Jackie's Week (13 page)

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."