Jackie's Week

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Jackie's Week Page 17

by M. M. Wilshire


  "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 g
ot 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."

 

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