Jackie's Week (23 page)

"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.