"It’s not the Beverly Hills Gun Club," he admitted. "You can’t enjoy a double de-caf latte on the terrace with a Playmate after machine gun practice."

"Funny you should mention the Gun Club. Bienenfeld loaned the owner the startup capital for that Club back in ‘81. He’s a charter member of the place."

"Bienenfeld gets around."

They disemlimo'd. "We’re gonna have Heinz wait in the limo," he said.

"He doesn’t like the loud noise?"

"No, he’s used to that. But we don’t want your driver to get lonely."

Inside the door was a shopping cart covered with a tarp. Behind a sales counter crammed with chubby handguns tagged like corpses under glass stood a skinny man talking to a little old lady. The object of their discussion was a revolver so big it was almost obscene.

"We call her Dirty Harriet," Johnson whispered. "She’s a regular in here. She lives a block over on Lull Street in an old place with about 50 cats. That’s her shopping cart. She’s a cop’s widow who went crazy. Pity the poor idiot who tries to take the cart from her."

"Hey, Johnson," the skinny man said. "It’s all yours, there’s nobody back there."

Johnson grabbed a large target—the kind with the picture of a bad guy aiming a gun—from a rack by the inner door and led her through to the gallery, whereupon he unpacked the contents of his bag onto the shooting bench facing the range. Jackie took stock of these items which, in addition to a small revolver and a box of ammunition, included a variety of orange-handled tools, swabs, cloths, bottled and canned liquids, not to mention two sets of ear protectors and two pairs of yellow-lensed safety glasses.

"Put these on," he said.

Johnson clipped the bad-guy target on the wire and pressed the button, sending it down range about five feet.

"We’re not really going to practice our aim," he said. "Because if you have to kill anyone, he’s only going to be that far away. Maybe even closer. And you’ll probably be shooting him in the back as he turns to run." He held out the revolver. Its tiny shape seemed to have been birthed only moments before by its larger parent, the huge handgun she’d seen on the way in. "It’s a classic detective special. Lightweight, easy to conceal, but modified with combat grips so when you sweat in fear it won’t fall out of your hand."

"It only holds five bullets. Is that enough?"

"More than enough for a good belly gun. It’s designed for that intimate moment when the bad guy is right on top of you. It’s loaded with hollow points. Bullets which expand upon impact and tear apart the inside of the body like a grenade."

"Ohhhh. Let’s stop a minute and go back outside. I need to get some air. It’s hard to breathe in here."

"Then you’ll learn to use the gun without breathing. Breathing’s over-rated. It spoils the aim."

"Please take me out of here."

"We’re not leaving. So tell whoever’s in charge of your coping mechanism it’s time to stop moping and start coping." He thrust the gun towards her. "Go ahead. Pick it up."

"I can’t."

"Pick it up," he said, his eyes cool as a Great White’s, his Norwegian features decidedly warlike.

She picked it up.

"Okay, Jackie, you’ve got to my count of three to point it at the target and pull the trigger and keep pulling until it’s empty."

Their eyes locked. His stare was unblinking, with no give to it, like a large bird of prey. Johnson was in his element. Guns and death and hard stares were his daily meat.

"One," he said.

She pointed and fired with a loud bang and a lot of smoke, pulling the trigger again and again.

"Wow," she said.

"He’s dead. Nice pattern. If you use two hands, the gun won’t rise up like that. But you still got two in the belly and two in the head. No telling where the last one went."

"It doesn’t make a very big hole."

"In paper it doesn’t. But humans are like balloons pressurized with blood. Had that been Bout, he’d be lying on the ground with a huge red spray covering the walls and ceiling."

"What a feeling."

"You felt the power to take a life. The first time it’s unforgettable."

"Johnson, I have to tell you—this sort of scared the you-know-what out of me."

He began to smile.

"No. You don’t understand. I’m not afraid of the gun."

"Okay, I’ll bite—what are you afraid of?"

"I’m afraid of myself," Jackie said, staring at the smoking hunk of warm metal clutched in her hand. "Because you would not believe how fantastic that felt."

"That’s a special gun," he said. It belonged to my old partner, Jack Visio. A long time ago, he loaned it to me, and it saved my life one night in a bar on Lankershim. So Jack gave it to me for keeps."

"This gun actually killed someone."

"Yes it did."

The door opened and Dirty Harriet walked past, clutching the big revolver and a box of ammo.

"Nice shooting, dearie," she said.

Chapter 29

"You’re invited to a party," Jackie said. "On Friday morning. We’re having it at Gelson’s."

"The crime scene?" Johnson said.

"It was my shrink’s idea."

"Bizarre. But okay. Yes. Friday morning it is."

Johnson, Jackie and Heinz sat lounging in the limo, double-parked outside Johnson’s office.

"When I saw Dr. Black today," Jackie said. "She told me the reason I got so depressed after the attack is from the guilt trip I laid on myself. She said I felt guilty because I blamed myself for Viktor Bout’s attack, and if I ever want to be happy, I have to see the assault for what it really is."

"A lot of crime victims take it personally. It’s hard not to. Nice people feel responsible for their actions. They believe what they get in life is based on who they are and what they do. It’s the hardest thing in the world for a responsible person to understand a criminal attack isn’t personal, that they did nothing to cause it."

"That really slays me. Everybody tells me, don’t take it personally. Well you know what I say? I say, Okay, I want to be happy again, so I’ll stop blaming myself, and stop feeling guilty about it happening—but I do take it personally. Very personally."

"It’s a start," Johnson said. He reached for the door to disembark the limo.

"Wait. Let’s talk here for a minute." She opened the tiny fridge and pulled out a couple of Corona long-neck’s, twisting off the caps with deft expertise. "I’m not supposed to do this when I take my pills, but don’t you just love the sound it makes when you first crack a cold beer? That little shushing noise is like the opening of the door to heaven." She handed one to Johnson. "And don’t give me any grief about how you’re on duty."

"To duty."

They clinked bottles.

"I’ve made a decision," Jackie said. "I’m not picking Bout out of the lineup."

"Jackie."

"I may as well explain. In the past few days, I’ve discovered how complicated life really is. For the past six months, I’ve done everything I can to hide from life. I wanted only to be safe. I thought if I stayed inside my apartment, I would be. But the only thing that came out of my desperate efforts to control life is this." She held out her wrists, showing him the thin white scars, some old, some fresher-appearing.

"We call those hesitation marks. They usually appear beside the larger, final cuts. What stopped you?"

"I used to cut myself and chicken out. For some reason, cutting myself helped me feel better for a few minutes. But the day you called me about Bout, I was ready to do it for real."

"Why didn’t you?"

"The phone rang. There I was, sitting in the bathtub with a box cutter, trying to have my big moment, and having to listen to your screeching on the message machine. Your call saved my life."

"You made a mistake. You blamed yourself when your life fell apart."

"That’s what Dr. Black said. She said I have to work on my guilt or I am going to be destroyed by it."

"She sounds like she knows a thing or two," Johnson replied.

Jackie took a long slow chugalug on her Corona. "Viktor Bout threatened me last night. He thinks he can control me. My pills are supposed to help me sleep, but I stayed up all night thinking about Bout, about who he is, what his life must be like, what his hopes and dreams are. I came to the conclusion that not everybody has a soul. Maybe everybody starts out with one, but some people lose theirs. After they lose it, their only happiness comes from taking somebody else’s. Last night I decided Viktor Bout isn’t going to take my soul. This morning, before I picked you up, I slept in a coffin."

"Wait a minute, woman, you lost me."

"I slept in a coffin. Do you understand what I’m saying here? The point is, I finally realized Viktor Bout isn’t God. He doesn’t have the power of life or death over me."

"That’s right," Johnson said. "The only people who have the power of life and death over us are the President's czars."

"Don’t joke; I’m on a roll, here. I’m saying I have a strong will to live. I’m going to die one day. And when the day comes, nobody will be able to stop it. But until then, nobody can take my life from me. Bout came into my life for a reason. He came to prove to me nobody can kill me until God says they can. Bout tried his best to take my life. He did manage to stop my heart that night. It stopped beating for 7 minutes during my ambulance ride. But it was returned to me."

"In a way, if it weren’t for Bout," he said, "I’d never have met you."

"That’s right. And that’s a fine kettle of fish. Johnson, you should simply get out of my life. Oh. I just made the connection. My shrink said that when the evil happened to me, it was accompanied by a greater good. Johnson, do you suppose you are that greater good? Do you think that’s true?"

"Yeh. You’ll see. But back to the evil we were speaking of, you realize that if you don’t identify Bout in the lineup, he’ll be set free. We don’t have enough to hold him without your help. I know you said you didn’t care, but I think you do."

"I know. I do. But I want him to go free for a different reason. I’m going to wait outside the jail and shoot him when he walks out."

"No. It doesn’t work like that. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not ready to carry the weight of killing somebody."

"Johnson, the other night in the park, you asked me to marry you. I made a decision last night. I’m going to marry you. On one condition."

The revelation rocked the emotional tension in the limo like a psychic sonic boom, momentarily stunning the cop. He sat up ramrod straight. "What condition?"

"That you set Bout free."

"That’s ridiculous."

"At least think about it." She got on her knees and took his hand. "Johnson—will you marry me?"

"Not for the reasons stated above."

"Okay forget killing Bout. And the fact that I don’t love you. But I do have friendship, loyalty and affection to offer. Will that work for you? I know it sounds messy. I mean, I could be a complete dud from now on."

"I won’t marry you. Not like this."

Jackie sat back. "I know you lied to me just now. Anyway, I know I’m not strong enough to kill anybody. But I also think if I allow Bout to go free, you will kill him for me."

"How could you get such an idea?"

"On Monday, somebody told me cops take care of their own. Is it true? Do you understand what I’m referring to, or do I have to spell it out?"

Johnson picked up his beer and took a long, slow pull. "You did not ask that question," he said. "And I did not answer it."

They locked eyes. Johnson’s face was ancient and serene in its certainty of the realities of which he spoke. A smile blossomed on Jackie’s face. "You were going to do it anyway, weren’t you," she said. "Even before I proposed!"

"Jackie," he said, and drew her close.

"Marry me," she said. "Forget what I said before. Marry me. No conditions."

"No," he said. "Well maybe. Well why not. Yes."

Jackie broke free. "I see right through you, Johnson. Get out of my limousine and get back to work."

Johnson opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk with Heinz.

"Wait," Jackie said. "Give me the gun and some bullets before you go."

"No. You don’t need it."

"I might need it. Not for shooting Bout. You’re going to do that. You may not realize this, but when Bout took my life for those 7 minutes, he created a new creature. Last night, I asked myself what it was I had become. The answer came to me when I fired the first shot from your little gun this afternoon. I’ve become a soldier."

"A soldier?"

"It’s a war. Even though I’ve already been assaulted once, the odds it will happen to me again are still the same as every other woman." Jackie felt her voice coarsening, growing guttural. What’s happening to me? Is this what they’ve made me? No, she realized, this is what I was all along. It just took a good shrink to bring it to the surface."

"You've seen the light," he said.

"The difference between me and the other women is that I know the certainty of this spreading evil. It’s why I’m no longer a civilian in the war, why I call myself a soldier. The next time a man tries to take me out, I’m fighting back. Without hesitation, without guilt, and without remorse. So-give-me-the-gun-now!"

Johnson fished in the bag and handed her the gun and the box of bullets. "I think I have lost my mind," he said. "I can see this is going to be the end of my career. I am conspiring, and I have already withheld evidence in the murder of the guy in the dumpster."

"Johnson, it's time to bend the rules. I also wonder if Heinz could stay with me. He’s still your dog, but I want to borrow him for a few days."

"You’re safe enough. I’ve still got my man watching out for you."

"Please? Just for a few days."

"Okay."

"Will he attack if you give me the proper command for it?"

"I won’t give you the command. But nobody in their right mind would bother you with him standing there."

"Fair enough. I also want you to go over to my house in Van Nuys and move yourself in. It’s time you got out of that bachelor’s dump on Vineland. I won’t short sale the house after all. We can move in there after we get married. I want to be married in church, and I want to get married right away. Like tomorrow, if possible."

"That might be kind of tough. The church doesn’t do quickies. Why church? Why not just fly to Vegas?"

"Look, I know I’m all over the board today, but Dr. Black told me to get back into my religion. I’m going to do everything that woman tells me to do from now on. C’mon Johnson. Surely you should know somebody who can fix a church wedding."

"I do know a priest who works with cops," Johnson admitted. "Father Larry. He’s a good guy. He comes from a family of cops. If anybody can cut through the red tape, it’s him. But I doubt if he can arrange a Catholic wedding for us. Not with my baggage. I'm divorced, and they tend to frown on that."

"I’ll call you," she said.

"Wait a second," he said.

"What?"

"In the extremely unlikely event Heinz is forced to defend you, or decides to on his own, the command to call Heinz off is Gesundheit."

"Thanks."

She shut the door and hit the intercom to her driver.

"Where to?" he said.

"Back to Spring Oak Drive. And stop at the Mayfair on Franklin. We need a cart load of doggy stuff."

She put the gun in her purse and called Heinz to her side. It would be the second time she’d petted the noble beast. She ran her fingers through his fur. Heinz responded with what appeared to be friendship. She hoisted her Corona in his honor. "Here’s looking at you, kid."

Heinz responded with a low growl, one not without warmth.

Chapter 30

"Marsha? This is Jackie. Remember me?"

"Of course," Marsha said. "You’re the beautiful lady who isn’t afraid of a good, stiff, early-morning drink."

"You make a mean one. I was looped for 2 hours afterward."

Jackie, stretched out in the limo, hurtling through the curves over Mulholland, and unhampered by the exigencies of driving, was on the phone to Marsha.

"I heard you had a little trouble last night," Marsha said. "Bienenfeld told me your attacker sent you a message through an associate."

"Bad news travels fast. But how did he find out? When did he tell you?"

"Nasturtium told him."

"He did? I never saw him around."

Marsha laughed softly. "Don't you want to know what happened to the creep who delivered the message?"

Jackie was speechless. The guy who left the note on the car had run into Nasturtium? She tried to shake off the thought in order to keep functioning.

"Jackie? Are you there."

"Yes," she said thickly.

"It's better you don't know the details," Marsha said. "But I learned all about it when I picked Bienenfeld up this morning. Ask me when you're ready."

"You picked Bienenfeld up? How cozy."

"It wasn’t out of my way," Marsha said. "I live right over the hill from you guys on Los Feliz, near Fern Dell Park. What with you taking the limo, Bienenfeld was without resources."

"Marsha," Jackie said. "Do you recall when we talked on Tuesday morning, that you mentioned something about helping me with my Viktor Bout situation?"

"Of course I remember. But we need to have this conversation later. In fact, we’re having a little party tonight. Bienenfeld just financed a deal memo with a new Independent who’s optioned a terrific new screenplay, kind of a Mighty Ducks type thing except it’s about punks on skateboards who go to Haiti and save the children. It could be the next Easy Rider of its generation. We’re having a little get-together for the principals. Charlie Sheen may even show up. He just got out of rehab, so he is looking for something to keep himself busy. Can you come by around 7?"

"I’ll be there," Jackie said. "Although I’d rather meet Martin Sheen, even though he's only five feet, two inches tall. Can you give me directions?"

"Have your driver bring you over to the bank building. Give your name to the guard in the lobby and he’ll key you up to the penthouse. If it isn’t too windy, we’ll be out on the roof. Dress for cocktails. There may be a few interesting men, or women, if you’re interested. By the way, I hear you look fabulous with the new haircut."

"Marsha," Jackie said. "Before we meet tonight, there’s something I need to get off my chest."

"Yes?" Marsha said.

"It’s about your thing with Bienenfeld," Jackie said.

"Donna told you?" Marsha said.

"She told me," Jackie said. "But I didn’t like what I heard."

"It’s complicated."

"The hell. Donna’s my kid sister," Jackie said. "I’ve spent most of my life looking out for her. You nearly drove her to suicide. I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to make you stop seeing my sister’s husband?"

"You don’t want to open this can of worms," Marsha said. "There’s a lot you don’t know."

"It doesn’t bother you that you’re seeing a man who’s married? A man who’s twice your age?"

"You’ve never seen a rich old man with a young girl in L.A. before?" Marsha said. "Where’ve you been?"

"You’re young," Jackie said. "But time flies. You’re going to find the best years of your life were wasted, years you’ll never be able to get back. You should be putting all that youthful energy into a proper relationship and leave Bienenfeld and Donna alone, so they can try and rebuild."

"I’m going to level with you," Marsha said. "In the first place, I am not a complete idiot. This isn’t Hepburn with Harrison working out her father complex. True, Bienenfeld is twice my age, but we have something other couples only dream about. We have the real thing."

"Oh no," Jackie said. "For a second, you almost had me going there, but now I know you’re way too young. And what about your interest in women?"

"Hear me out," Marsha said. "I listened to you and now you need to listen to me. In the first place, I didn’t go after Bienenfeld. Bienenfeld came on to me. Do you know why he came to me and we’ve been together the past five years? Because I can give him something his precious Donna can’t."

"You’re talking about children?"

"When the time is right," Marsha said. "And it’s obviously something Donna isn’t capable of, or they would have had them by now."

"I’m starting to so not like you," Jackie said.

"That’s too bad," Marsha said. "Because I like you. I admire you, in fact. You’ve survived something that would kill a lesser woman. And I still think we should have that drink together. You’d be surprised what your limits are. I could tell the minute I saw you that you are ready to cross over."

"I promised myself I wouldn’t get into a big confrontation with you," Jackie said. "I was just going to call you and tell you to back off. But here we are, so I’ll only say this once. Stop seeing my sister’s husband."

"Not possible," Marsha said.

"What about your uncle Ernie?" Jackie said. "I know he wouldn’t approve of his niece having an affair with the president of his bank. Suppose I tell him?"

"Uncle Ernie knows everything," Marsha said. "Bienenfeld and I just spent a couple’s weekend with Uncle Ernie on his yacht. And one other thing—"

"—Hold on," Jackie said. She opened the bar and cracked the seal on a miniature Stoli and took a sip. The booze burned like a tiny sin, but it was a sin she needed at the moment.

"Okay," Jackie said. "I just had a shot, now say what you’ve got to say."

"Jackie," Marsha said. "I know you love your sister. But I love her husband and he loves me. It’s complicated. You need to stay out of it."

"I should warn you," Jackie replied. You shouldn’t get your hopes up. This is L.A. Everything around here is an illusion. It all starts with roses and champagne. But when they roll the credits, you may find out your scene was left on the cutting room floor."

"Look, let’s drop this and move on. I’ll see you at the party tonight. And I’m still going to help you out with that other matter we spoke about. Especially in light of last night’s threat. We have more information now. It will be easier to handle. I’m going to arrange an audience for you with Uncle Ernie. He’ll be at the party with some of his friends."

"I’m bringing a friend with me," Jackie said. "Be sure and put his name on the list at the guard station. If you’re serving hors d’oeuvres, I hope you have plenty of meatballs, because he is a big eater."

"Sounds interesting," Marsha said. "What’s his name?"

"His name is Heinz," Jackie said. "He’s a big stud. But don’t go getting excited. He’s not your type. He’s a cop."

Chapter 31

"Before we leave Mulholland and head down the hill," Jackie said to the driver, "stop by Lake Hollywood. I want to walk the dog."

The limo followed the feeder road to the Hollywood Reservoir. Jackie opened the door and released the man-hunting beast, which set in motion his time-honored doggy routine of marking his turf along the gravel road leading to the shore. Afternoon shadows began to paint the hills surrounding the reservoir, deepening the mood of the place.

Jackie checked the handgun. Fully loaded. The silence inside the cabin of the limo was shattered by the cell phone. With a shrug, she opened the line without announcing herself and listened.

"Jackie?" There was no mistaking that voice.

"Hi, Johnson," she answered.

"Are you okay?" he said. "You sound a little down."

"I am. I just had a very depressing conversation with a very young girl. She’s having an affair. You’ll never guess with whom. And she wants to start another affair. With me. By the way, I can’t see you tonight. I’m going to a party at Bienenfeld’s bank."

"I should go with you," he said.

"You wouldn’t fit in," she said. "The place is going to be crawling with movie types. There’ll be plenty of security around. I’m taking Heinz. I should be okay."

"I’m sorry I won’t be seeing you," Johnson said. "Listen, the reason I called is because I’ve got Father Larry here in the office. He wants to talk to you about this whole marriage thing. I’m putting him on."

"Jackie? This is Father Larry."

"Hello, Father," she said. "What are you doing in Johnson’s office?"

"We’re old friends," Father said. "I came right over when he called."

"I don’t know how much Johnson’s told you, but we need your help patching up our checkered past so we can get married in the Church."

"Can you come in tomorrow at 8 o’clock in the morning?" he said.

"Sure thing, Father," Jackie said.

"We can all meet at Our Lady of Grace on Ventura," he said. "Do you know it?"

"I do," Jackie said. "For the past six months, I’ve been living at the White Oak Garden Apartments right down the street."

"Ah," he said. "That’s quite a place. It’s really a small international city within a large international city."

"Father," Jackie said. "I was just thinking. This is spur of the moment, like everything else in my life lately, but I wonder if you would hear my confession?"

"Of course," he said. "I can hear it tomorrow morning when we meet."

"No, Father," she said. "I mean right now, right here on the phone."

"I’m sorry," he said. "We can’t do it over the phone."

"We can’t?"

"We have to meet face-to-face," Father said.

"Father, this is why I sometimes get so irritated with the Church. This is the new millennium. We have the technology. What difference does it make how we do the confession?"

"The sacrament requires every priest who hears confessions to be bound to absolute secrecy. Unfortunately, you can’t just tweet a confession on your Ipod. It’s not as though your sins are stored on a microchip or something."

"Maybe they are," she said. "Oh. Sorry Father."

"I’ll tell you what," Father said. "I’m headed back to the rectory. Why don’t you meet me there in half an hour?"

"I can’t," Jackie said. "I’m parked up here by Lake Hollywood. The rush hour commute has Mulholland completely backed up in your direction. It’d take me hours to reach you."

"May I ask why the urgency?" he said.

"I don’t want to die before I make a good confession," Jackie said. "How’s that for urgent?"

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Ask Johnson, he’ll tell you. A man named Viktor Bout is trying to kill me. I am being hunted down."

"Are you sure?" he said.

"This isn’t some deranged fantasy, Father. It's called witness elimination. Viktor Bout is in jail today on account of me. He has his friends coming after me because I represent a very important number to him. The number 3 to be exact. It is also possible that Bout will be out of jail shortly and will come for me personally."

"Three, as in Three-Strikes?" Father said.

"You’re a quick study, Father," Jackie said. "That’s why Bout wants me dead. I could send him to prison for 25 years. So I wanted to make my confession. But that’s okay. I’m sitting here in a limousine with a fully stocked mini-bar. If I can’t confess my sins, I may as well have another drink."

"Why not hide out?"

"I threw away six months of my life hiding out," Jackie said. "Forgive me, but I’m through hiding. I’ve got severe mental problems. If I went into hiding, I’d wind up killing myself."

"You say you’re at Lake Hollywood?" Father said.

"That’s right, Father," she said.

"May I make a suggestion?" he said.

Twenty minutes later, Jackie’s amazed eyes followed the chopper from LAPD’s Air Support Division as it touched down in the parking lot by the lake. Father Larry climbed past the ASD pilot and his observer, scurrying clear of the prop wash as the unit lifted off and banked sharply before descending into the thick haze of photochemical smog blanketing the Hollywood basin.

"Jackie," he said. "I’m Father Larry."

"You must have a lot of juice with the cops," Jackie said.

"Not really," Father Larry said. "But Johnson does. It only took him one phone call."

"So how did you meet Johnson?" she asked.

"He was my brother’s partner in the good old days," Father said.

Heinz trotted by the pair, flashing a loose-tongued grin.

"I see Heinz is enjoying himself," Father said.

"You know Heinz?" Jackie said.

"I do," he said.

"He’s a beautiful animal," Jackie said. "At first I was afraid of him, but we’re closing the gap on being friends. He used to belong to a cop named Visio. Visio was shot and killed."

"I know," Father Larry said. "Jack Visio was my brother."

"I’m sorry, Father. I feel like an idiot. I didn’t know."

"That’s okay, Jackie. My brother was also Johnson’s partner back in the late 1970’s."

"Johnson lost his partner?

Father Larry nodded.

"Father, I have been so absorbed in my own problems, I haven’t noticed that everybody else has their problems, too. Johnson lost a dear friend, and I have offered him no comfort."

"Johnson has a lot of class," Father Larry said. "Visio and Johnson met in Vietnam and handled dogs over there. When they came back, they joined the force together. They were instrumental in expanding the K-9 program. Because of their efforts, a lot of lives have been saved over the years. It’s the dog’s job to take a bullet, you know."

Across the lake, Heinz flushed a long-eared rabbit and broke forth in joyful chase into the thorny brush, apparently uninterested in taking a bullet for the moment.

"At the funeral Mass," Father said, "the Bishop permitted us to break precedent and allowed Heinz to enter the church."

"He’s on loan to me now," Jackie said. "In the couple of days I’ve known him, I’ve discovered he goes a lot of places other dogs aren’t allowed."

"I’m glad he’s in good hands," Father Larry said. "But listen, we don’t have much time. The ASD is heading back to their fuel depot over by Union Station. We’ve got about thirty minutes before they return. If you like, we can take a walk and I’ll hear your confession."

They started slowly alongside the reservoir, its mirrored surface reflecting the roseate, cathedralesque light in a way that suggested one could, if one chose, simply walk out onto the heavenly surface and enter eternity directly.

"Father, I have a serious question to ask you," Jackie said, "regarding something I’m about to do. But brace yourself, because it’s a doozy."

"Okay," Father said. He carefully intoned the time honored, ritual words heralding the Church’s welcome to its penitent daughter, inviting her to participate in the mystery of the removal of one’s sins.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Jackie said. "I found a way to have Viktor Bout executed on the street. All I have to do is refuse to do the lineup and the police will have to release him. Once he does, he is going to be killed by someone I know."

"Go on," Father Larry said.

"Also, to stack the deck even more, I may have found another way to get rid of Bout, a way which would spare the man I know from having to do it. What if I told you that tonight I’m considering bringing my problem with Viktor Bout to the attention of a certain venerable gentleman of Sicilian ancestry?"

"My knee-jerk reaction is, don’t do it," Father said. "If for no other reason than it’s messy to get involved with the mob. And of course you know the Fifth Commandment forbids direct and intentional killing," Father said. "Except of course in self-defense and time of war."

"Bout is the one who’s intent on killing," Jackie said. "I’m just defending myself the only way I know how."

"This is a complex issue," Father said. "But the Church does teach that someone who kills another while defending their own life is not guilty of murder. The gray area here is the fine line between reacting in self-defense and cold-blooded murder. In cases like this, we’re supposed to rely on the duly-appointed authorities to protect us."

"I can’t wait until I’m attacked again to start defending myself," Jackie said. "The man who’s after me is a smart, aggressive killer. He struck without warning last New Year’s and nearly finished me then. He declared war on me again the other day when one of his associates paid me a visit. I have a chance to enlist the aid of what you might call unduly-appointed authorities—soldiers under a different banner who may take up my cause."

"I’ll tell you what I think," he said. "I personally believe you should cancel any arrangement you already made to assassinate Bout. And you should not take the situation to the Sicilians. But I also believe this to be one of those issues whose name is Legion. It’s an issue that nobody else wants to touch. Perhaps only the Holy Spirit can really make the call as to whether you’re wrong or right. Due to the urgency of your situation, I’m going to go out on a limb, here, and simply advise you to follow your conscience."

"Thank you, Father," Jackie said. "I’ll try and pray about it before I talk to the enforcer. Perhaps God will speak to my heart."

"I’m sure He will," Father said.

"If it’s okay with you," Jackie said, "I’ll finish the rest of my confession now. I’m a forty-eight year old single woman with a past I’m not proud of. I haven’t been to Holy Communion in what seems like a million years. Actually, I dropped the church right after confirmation."

She worked her way through the ups and downs of her thoughts and words, of things she’d done and things she’d failed to do, her tears flowing freely as she felt the weight being lifted from her soul, her journey guided expertly by Father Larry’s gentle questions.

"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 grow 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."

"That’s a relief," she said. "Where are you now?"

"I’m just up the street from your place," he said. "The Lamplighter."

"I know it," Jackie said. "It’s a cop bar. Sepulveda and Vose Street, right?"

"Right," he said.

"I went in there one time by accident," Jackie said. "Right after my dad died. I stopped in for a drink after the funeral. I didn’t even know what a cop bar was. The only thing I remember is, every guy in the place bought me a drink."

"They’re buying me the drinks tonight," he said. "A couple of the guys invited me to celebrate my engagement. How about you? Are you still at your Industry party? I hope you didn’t catch any rare diseases."

"I did eat some raw meat and drink some homemade wine," she said. "But I left the party 20 minutes ago. I’m calling from the limo. We’re stuck in traffic on the Strip. They’ve got the new Jonas Brothers billboard up, the kind where their heads poke up above the frame, but the sign people blew it. They all have pigeons on their heads."

"Being famous must be hell," Johnson said.

"Johnson, I’m sorry for your loss. Father Larry said Jack Visio was a good man."

"Thank you, Jackie."

The limo edged its way eastward on Sunset Boulevard, traversing the toxic wasteland of lust and lunacy known as The Strip, a level-5 containment-zone of rock palaces, booze joints, strip clubs, restored rococo apartment buildings, luxury car washes, hookers, pimps, junkies, tourists, luxury hotels, movie star bars, restaurants shaped like hot dogs, $300,000 Bentleys and upscale boutiques.

The whole scene seemed bound together in a cyber-tribal funk, with everybody who hung out there of one mind in the belief that this irresponsible utopia, like the fat, sticky buds of grass they all smoked, would somehow blossom skyward from its pit of urban slime into the ether, to evolve and grow to fruition.

"How’s Heinz?" Johnson said.

"Heinz is my friend," Jackie said. "I’m starting to appreciate that."

"Jackie," he said, "they kicked Viktor Bout loose a few minutes ago. His fancy pants lawyer had a connection with the judge. They got the driver's licence suppressed."

"Johnson," she said. "Do me a favor. Don’t ever mention Bout to me again."

"You got it," he said.

"I need you," she said.

"It’s mutual," he said. "I was kind of excited about the church wedding, but now I’m not. Father Larry said to forget it. There’s always Las Vegas."

"No, she said. "I made a connection at the party. The Archbishop himself is going to cut through the red tape. We’ll probably get married next week."

"Really."

"Really. But I’ve just done something really stupid," she said, "I can’t tell you what it is. Let’s just call it an unholy communion. I’m beyond scared and afraid. Because of what I just did, I now have a secret I’ll have to carry with me to my grave. And according to Father Larry, I’ll also probably go to hell, unless an Archbishop trumps a simple priest."

"We’ve all got secrets," he said. "Myself most of all. It’s okay to have a dark secret or two."

"I need you, Johnson," she said. "I’m tired of maintaining this distance between us. All my life, I’ve maintained a middle ground. I’m tired of it. I’m ready to toss the boundaries."

"Me too."

"Will you meet me at the house?" she said. "I’m ready to unlock the door to the cage. Although I should tell you, Father Larry strictly forbids what I’ve got planned. But I’ve got to find out if I can still be a woman with a man. I need to use you, Johnson. If what I have planned doesn’t give us both a heart attack, maybe we can go to confession afterwards."

"I’ll be there for you, Jackie," he said.

"I’ll be about an hour," she said. "I have to see my sister about something first and then I’ll be over."

"Jackie?" he said.

"Yes?"

"Do I have to say it?" he said. "The words, I mean."

"No," she said. "Not tonight. Don’t say them tonight. You can say them after we get married, if you want to. But tonight, we’re not going to say anything. Tonight, we’re just going to ride the wave."

Chapter 34

The limo slid to a stop in front of Spring Oak Drive. The red MG sat in its usual spot in the driveway, the cooling metal ticking under the hood, the tacky blue tarp pulled half-heartedly over the cockpit. The night was warmer than the night before. There was no fog, but the hiss of sprinklers up and down the street provided sufficient mist to keep the magic going.

Jackie dismissed the driver and traipsed across the wet lawn to the back gate, letting Heinz into the backyard before slipping off the wet sandals and entering the house. She trailed the smell of popcorn down the hall to the movie room. It was a familiar tableau: Donna, on the couch, all alone with the bowl in her lap, a champagne flute in hand. On the screen, the old MGM Classic, Unfaithfully Yours.

Donna, upon seeing her big sister standing in the doorway, grabbed the remote and hit the freeze-frame, catching Rex Harrison’s surprise—looking impossibly young in a polka dot robe—at being caught from behind in Linda Darnell’s bear hug, her brilliant smile offsetting an unspeakably bad perm.

"It’s been awhile since we’ve watched it," she said. "Grab a drink and take a load off your dogs. By the way, the short dress looks terrific with the short hair. Nobody can say the women in this family don’t have legs."

Jackie walked over to the sidebar and filled a shot glass with vodka, downing the liquid in one swallow before pouring another. She picked up the remote and turned off the tube. The silence was louder than the movie had been.

"Unfaithfully Yours," Jackie said. "How appropriate. Rex Harrison making a fool of himself, imagining Linda Darnell having an affair with his male secretary. That almost sounds like your life story, Donna. Except in your story, Bienenfeld has been having an affair for the past five years and you’ve done nothing about it."

Donna grabbed her flute and took a long, shaky sip. "What can I do? You’ve met Marsha. I can’t compete with that."

"We live in a smart universe," Jackie said. "Some people believe that everything in the universe has some kind of intelligence, even rocks. Somehow you seemed to have missed out."

Jackie refilled Donna’s glass to the brim.

"Drink up, honey," Jackie said. "You’ll need it. Because your big sister is back. And she’s angry."

Donna gulped her champagne.

"What I can’t understand," Jackie said, "is how in this world, in a universe so smart even a rock can think for itself, you could be so dumb as to let Bienenfeld walk all over you!" This remark, cutting the cord between them, let fall to the earth the dust of their sisterly bonds. The silence was profound; not a single rock anywhere said a thing.

"Do you love him?" Jackie said. "Donna, do you still love Bienenfeld?"

"This is going to sound horrible," Donna said. "I hate his guts, but I still love him. I shouldn’t. The day I found out about Marsha it was like somebody just reached inside me and ripped my heart out. So maybe it’s not love; maybe I hate him so much, it just seems like love. But as long as he has Marsha, I will never truly have him."

"You should leave him," Jackie said. "He’s drained the life out of you. You're waiting on Bienenfeld just like I waited on Viktor Bout. I’ll help you move out. You can move in with me. You can find somebody else. It’s not too late."

"I’m afraid of what he might do if I try to leave," Donna said.

"He’s not going to do jack," Jackie said.

"Jackie," Donna said. "I’ve needed my big sister so much these last five years. But you disappeared on me. All these months, when I was watching you die? I was dying, too. I needed you."

"I’m back," Jackie said. "It’s going to be okay. A little ugly from time to time, but okay."

"I can’t leave Bienenfeld," Donna said.

"I know you can’t. But if you stay, things have to change."

They cried together, a multitude of tissues failing to staunch the waters flowing freely from the fountain of reborn souls.

"Underneath that tan and those great legs, you’re as burned out as I am," Jackie said. "But brace yourself. From now on, it is going to be different."

"What is, Jackie?"

"We’re getting out of the victim business, that’s what," Jackie said. "You saved me and now I’m going to save you." She stood up and raised her glass. "Here’s looking at you, kid," she said. She left the room and started down the hall. As she opened the front door and stepped onto the porch, she could hear the loud wailing cry from the den, and knew for certain no rock would be forced to break its code of silence tonight.

Chapter 35

Jackie arrived in the limo back in Van Nuys just in time to find her street bathed in an eerie glow from the flames which engulfed her home. Johnson’s van pulled in behind her about a hundred feet from the scene.

The shock hit her system and she felt as though in a dream, observing the surreal cast of fire trucks, police cars and assorted mask-wearing, helmeted personnel working together in a well-rehearsed ballet. Groups of neighbors stood on lawns, many with video cameras, talking and watching. The news van from Channel 5 was setting up at the edge of the barricade. The fire was really ripping the place, putting on a good show for the folks. Johnson waved to her, motioned for her to wait one and walked over to the other cops.

She joined a group on the corner and watched in stupefaction as the windows in the gables blew, one by one. When the windows expanded in the heat and shattered, the oxygen rushed in, and the rooms literally exploded. There were four teams manning hose lines, but three of them were aimed at the adjacent houses in an effort to contain the blaze to the single residence. They were letting her home burn to the ground to concentrate their resources on saving the others.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Johnson, with his cop face on, looking official. "Obviously Bout was here. The fucker's only been out a few hours. It’s like a Korean liquor store in Watts after the Rodney King verdict," he said.

"Can you get us closer?" she said.

"Watch your step," he said.

He led her through the barricades to the edge of the driveway.

"This wasn’t a regular house fire," Johnson said. "When the rescue team tried to go in, they found Bout had tacked balloons full of gasoline to all your ceilings. When the heat melts the balloons, they pop and spray the gas everywhere. The firefighters can’t operate inside under those conditions. The discovery of the balloons terminated further efforts to save your house."

Jackie saw a strange object lying almost hidden behind the ancient walnut tree at the edge of the yard, the form of the object size and shape of a large roast pig, the kind of thing that should have been laid out on palm fronds at a luau. The grisly thing was unattended and apparently unnoticed in all the excitement.

"Johnson," she said. "What’s that? It looks like a dog or something."

"Oh no," he said. "Wait here. I don't think I want you to see that."

She broke free and ran to the spot and realized immediately it was a human body. A lot of it was missing. The meat from the legs, in particular was off the bone. The face, its jaw wide open, was wrapped in skin the texture of tight, burnt leather.

She could hear the victim screaming in her mind. She knew she’d hear it always. That jaw. Wide open, as though the soul had pried it open from the inside before escaping through the victim’s mouth. She staggered into the bushes and completely emptied the contents of her stomach.

"It’s okay," Johnson said. "I’ve got a bottle of mouthwash and some clean wipes in my van."

"Johnson," she said, after she’d managed to clean up, "Is it ... is it Bout?"

"Don’t we all wish? Unfortunately, I have a strong hunch it's your realtor friend." Johnson said.

"Oh no," she said. "You mean he got her? He got another woman?"

"Maybe," Johnson said. "I only know that when the first responders arrived, her front door was wide open. Her car is in the garage. And her purse and keys are on her kitchen table."

"She was in my house rearranging the furniture or something, getting the house ready for sale. He surprised her, didn’t he? Then he raped her and set her on fire and she ran out screaming. She only made it to the front lawn."

"That seems to sum it up," Johnson said.

"We’ve crossed a threshold, haven’t we?" she said. "There are no signposts in this hideous new world. Nothing I learned in school ever prepared me for the sight of that body."

"I remember my first burn victim," he said. "Back when I was a rookie."

"I killed her," Jackie said. "I didn’t want to do the lineup. I let him out and now I have killed Sandy. I have killed my neighbor. I am going to hell for what I did. Father Larry was right. I sinned and the wages of my sin was Sandy’s death. The death of an innocent. I have been such a fool not to listen to your advice. I should have agreed to the lineup."

"No, Jackie," he said. "Not you. You can’t blame yourself when evil strikes." He took her in his arms and they held each other tight.

"You’ve spent a lifetime dealing with evil," Jackie said. "How did you ever make it this far?"

"I embraced evil in Vietnam," he said, "I had to in order to survive. When we’re faced with evil, our instincts tell us to pull back. I had to learn to put my instincts on hold and trust in myself, teach myself to move into the evil and do what I have to do, hoping I’ll somehow find my way back in one piece."

"I can’t pull back," Jackie said. "I can’t return to isolation. The only thing I can do is move forward. Everything I owned was in that house. All my pictures, all the stuff I inherited from my parents. Johnson, that was going to be our house after we got married."

"Jackie," Johnson said. "You’ve had a terrible shock tonight. You need to go and get some rest."

"Okay," she said. "But before I leave, I’ve got to tell you something. It may jeopardize everything we have going, but I realized tonight, when I saw Sandy lying there, that there can be no secrets between us. At the party tonight, I had an audience with Ernie Catalano."

"Ernie Catalano?" he said. "He was at your party?"

Jackie nodded. "I met with him privately," she said.

"They call him ‘Ernie the Foot,’" Johnson said. "His feet are messed up, which is why he wears the monogrammed slippers everywhere. They say damaged his feet stomping his victims to death in a wine vat in his cellar. So you met with him, huh? What’d he have to say for his sorry self?"

"He’s got no children, only an adopted niece. I asked him to kill Bout and his crew. He agreed to do it."

"Please, Jackie," he said. "You need to call that whole thing off."

"I’ll call him," she said. "But I had to tell you. I suppose now you’ll have to arrest me on conspiracy to commit murder or something."

"Get real," he said. "I'll add it to the list of my secrets. You’ve told me. You’ve cleared your conscience. We’ll have to live with it. Now I’m going to tell you something. I was going to kill Bout myself. When we let him go, we had him followed, but he gave us the slip. And I may have to kill him yet, but hopefully we will find him before that becomes necessary. Another thing. As before, you and I didn’t have this conversation. If we keep having them, we’ll have to get married in Las Vegas so we can’t testify against one another. Now take Heinz and go back to Donna’s."

"Okay." She got in the limo. He poked his head in. "I think we both deserve a kiss," he said.

Their lips met briefly, dryly, in the superheated night.

"Bout thinks he’s taken something from me," she said. But I’m in another zone. He can’t touch me anymore. I’ve lost material things tonight, and now I’ve got a death on my conscience, but at the same time, I’ve gained something."

"I am curious, though," he said. "What exactly did "Ernie the Foot" say when he agreed to take the contract?"

"Nothing really," Jackie said. "He just made me drink his homemade wine."

"Homemade wine," Johnson said. "That’s it?"

"That’s all he did. But there was no mistaking what he meant."

"Weird. But I’ve heard that he’s a strange old coot. There's even a rumor that he is a werewolf. But of course there is no such thing."

Johnson reached into his pocket and brought out a tiny black velvet-covered box. Jackie’s heart leaped.

"This is lousy timing," he said. "But here."

The ring. She placed it on her finger and looked up at him.

"It’s a friendship ring," he said.

"We’re totally not ready for marriage," she said.

"I know," he said. "If you want me to I can ride with you back to Donna’s. But now that you have unleashed Catalano and his minions, I think I need to work harder on finding Bout and for that I need to marshal all my resources within the department."

"It’s okay. You can have your man shadow me as before. I think I need to be alone. And I’ve got Heinz to protect me. And the gun. And Bobby and Nasturtium, who are still out there somewhere."

"Okay," he said. "Jackie, before you go, there is something I need to tell you. Again, it’s lousy timing, so I want to apologize beforehand."

"Uh oh," she said. "Here it comes."

"I made a decision today," he said. "This is my last case. I’m retiring. When this is over, I’m packing it in and heading for the dog ranch."

"But what about us? I can’t just up and move to Dos Palos. I have to stay in Los Angeles to finish my work with Dr. Black. And obviously I am going to have to join Alcoholics Anonymous before my liver turns to concrete. Johnson, it could take years. And we don’t have that many years left."

"I know," he said.

"Well what does this mean? Are we at a crossroads, or are you trying to tell me it’s over?"

"That’s why I gave you the friendship ring. You know, cops don’t make friends easily outside of other cops. But you are special. You are a true friend. The way I see it," he said, "is that it’s a 4-hour straight shot up I-5 to the ranch from your place. I can come down and you can come up. But we might as well face it, you need time and so do I. Hell, the ink on my divorce papers is barely dry."

"But what if we lose each other? What if I come up some weekend and find you in the saddle with some Dos Palos cowgirl?"

"Jackie, you’re a beautiful woman, and every day you’re getting stronger. Now that you’re out and about, the men are going to come. The only thing I can say is, if we really have something, eventually we’re going to know it for sure, no matter how far apart we are. As long as you wear the ring, you haven’t lost me. The day you give it back to me is the day it’s over between us. But there is something else I want to say. You often ask me what it is I see in you. I’m a man who has spent a lifetime working with police dogs. A police dog is chosen because he’s the one dog in a thousand who has the courage to fight a dangerous man. I think from the very beginning I saw that same courage in you. I knew it was there in you all the time, and events have proven me right."

"Johnson, are those tears I see?"

"Jackie, what I am trying to say is that in my opinion, you are a woman worth waiting for. I’m starting a new life, but you are always going to be welcome in it."

"I’ll tell you what," she said. "I have no favorite place anymore. Maybe sometime you could plant me a tree and make me a little patio beside your trailer. Who knows? If you served me a good hot cup of Jamaican Blue, that might become my favorite place."

"I’ll have it ready and waiting," he said. "Whenever you visit."

"I’ve got to go now," she said. "I really have to go. Good night, Johnson."

"Jackie, wait. Before you go, there is something I really need to say. I want you to know how deeply, deeply sorry I am about what happened to you. And I just want you to know that nothing that happened to you was your fault."

"Johnson," she said. "I never thanked you for being there."

"No need. Good night, babe."

"Johnson, please. No pet names. Next thing you know I’ll be calling you Poo Bear and you’ll be calling me your little cabbage."

The stared into each others eyes and in spite of themselves, sad smiles spread over their faces.

Still, when she thought about it, being called Babe wasn’t so bad. It was the first time a man had ever called her that. It almost felt if he’d dropped a rose petal into her heart. Perhaps it was one of those tiny graces that Black spoke so highly of.

"Okay, chief," Johnson said to her limo driver, handing him his card. "I want you to go like hell. No stopping for red lights or stop signs. If you get stopped for anything, just hand them my card."

She watched Johnson as he headed back towards the conflagration and the comfortable association of others like himself, versed as they were in the science of demons, and flames and silent screamings and the hunting down of killers. Soon she was past the people and on the freeway, where the brutal velocity of the car flying up the ramp lifted her out of herself, bringing into focus the beating of her boundless heart.

Chapter 36

"I need something in my stomach," Jackie said. "Not to mention a drink." She’d found Bienenfeld in the kitchen upon her return to Spring Oak Drive. A small spotlight over the sink divided the light from the darkness enough to accommodate the two of them in their quest for a 2 a.m. snack.

"I brought home a few leftovers from the party," he said. "There’s a couple of jumbo quail topped with fried potatoes in the fridge. And if you’re extra hungry, there’s a nice gorgonzola."

Bienenfeld, tie off and shirttails out, sat at the kitchen table nursing a brandy from a traditional bell snifter. The big square bottle of brandy sat open on the table beside him in case he needed a little extra snifting.

"What’d you think of the party?" he said. "I noticed you left a little early. Everybody liked the dog. It was even suggested we cast him—with a harness, he could pull one of the skateboards through the Haitian rubble."

"Unlike most things in your miserable life," Jackie said, "Heinz isn’t for sale." She removed the quail from the nuke and sat down with a juice glass of vodka. "I don’t know why they call these Jumbo quail. There’s nothing jumbo about them."

They sat together in silence while Jackie picked her way through the food. She took a large swallow of booze.

"We’ve got to talk," she said. "Where’s Donna?"

"Out," he said. "Something upset her. She wouldn’t tell me what. She’s having drinks at Nick’s with one of her girlfriends."

"Good," Jackie said. "The main thing is, we won’t be disturbed while we talk. I was thinking about you tonight."

"I’m flattered," he said.

"Don’t be," she said. "The reason I was thinking about you was because tonight I met Mr. Ernesto Catalano."

"Yeh, I saw the two of you together," Bienenfeld said. "He’s a good friend of the bank."

"Oh yes," Jackie said. "We had a lovely discussion over a glass of his homemade wine."

Bienenfeld set his snifter down very carefully. "Homemade wine?" he said.

"Yes," Jackie said. "And after we finished talking, I drank some of his special homemade wine."

"Okay," Bienenfeld said. "No more games. Just come straight out with it."

"I appealed to Mr. Catalano to help me with Viktor Bout and his low-life friends," Jackie said. "He agreed to kill them all. We sealed the deal with his homemade wine."

"Oh," he said. "Well I shouldn't tell you this, but he already killed one of them. The guy that left the note on your car."

"You're kidding me."

"Remember that huge guy, Nasturtium, and his Native American friend? They were right there when he left the note. That guy is in a barrel of toxic waste somewhere off the San Pedro breakwater as we speak."

"Another death," she said.

Bienenfeld regarded her for a moment. "Is that it, Jackie? You look as though you have something more."

"The other day," Jackie said, "your wife filled me in about your little habit of murdering people, in particular a reporter for the L.A. Times."

"Go on," he said. His eyes were curiously hooded, like the lids of some potentially dangerous species of poisonous lizard.

"Don’t worry, Bienenfeld," she said. "I’m not going to tell anybody that you and Mr. Catalano crushed a few grapes together. I just think it’s kind of cozy that you and I have such a thing in common."

"Welcome to the family."

"How touching," Jackie said.

"It’s true. You’ve just become his niece," Bienenfeld said. "You know, of course, what was in that wine he offered you?"

"What?"

"His blood," Bienenfeld said. "Into each batch, he injects a syringe of his own blood. Very few people drink his homemade wine. In his twisted way of thinking, that makes you family. The man claims to be a werewolf. They reproduce by biting, or sharing blood."

"Oh," Jackie said. "I’m going to hurl this quail."

"They call him "Ernie the Foot", Bienenfeld said, "Because back in the sixties, he used to take his victims into his wine cellar up in the Holmby Hills and stomp them to death with his own bare feet. Apparently, he damaged his feet doing this, which is why he wears slippers everywhere. That man you were with is the Godfather."

"No. Donna said he was only their enforcer.

Bienenfeld smirked. "Trust me. He is the Godfather. They have another old guy in the group named Peter who the FBI thinks is the Godfather, a harmless old figurehead. But Uncle Ernie is the real deal. He's the one orchestrating the counterfeiting, the money laundering, the drugs, the gambling and the porn. But nowadays they keep quiet about who they are. Nothing is written down. They like to fly below the radar."

"I’ve heard enough," Jackie said.

"How did you get drawn in?" Bienenfeld said.

"In spite of them having a tail on me, the cops couldn’t control Bout and his crew," Jackie said. "I found myself an ongoing victim. Marsha offered her uncle’s services to me when I went to the bank to open my new account. Earlier this evening, when I went to Catalano, I was undecided. But he touched a primal nerve in me. As we talked, I truly felt like I was connecting to an ancient power. Maybe he is a werewolf."

"This is L.A.," he said. "Anything can happen in this town."

"I asked him to intervene before I became just another statistic lying in the morgue. And before that, I met with a priest. He told me I’m in a state of mortal sin for conspiring to kill Bout. And after that, I went to my place and it was burned to the ground and my neighbor lady was burned to death on my front lawn. That last part was because I let Bout walk so I could have him killed."

They sat without talking, sipping their drinks.

"Sounds like you’ve had a pretty full day," Bienenfeld said. "And here we are, related by marriage, and by the blood of the godfather. Not to mention a few deaths here and there. Maybe it was fate all along. The question is, where do we go from here?"

"I don’t want to talk about any of that stuff. But I do need a longer term place to live."

"You can live with us," Bienenfeld said.

"I intend to, but not the way things are. First of all, I am going to punish you for what you did to my sister." Jackie reached into her red clutch, grabbed the gun and fired right through the bag.

She missed Bienenfeld, but the bullet shattered his bottle of brandy on the table beside him before lodging in the sideboard. Glass and booze flew everywhere. Outside in the yard, Heinz was barking furiously, throwing himself at the back door, alerting every coyote in the neighborhood. Jackie skittered over, opened the door and the beast flew in, cornering a frightened Bienenfeld.

"One word from me and that dog will bite your dick off," she said. "I understand that dogs have rather short, intense digestive tracts. It’s possible your manhood will be completely dissolved within a few minutes' time."

"Jackie, why are you doing this to me? Please. Stop."

"Because you deserve it. You need to take me very, very seriously. I made a promise to Donna earlier. But you have asked for mercy just now. Perhaps I will grant it. If I do, this is the deal. You’re going to end your affair with Marsha. Tomorrow you’re going to fire her and send her packing back to her Uncle Ernie. After that, you’re going start working on your marriage to my little sister. Tonight, I want you to run by Nick’s and tell her you’re ending your affair."

"Jackie, you’re purse is on fire!"

He was right, a small tongue of flame was licking its way through the bullet hole. Jackie grabbed the purse and tossed it into the sink, spraying it down before inspecting the contents, extracting the revolver. She sat back down, gun in hand, enjoying the site of Bienenfeld, rigid in his chair, pinned by the dog.

"Jackie? The dog?"

"Gesundheit," she said. As if by magic, Heinz stood down and sat by her side, keeping a watchful eye on the situation.

There was a loud crash at the front door, startling them both. An off-duty cop, badge on belt, gun in hand, filling the doorway.

"It is okay, officer," Jackie said. "But there may be two more guys coming in right behind you, a really big one and an Indian guy with a knife."

"There’s nobody outside," Tuso said. "What happened here?"

"It was an accident," Jackie said. "I accidentally fired my gun. I am new to guns and must have left it cocked or something. The bullet went through my bottle of vodka that was in my purse. It must have ignited."

"Okay," Tuso said. "I was asked not to be overly intrusive. I'll be around if you need me."

"Good night, sergeant."

"You’ve got the upper hand right this minute," Bienenfeld said. "But what are you going to do when this minute is up?"

"This minute will never be up," she said. "And I’m not afraid of you, because if you touch a hair on my head, a mean old fat cop will kill you. Perhaps you remember him. He's the guy you had dinner with the other night. You’ll take my advice and try to make my sister happy because if you don’t, I’ll tell Uncle Ernie about your affair with his precious niece. "

"Understood. But as far as telling Catalano about my affair, he already knows all about it," Bienenfeld said. "In fact, it was his idea. He strongly approves."

"He does? Let’s just call him and confirm that," she said. She whipped out the cell, consulted the card Catalano had given her and began to punch in the number.

"Wait," Bienenfeld said. "Okay, I lied about Ernie knowing. But how did you know?"

"There’s no way Catalano knows," Jackie said. "After I met the godfather, I realized how much he loved his niece. She is his remaining bloodline. He can’t understand why she hasn’t married and had kids by now. Catalano has old fashioned ideas about love and marriage. If he found out you were the reason Marsha wasn’t seeing a normal man and putting in the requisite mattress time to produce his heirs, he’d have you in his wine cellar in a minute, and Marsha would be washing clothes for the husband of her arranged marriage the old-fashioned way back in Sicily."

Jackie stepped to the sideboard and poured them both another drink, noticing for the first time that her hands were starting to shake and tiny lights appeared at the corners of her vision. A flashback now would be a disaster. She managed to fumble out an Ativan and wash it down with the first sip. "My guess is, you guys were waiting for Uncle Ernie to die before you came out of the closet."

"Blackmailed by my own sister in law," Bienenfeld said. "I guess there’s a certain poetry in that."

"Do you still love my sister?" Jackie said.

"It’s complicated," Bienenfeld said.

"Not anymore," Jackie said. "I just uncomplicated it for you." She took a sip of the drink.

"What if I can’t mend things with Donna? I’m this close to divorcing her and marrying Marsha."

"I honestly don’t care if you can mend things with my sister. I think she’d be better off without you. The only reason we’re having this conversation is I know for a fact that she still loves you. She shouldn’t, not after what you’ve put her through. It’s probably not even real love. But I know she’s willing to try. You guys could work it out. Try therapy. I did. I will say one thing—whether you work it out or not, if I ever hear she’s been threatened by you or by Marsha, I’m going straight to Uncle Ernie and then you’re going to find my dog’s teeth clamped firmly on your package."

Bienenfeld stood up and drained his glass. "Okay. I will try. But no guarantees. This may sound ridiculous, but I do kind of love Donna."

"Fair enough."

"You’ve ruined my shirt, and just about everything else I had going," he said. "I hope you’re happy."

"Very," she said. "And don’t change the shirt. You look more natural that way. Wet and slimy, I mean."

"You’re untouchable," he said. "You’ve got the godfather out wasting your enemies, a cop boyfriend, a mean dog, a fast car, and a gun. What’s next? A meeting with the goat-demon, Azazel, to arrange for your hostile takeover of heaven?" The grin started across his face first, spreading to hers and in short order, they were both laughing hysterically.

"You win, Jackie," Bienenfeld said. "For now, anyway. And we can still live under the same roof."

"We have to get along for now," she said. "For Donna’s sake, if nothing else."

"Okay," Bienenfeld said. "Anything else you want to get off your chest?"

"There is," Jackie said. "Two things. After you fire Marsha, I’m taking her job. I’ll be your new assistant. It’ll be perfect for me. I’ve got 25 years’ experience in banking. Uncle Ernie wanted to help me find work. You can score some brownie points by being the one to suggest it to him."

"Jackie," he said. "This is isn’t ordinary banking. Everything we do is relationships. It’s not about managing employees and filling out forms. It’s strictly pay for play and try not to get caught."

"You mean everything is shady and under-handed."

"Pretty much. Think you can you handle it?"

"Yes. I might surprise you and bring in some honest business into that place."

"You don’t need to work. After we sue Gelson’s for their negligent security, you’ll be a rich woman in your own right."

"I do need to work. I’ve got to have something to do. A reason to get up in the morning. Otherwise, the walls are going to close in on me again."

"You said there were two things you wanted. What’s the second?"

"I’m having a little party," she said. "Friday morning. It’s a tailgate party in the Valley. I’d appreciate it if you would come and bring Donna with you."

"Can do," he said. "But tell me. Did you actually intend to shoot me tonight, or did you do that just to shock me?"

"To tell you the truth, I am not sure myself. Be that as it may, you should know I’ve decided to forgive you. I know something you don’t. I know love can grow even in the midst of evil. Except for your very bad treatment of my sister, you’ve always been a friend to me. The truth is I like you, even though I shouldn’t. You’re a bastard, but you’ve got something that attracts, a crazy sort of charisma. You can be quite charming when you try. We can make it work, Bienenfeld."

"This has been a night to remember," he said. "But you’re right. We can make it work."

Chapter 37

She sat on the couch in the bay window of the living room and watched as Bienenfeld clambered into the limo and raced down the street on his way to find his wife. With a start, she awoke to find that she had dozed off, drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep. She checked her watch. It was a hair after 4 a.m. Then she remembered. There was something she had to do. She pulled out her cell and punched in the number Catalano had given her. It rang once.

"What," a male voice said.

"It’s Jackie," she said.

"Hold on."

Seconds passed. Jackie felt hot, then started to shiver.

"Yes, Jackie," the unmistakable gravelly voice said.

"I’ve changed my mind, Uncle," she said. "I want to cancel that batch of homemade wine you were going to make for me. You see, I’ve been thinking. I really think we should just let the law handle things. That way I won’t any more sins on my conscience. I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble. I apologize for not saying something sooner. I hope you can forgive me, but I’ve not been myself lately. I guess I kind of jumped in a little over my head."

There, she thought. It was out. It was over.

"It’s too late," he said. "We already made the wine."

His words ripped through her brain like an electric shock.

"What?" she said. "There must be some mistake. You couldn’t possibly have done it so fast."

"We crushed the grapes already," he said. "Four separate pressings."

"Four?" she said. "Already?"

"Yes. "

"Oh my God."

"I’m glad you called, Jackie. I expected you to. And don’t worry. It’s natural to feel remorse. You feel remorse because you’re on the side of the angels. There’s no mortal sin attached. Good-night, Jackie. Sleep well. Your problems are over."

"Good-night ... Godfather," she said.

She fell to her knees, learning the truth. A murder, no matter how justified, crushed the soul. She could feel the weight of her sins pushing down on her with a force greater than the universe itself.

"Oh my God," she said aloud. "I am heartily sorry to have offended you. I have killed four men, and my stupidity in taking the law into my own hands led to the death of my dear neighbor, Sandy." She fell on her face and wept bitterly. After a time, Jackie understood what she must do. In all of her new-found bravado, in all of the liberating drug and alcohol fired insanity, in her frantic attempt to escape the jail without bars she’d been living in, she had failed to see the truth about herself. She would never be able to live with the killings, especially that of Sandy. In truth, she was just a weak nobody.

Johnson had been right. She wasn’t the kind of person who could bear the weight of violence. Only special people could. People like Johnson, Catalano, the impossibly huge and violent Nasturtium, the deadly Bobby Q., and the vicious Viktor Bout. Now she had foolishly dabbled in their world and could no longer tell where the good ended and the evil began. She had lost her soul. There was only one way to be forgiven for a sin like that. She walked to the living room and sat watching the street, the dawn refusing to come, the mists still softening the hills.

She went to the kitchen table and retrieved her gun. The answer was so simple really. It hadn’t changed since Monday morning, only this time she had a means far more effective than a box cutter. She raised the gun and pressed the barrel to her right temple, the place where, a lifetime ago, Viktor Bout had left his first big scar. Her finger began to tighten on the trigger. It was such a short distance for her finger to travel. How could such a small effort on her part yield such huge results? It was a mystery.

Her body began to vibrate as the cylinder began to turn. Her finger tightened further on the steel. A couple of millimeters more and the pain would be over forever. Just a couple of millimeters. A distance not even worth measuring in the grand scheme of the universe. Yes, hell would be waiting, but it was only what she deserved. She had turned her back on God and it was only fitting she spend eternity away from Him. She had tried to break the law an learned something. The law could not be broken. It was powerful and eternal. Foolish humans could only break themselves on it. Someone inside her head was praying again. Hail Mary, Full of Grace.

Then she remembered. The cat. Moody. She was supposed to pick it up from Dr. Black later today. It had been abandoned and left to die. She felt guilty about the cat. It was her job to save it.

The guilt. You either kill yourself or you fight back. It’s the guilt. It will kill you. You can fight this. Live.

The spell was broken. The gun dropped to the floor. She pulled out the cell and hit the speed dial.

"Johnson," he said, voice thick with sleep.

"I need you," she said. "I’m never removing your friendship ring. I just wanted you to know."

"I’m glad you called. I need you, too."

"Johnson? There’s something else you need to know."

"I’m listening."

"You can retire today if you want. The case is closed."

"Are you saying what I think you’re saying?"

"Yes. It’s over. Bout and his friends are gone."

"Jackie, I’m sorry. If only I had done my job better."

"Don’t, Johnson. It is what it is. I am sick of all the guilt this thing has caused"

"All right. Jackie, this may not be the right time, but I’ve been thinking. I want you to have Heinz. If you want him."

"I do. And I’ll take really good care of him. By the way, don’t forget the party at Gelson’s. Good morning, Johnson."

After the call, she found Heinz sleeping in the kitchen and let him into the back yard. In the kitchen, she took an Ativan in anticipation of a few hours of sleep and then poured herself another glass of vodka.

She walked back to the living room and dropped the glass. There was a man standing beside the fireplace. He was a little shorter than she was, but twice as wide. Up close, she realized he was wearing a T-shirt tuxedo, oddly enough with real buttons.

"You."

There had been a mistake. He had found her at last.

"Vzjat’ na abordaž." With a cat-like quickness, he bounced forward, a sweeping fist pounding her neck, knocking her hard to the floor. She landed on something hard, her gun, still on the carpet where she’d dropped it. Bout dropped his full weight atop her, knocking her breathless.

The blackness swarmed across her eyes, the starry pinpoints of light swirling at the edges of her fading vision. His arm went hard and tight across her throat, bringing forth a nauseating crescendo of fear accompanied by a harsh sweat scent. As if in a nightmare, she felt her hand close over the rubber grips of the gun, but her arm was pinned, frozen beneath her body, numb from the shock of Bout’s dead weight dropping down on her.

She had not only lost the battle in a single amazing instant, but it entered her thoughts that she might die before she could shoot Bout. The thought brought a wave of sadness through her. Somewhere, far away, she heard the frenzied barking of a dog.

Her lungs heaved against the burning but there was no relief from the smothering. Then she remembered the lesson from the coffin. Even without air, she had a couple of minutes before she passed out. A couple of minutes to go berserk. To fa jin to the max. An eternity.

But try as she might, she could not gather herself for the effort. The fa jin wasn’t working. The weight of Bout began to crush the very life from her body. Then it all became crystal clear. The fa jin showed her another way. She could be defeated and still die a proud warrior. There would be no shame. She must kill herself with the gun. Her sins required a sacrifice and she was it. Simply fire the weapon into her own body. Bout would never have the pleasure he sought, would never have the victory. Fire the weapon. She had the strength for that. As she began to pull the trigger, the fear surged higher and higher. The fa jin. And she knew it was a gift from God. The fear came in a wave as powerful as a tsunami. The fear was her friend, giving her the strength to do what she must. With an ear splitting scream, she stepped into the fear and fired the weapon into her heart.

"Jackie! Jackie!"

Jackie opened her eyes, staring directly into her sister’s worried gaze. "Donna," she said.

"Jackie, are you okay? We heard a scream."

Jackie managed a crooked smile. "I’m okay," she said. "It was the dream again. But this time it was different. I’m learning to live with it."

Chapter 38

The early morning clouds provided a refreshing coolness for her drive over the hill. She’d stayed on Mulholland most of the way before dropping down the hill to Gelson’s. It was a little after 10 a.m. when she pulled the bright red muscle car into the lot. Everybody was already there waiting. She headed towards the back wall, which somebody had livened up with a lot of balloons. Someone else had cordoned off the area with yellow police tape.

She rolled up to the place where it all began and opened the door and got out. The cheers and applause overwhelmed her, the tears flooding her eyes until she could barely make out the faces of the tiny knot of people who’d become so important to her. One in particular stood out, by virtue of the hot pink pants suit that glowed like a reactor in the gray of the sunless morning.

The smell of Jamaican Blue coffee filled the air, reminding her of a special place. She walked over to the table and poured herself a cup. Someone handed her a tissue and she dabbed her eyes. She could see them all clearly now. There was even a large, cream-face cat staring out at her from a battered travel cage. She raised the cup high.

And then she saw it. Overhead, a small plane towing a banner: JACKIE’S WEEK. Her emotions, long held in check, finally hit, and she knelt down, the feelings cascading over her in wave after wave, the tears flowing like rain until there was finally a peace unlike that of anything normally available on Earth. She looked up. They were closer now, surrounding her, touching her, allowing their strength to join with hers, allowing their love to fill in for what she herself still lacked.

"Here’s looking at you, kids," she whispered.

She knew there was still a lifetime of work to be done, work that would take her further and further towards her ultimate destiny. There was monumental effort to be made, but it would be done one day at a time. She knew something else: There was no safe place, but that didn’t matter anymore. What did matter was the next time they came for her, ready or not, she would fight.

The End

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Jackie's Week