Jackie's Week (3 page)

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."