Jackie's Week (24 page)

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