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The Real Deal	By : Gallivant Category: M through R > Red Eye Views: 3201 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye. I am not making any money from publishing this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
CHAPTER TEN - The Axeman Cometh
Judging by the cold, rumpled sheets and empty space beside her, it was clear that Jackson had got up and left some time ago.
Lisa couldn't help but feel a pang of dismay, even though it was probably better that he had gone before she awoke, undoubtedly saving them some mutual embarrassment. She cringed as she recalled how she had fallen asleep, holding him close, dressed only in her underwear.
She must have been drunker than she thought.
And certainly, as the whinnying snores of Charley sleeping on the couch, echoed around her head, she was now feeling the after-effects.
Parched, Lisa dragged herself out of bed and made for the bathroom, where she poured herself a glass of tepid water which reeked of chlorine. She gawked unhappily at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was sticking up in knotted tufts and her eyes were puffy and dulled.
She took a shower, relishing the warm, refreshing water as it bounced off her skin, and thought through what she hoped to do that day. First, she reckoned she should make a call to the Lux Atlantic – make sure everything was running smoothly in her absence.
She should then call her Dad ... or maybe she should call him first, although she wasn't keen on having to blatantly lie to him when he asked her how things were going.
At some point she expected to hear from Talbot Haynes. And she needed to explain herself to Charley too. Charley would be mighty confused when she finally awoke – which might be some time, Lisa reminded herself, considering the alcohol and clearly the drugs that Charley had consumed last night.
And then there was Jackson.
Was he going to call her? Surely he had to. He had assured her that he would be checking in with the De Bowens this morning, to see if they seemed in any way suspicious about the Lisa they had met at Charley's art show.
She wondered how Jackson planned to do this. Was he heading off to the beach house too? Or would a quick call do the job?
More importantly. Would she ever see him again? Would he even want to see her? After all, he might now see her as a liability.
Lisa dried herself and pulled out some fresh clothes from her suitcase. Nothing special. Jeans and a white cotton shirt.
The shower had done her the world of good. She was fresh-faced and shiny clean. Even her eyes had regained a bit of sparkle, despite the fact she could still feel a drumming at her temples, and her throat felt dry and gravelly.
She downed another glass of tepid tap water.
In the bedroom, Charley was already stirring from her sleep of the dead. Certainly the snores had piped down, which was a considerable relief, seeing as Lisa was about to call Cynthia.
Cynthia was bright and chirpy as always.
'I'm so glad you're having a good time – now do remember to relax, take it easy Lisa,' she trilled.
'I will do.'
'Everything's under control. We ... we've had a minor glitch. Nothing to worry about. With the computer software,' Cynthia said.
'What kind of glitch?' Lisa asked, regretting the question the moment it was uttered. As if she didn't have enough to worry about?
'Some type of virus. It's gotten into the main computer system this morning. It's kind of strange.'
'How?'
Cynthia seemed to suppress a nervous giggle. 'It's kind of like ... there was this funny little image of a little pixelated man with an axe, chopping through these lines of computer code, you know, all those zeros and squiggles. And this wacko message. The Axeman Cometh. Well, that had us in stitches – probably some kid or other. Except ever since then, the IT guys say they're losing loads of data ... and they can't stop it.'
'Heck Cynthia! You serious? That sounds creepy.'
And only since this morning? Lisa's thoughts instantly sprang to Jackson. He knew how to access the computer systems at the Lux Atlantic hotel. Had he done it again? Was this his idea of a bad joke?
But to actually create a computer-generated avatar which then infiltrated the data systems with a virus – that was hardcore hacking. Surely beyond Jackson's capabilities?
Cynthia was right. It was likely to be some geeky high school kid.
Lisa sighed. 'There'll be a backup on the secondary servers of any data you might have lost Cynthia. The IT boys can sort it out.'
'They're on to it already,' Cynthia said. 'We've lost some guest registration details and some of the booking software has been corrupted – but we're on top of things Lisa.'
Lisa smiled. 'I'm sure you are.'
'Don't let this ruin your vacation,' Cynthia warned.
'I won't. Promise.'
Lisa's next call was set to be her Dad, but she was distracted by Charley, groaning pitiably, as she launched herself from the couch.
'Fuck!' Charley cursed, holding her head in her hands.
'And good morning to you too,' Lisa said, trying to remain as bright as possible.
'Where the fucking hell are we?' Charley moaned. 'Why am I still wearing my Oscar de la Renta and why is it in such a fucking state?'
'That's an Oscar de la Renta?' Lisa asked, aghast at the crumpled creamy chiffon number which was streaked with dark coffee stains, hanging loosely from Charley's angular frame. She guessed giving an extremely drunk person a cup of coffee without the lights on, had not been such a good idea.
Charley tried to manoeuvre her way to the bathroom, collapsing against the bed, before tottering in an ungainly fashion onto it. Her eyes were virtually sealed shut by thickly congealed black kohl and clogged lumps of mascara. Lisa hazarded a guess that the spangly purple semi-circles encrusted onto her eyelids were in fact the remnants of last night's eye-shadow rather than severe bruising, as they first appeared to be.
'You could do with a shower,' she suggested.
'I could do with a brand new fucking head,' Charley gasped, clutching her head in pain.
The room telephone suddenly sprang into action with a shrill peal. Lisa hastily grabbed it, mindful of the agonized expression which flashed across Charley's face.
Lisa's first thought was Jackson, but instead it was Talbot Haynes's unctuous tones, which greeted her with what she felt to be unwarranted excitement.
'Lisa!' he cried.'How are you?'
'I'm fine thanks,' Lisa replied, desperately trying to dismiss the disappointment from her voice.
'I'm sure glad to get hold of you Lisa. I realize I'm a little late in calling.'
Lisa glanced at her watch. It was already eleven.
'No. Not at all. We're kind of having a lazy morning,' she said.
'Great. You see I'm in the Sheraton New York ... it's a stone's throw from the Manhattan. Why don't you come over for a coffee? I've told Colm you're staying here, and he said it'd be cool to see you.'
'What? Now?' Lisa asked.
'Sure thing. He's already on his way,' Talbot said..
'On his way?'
'Yup. Should be with you any minute now ... .'
Only then did Lisa realize the full ghastly horror of the situation. The amiable, suave Colm Buchanan was set to arrive at her hotel room to whisk her away, and meanwhile, Charley was spread-eagled across the bed, bleating mournfully into a pillow.
XXXXXXXXXX
'Charley,' Lisa said sharply. 'You've got to go and get showered. Come on.'
'Oh man,' Charley moaned. 'You haven't even told me what we're doing here? Did we meet some guys?'
Lisa initially considered this as a plausible explanation, but then dismissed it, recalling Jackson's injunction – 'Never tell lies unless absolutely necessary.'
'No Charley,' she sighed. 'We're here because ... someone tried to break into your apartment last night.'
OK. So it wasn't quite true.
'You're kidding me! Did you call the police?' Charley asked, stupefied, blinking maniacally in the harsh gray daylight which was streaming through the window.
'Well no. They didn't actually break in as such, but we got spooked ... so ...,' Lisa tailed off. 'So we're staying here instead, which is cool, seeing as it's that bit more central.'
'Hardly,' Charley spluttered. 'And I don't believe a fucking word Lisa Reisert, but I'll let it go. For now. Did you bring me any clothes?'
'We were in a hurry,' Lisa said apologetically. 'But look the room's all paid for. Treat it as a free vacation ... and you can wear whatever you like of mine,' she offered.
'Hey short-ass ... I'm a good few inches taller than you,' Charley said, dragging open Lisa's suitcase which was perched on a low table, and pulling out various garments. She finally alighted on a long, snugly fitting jade green summer dress – not entirely appropriate for New York in Fall. Included when packing, more to sound a note of optimism than reality.
Charley grabbed the dress and hauled herself off to the bathroom.
'You got Advil?' she shouted, just as someone – presumably Colm – pressed the door-buzzer.
'Yeah. In my wash bag,' Lisa replied, as she hurried to the door.
XXXXXXXXXX
'Pardon me for the intrusion Lisa ... I'm hoping you've already spoken to Talbot, so I'm not too unexpected?' Colm Buchanan said, beaming.
He was as broad and handsome as she had remembered with his feline green eyes and his even tan.
Lisa guessed that Charley would positively adore him.
'I've just this minute spoken to him,' Lisa said with a smile. What could they be wanting? Lisa thought, irritated at this unexpected turn of events. Her meeting with Keefe had already been postponed until tomorrow.
Colm glanced quickly around the room. He raised his eyebrows quizzically at Charley's comforter sprawled across the couch.
'Oh. My friend Charley. She took the couch last night,' Lisa explained.
Colm nodded. 'I didn't think you girlfriends minded sharing a bed. Most guys would rather cut off their dick than cozy up to a buddy for the night.' He laughed, a deep, throaty laugh, that highlighted his guttural Scottish accent.
Lisa was a little taken aback by Colm's sudden descent into crude language. It didn't seem to mesh with his outwardly cool, debonair image, belying someone much earthier than she had first imagined.
She smiled politely and was about to suggest they set off, when Charley came lumbering out of the bathroom, enveloped in a large fluffy white toweling bathrobe, provided courtesy of the hotel.
'These fucking Advils had better work. My head's gonna explode,' she moaned. Then she stopped short, agog at the sight of someone as handsome and polished as Colm Buchanan seeing her in such a state.
Lisa couldn't help but smile fondly at her friend's desperate blushing embarrassment.
Colm, of course, was the perfect gentleman, and straight after brief introductions he invited Charley to join them for coffee too.
XXXXXXXXXX
Coffee, thankfully, was accompanied by cakes and pastries – much to Lisa and Charley's delight, seeing as they were starving - in the Club lounge at the Sheraton New York, situated across Seventh Avenue from its sister hotel the Sheraton Manhattan. The lounge had an intimate setting; plush leather chairs and plump brocade upholstery, yet with panoramic views across Midtown New York.
Talbot was stuffing a pain au chocolat into his mouth, just as they all arrived, and seemed to chew on it endlessly, often open-mouthed, as he extended warm greetings to Lisa and an over-enthusiastic welcome to Charley, who seemed both bemused and repelled in equal measure.
'I'm so glad you called me last night,' Talbot said to Lisa, offering her a cup of coffee and a Danish pastry. 'Such bad luck – and such an obvious solution.'
Lisa began to silently panic, keeping a fixed grin on her face. Don't mention the gas leak, she privately begged.
But of course, moments later, he was recalling a particularly vivid story about how an unnoticed gas leak in a friend's apartment had eventually ignited, blowing out an entire half a block. He pursed his lips and nodded with particular meaning to Charley, who seemed more than a little perplexed at this line of conversation – when she wasn't embroiled in her primary activity, which seemed to comprise cramming as many cakes and pastries into her mouth as seemed humanly possible.
Most importantly, Charley did not seem to manifest either the forethought or the desire to contradict Haynes's increasingly obvious assumptions that her apartment was under siege by toxic gases, instead exchanging one single meaningful look with Lisa – one that demanded an explanation later – but she wisely chose not to pursue the subject further, as yet another cream-filled puff pastry demanded her attention.
'You know, I don't know Florida all that well,' Colm said, turning to Lisa, his deep, burnished voice interrupting her train of thought.
'Then you must come and stay at the Lux Atlantic,' Lisa said warmly, instantly realizing that in saying this, it indicated that she would not be likely to join up with the Keefe campaign any time soon.
Colm, however, merely smiled.
Talbot had engaged Charley in an in-depth discussion on American art. It appeared he had a passion for Whistler, and seemed excessively keen to air his long-winded and verbose views on the subject to a real live artist. Charley was wearing her be-nice-to-sponsors-&-potential buyers face, but couldn't help but suppress a yawn.
Hardly surprising in light of her alcohol-induced catatonic state just a few short hours ago. But Lisa had to admire her cast-iron constitution.
This left Colm chatting to Lisa, in what felt increasingly to Lisa like a double-date – one where she wanted to be absent and her friend wanted to be talking to Colm, which was patently obvious, seeing as Charley could barely allow a full thirty seconds to pass before casting a sidelong admiring glance in their direction.
'You'll have to come up and see the America Forwards team while you're staying,' Colm said cheerfully. 'We're based in the Liberty Suite, third floor. Haynes has lined up an interview with CNN for tomorrow afternoon ... come along if you like.'
'Interviewing you or Charles?'
'Oh. Me. On behalf of America Forwards. Charles has a studio interview at NBC. And it's really not his place to be seen at an America Forwards press call.'
'Because he loses his independence,' Lisa said.
'Pretty much.' Colm nodded, maintaining eye contact with Lisa. Indeed, his stare had become so intense, Lisa could feel a faint blush staining her cheeks.
She poured herself an orange juice, half-wishing she had a couple of Advils to hand too. Her hangover was stealthily creeping back.
'So ... Colm,' Lisa said a little hesitantly, feeling she should at least play a part in this conversation. 'Have you always been a lobbyist?'
'Strictly speaking, I'm not a lobbyist,' Colm said in smooth tones. 'Like I told you before. I'm a fixer. My main role is strategic thinking.' He took a sip of his coffee, and then paused, a pensive look on his face.
'My consultancy – Buchanan, Sheen & Smith Associates - we're pretty much a jack of all trades. Problem-solvers if you will.' Colm grinned, warming to his subject. 'Frankly, running America Forwards is a dream project for me. I always wanted more of the political, engineering true change, rather than the corporate, which is where I've been stuck for too many years.'
'So America Forwards is a real personal mission for you then,' Lisa said, half-wondering then what America First had represented, when he was working for Keefe's rival, Leighton Fitch. Were they one and the same thing, just repackaged, rebranded, regurgitated?
She didn't dare say this though, and smiled, her sweetest, meekest smile, fancying that Colm, for all of his genteel, new man civility, was probably a guy who liked his girls to be polite and good-mannered, holding back on the opinions.
Colm nodded enthusiastically.
'So how come you got involved with American politics, not British?' Lisa asked, hoping this wasn't too contentious for Colm's taste.
Colm smiled broadly. 'Oh, if Scotland was to gain independence, I'd be there in a shot.'
'Don't they have their own parliament?' Lisa asked, vaguely recalling being told this by a friendly Scottish businessman with a gift for the gab - a hardened Scottish revolutionary, by his own account - who'd been staying at the Lux Atlantic for a week last Winter.
'It's a toothless beast,' Colm said, a twinkle in his eye. 'Nah Lisa. If you want to be at the heart of things, you need to be at the heart of the world.'
'Which is why Colm's opening an office in Beijing, isn't it Colm?' Talbot said, succeeded by an obnoxious little snicker.
Colm was not overjoyed at this distraction, and Talbot, instantly chastened by one single withering look, returned to extolling the virtues of Whistler's tonalism and its profound influence on successive generations of American artists to Charley, who looked set to cry with boredom.
Something about this little exchange was worrying Lisa. She sincerely hoped that Colm wasn't taking more than a professional interest in her – although something lingering in his looks at her mouth, her hair, and particularly her figure, alerted her otherwise.
'You see Lisa,' Colm said, as soon as Talbot's attention was engaged elsewhere. 'I've done my dance with the devil. I've worked for the big corporate guns – many now viewed as a transnational axis of evil. I'm talking petro-chemicals, pharmaceuticals ... even arms. But improving the daily lives of each and every American is a much more meaningful existence ... don't you think?'
'Oh. Yes. For sure,' Lisa said. She politely nibbled at her Danish pastry, anything to stave off the hunger pangs gnawing at her insides. But somehow eating in front of Colm felt all wrong. She couldn't imagine a man like him needed normal food and sustenance. There was a robotic, superman quality in Colm's air and appearance that she was finding a little disconcerting. Even though his charm and good looks were undeniable.
'How long have you been in America?' Lisa asked.
Colm shrugged. 'On and off. About ten years.'
'Hey, Colm,' Talbot interrupted, licking his fingers noisily after consuming yet another pain au chocolat which had squelched dark molten chocolate onto his hand and down his shirt-front.
'Have you told Lisa about the opera?' Talbot continued excitedly.
'Ah yes. We finally come to the point of this little rendezvous,' Colm said, smiling his broadest, most handsome smile. He addressed both Lisa and Charley, which Lisa swiftly realized was going to be her greatest liability. 'Tomorrow night we're going to the Met ... I have a parterre box ... to see Rigoletto. Would you ladies like to come along?'
Charley clapped her hands in joy. 'Oh man! That would be so cool. I love the opera.'
Lisa pulled a face. 'It's not my thing,' she said, which wasn't strictly true. Her Dad had a bunch of old records that he occasionally pulled out for a spin, and she had grown to love a lot of what she heard.
But in the face of Charley's exuberant response, Lisa felt she had no choice but to smile politely and agree to come.
It was therefore decided that Colm would pick them up from their hotel room at around six thirty tomorrow evening.
XXXXXXXXXX
'Oh my god, that man is simply gorgeous,' Charley gabbled, once Lisa and Charley had returned to their hotel room.
'Talbot? Something of an acquired taste, don't you think?' Lisa said with a smirk.
'Shit no! That guy's a creep. The other one,' Charley flung herself on to the king-size bed and groaned. 'He's a dreamboat.' She sat upright. 'I see you hogged him for yourself.'
Lisa grinned. 'Believe me Charley. I have no interest in Colm Buchanan.'
And she couldn't really fathom why. He was an ideal date. Good-looking, sophisticated, clearly extremely rich, the type of man your mother would swoon over.
And she had no doubt he was a cool guy. With the best interests of the Keefe campaign at heart.
But there was something plasticky about him. Unreal. He was too handsome, too cool, too altogether. Maybe that was it. He was too much.
Unlike Jackson, she thought. Who, despite his multiple shiny surfaces and seeming super-confidence, was more three-dimensional, uneven, unpredictable. And really pretty messed-up.
Why hadn't he rung? Lisa checked her cell phone. She'd left it on charge before she left for coffee, and had hoped he would have called by her return. But there were no messages. Nothing.
'Well, if you have no interest Lisa. Do you mind if I do?' Charley asked, still banging on about Colm Buchanan. 'Not now of course,' she muttered. 'I feel like crap. But if you're seeing him later ... can I come along?'
'I'm not seeing him later,' Lisa said. 'But you'll see him at the opera tomorrow anyway.'
'Shit. I've nothing nice to wear, now my Oscar de la Renta's been ruined. I'll have a snooze and then go shopping.'
'Good.'
'So come one Lisa, why are we really here? Because my apartment doesn't have gas, and your little break-in story's looking kind of thin,' Charley asked, surprising Lisa, who had thought, had hoped, that Charley had been sufficiently diverted by the handsome Colm Buchanan away from this line of awkward questioning.
Lisa wondered if she should be honest. But realized that this would terrify Charley, who had many dealings through the art world with the De Bowens.
Instead, she had to blame Jackson.
'I saw Jackson Rippner. Last night. He was watching the apartment,' she said haltingly.
Charley's eyes were round with fear. 'Shit man. The evil guy from the plane you got off with? That's really creepy. Was he stalking you? ... Did, did you call the police?'
'No Charley. I couldn't be one hundred percent certain ... and you know my record in that department, so I thought the best bet was just to get out of there ... seeing as we had an alternative.'
Charley nodded dumbly.
'So a couple of days here, and I'll soon be out of your hair ... no need to worry then,' Lisa said.
'Maybe ... maybe we should tell Colm and, and ... what's-his-face?'
'Why?'
'Well. Maybe they could offer us a little manly protection,' Charley said, with a twinkle in her eye.
Lisa grimaced. 'I don't think so Charley. Best not to get anyone else involved.'
Lisa was relieved when her cell phone rang.
She dashed to pick it up, her heart beating a little faster, realizing it might be Jackson.
Lisa felt a little self-conscious in front of Charley, so she headed into the bathroom.
'It's me,' Jackson said.
A wave of relief that swept over her. Thank god he'd called.
'Have you any news?' she asked tentatively.
'I think we're in the clear,' Jackson said, although Lisa felt sure there was a momentary hesitation in his voice. A slight quaver. 'But ... I'll know more tonight. I have to be in East Hampton. Work stuff.'
There was an awkward silence.
'At the beach house?'
Jackson laughed awkwardly. 'Yes ... it's an extended charm offensive. Potential clients.'
'And you, of course, are a key charmer,' Lisa said drolly.
Jackson laughed, a little embarrassed Lisa thought.
'Look Lisa, I understand if you don't want to, but do you want to meet up? Talk stuff over.'
There was another heavy silence as Lisa weighed his words. What did that mean? Talk stuff over.
'Where?' she asked.
'Do you know the Met? The art museum.'
'I've never been, but yes.'
'How soon can you get there?'
Lisa glanced at herself in the mirror. She was flushed red and her eyes were shining.
Oh god, she thought. Is this a good idea?
'I'm on my way,' she said.
XXXXXXXXXX
Jackson had said to meet him in the Modern Art section, rather than get lost in the front entrance scrummage, so Lisa checked a floor plan in the lobby and headed for a far-flung corner of the gallery.
There was no sign of Jackson downstairs, so Lisa headed upstairs, in some trepidation.
She soon spotted him, wandering from picture to picture, a little lonely-looking from this distance, and somehow different. Lisa advanced slowly, trying to work out why.
And then she realized.
He was wearing black jeans and a black shirt, not his typical suited attire, and with his hands jammed firmly into his jeans' back pockets, he looked a lot less sinister, even less stand out than normal. He also looked younger, boyish. His hair was a little ruffled at the back, as though he'd recently been asleep, and had hurried out of the house.
He was standing before a painting which seemed to be split into three parts as a triptych. The figures depicted seemed to be scowling, angry, twisted. Vividly colored and misshapen. It was a picture of furious folly, and seemed to be centered around a boy dressed in a military costume, seated on a white horse.
Lisa advanced closer and read the accompanying sign, which said that this was Beginning by Max Beckmann,1949. She'd never heard of Beckmann, but from the looks of things, he was not a happy bunny.
Jackson was still looking straight ahead, but a small smile snuck across his face as she approached and stood next to him.
'Hello Lise,' he said.
'Hello Jackson,' Lisa said in return, a little timidly. She stared at the picture, suddenly overcome with shyness, as she instantly flashed back to her holding him close in bed last night.
She dared to look at him.
He was gazing at her intently, his eyes a brilliant blue. For one brief moment, it felt as though the world had slowed down a little.
They both seemed to find it hard to look away.
Say something, she said to herself. Say something. Anything.
She nodded to the picture. 'This, er ... Beckmann guy. Seems a bit mixed up if you ask me.'
Jackson beamed. 'The guy's a fucking genius.'
Lisa looked again at the picture. It was so distorted, disturbing.
'He painted this shortly before he died,' Jackson added. 'He paints ugliness like it's beautiful.'
Lisa raised her eyebrows in confusion. 'Well. I guess he didn't quite crack it with this one. Still looks darned ugly to me.'
Jackson smiled.'Well. This painting's quite tame for Beckmann. A lot of his stuff is genuinely scary. Real horror-show. You'd hate it.'
'Nice guy,' Lisa said softly.
'Yeah, I reckon he was,' Jackson said, seeming to ignore her irony. 'He got badly fucked-up in the first world war. He was a German medic. Couldn't get over how seemingly nice everyday guys could suddenly turn into murderous psychopaths. And when the war was over, and he was back in Germany, he set out to paint how he felt. He'd lost faith in the world around him.' Jackson sneered. 'And then ... along came Hitler.'
'Which probably made him feel a whole lot better,' Lisa said, flippantly.
Jackson laughed bitterly. 'He was described as a degenerate by the Nazi regime because he didn't subscribe to the idea that all art should be fluffy mindless entertainment or some form of fascistic Aryan propaganda ... not too different from today really.'
'That's going a bit far Jackson,' Lisa murmured as they walked on, past the Beckmann, circling slowly, their hands occasionally bouncing against each others, but never together for more than a glancing touch.
'I can't believe you like art,' Lisa said.
'Why's that then?'
'You don't seem the sort.'
Jackson stopped in front of a vast Jackson Pollock canvas.
'I have a very boring life,' he said simply.
'Oh yes, course you do,' Lisa scoffed.
'Well. I have to do a lot of waiting around ... lots of flights, lots of different cities, some very tedious people ... you've really no idea how boring hired killers are Lisa,' Jackson said in low tones.
'So ... when you go to these different cities, you ... go to art galleries,' Lisa suggested, a bright smile on her face.
'That's right. I like how pictures are ... ordered. What's put where. What fills the space,' Jackson said. As he spoke he slowly walked around her, encircling her, watching her. 'And I read a lot. All those long flights.'
He paused, coming to a halt, directly in front of her. 'Believe me Lise. When it comes to art, I could bore the pants off you.'
'You're not boring me,' Lisa said. 'I like art ... I just know nothing about it.' She gestured to the Beckmann. 'Not too sure if he takes my fancy though.'
'Let me guess,' Jackson said, grinning, circling closer. 'You like ... Monet. Renoir. All that girly impressionist nonsense.'
'Maybe I do,' Lisa said, with a coy smile.
'Well. That's very unoriginal of you Miss Reisert.'
'I don't care,' Lisa said archly. 'I don't want to be scared when I look at a picture. And being dark and meaningful is kind of pretentious if you ask me. Better just get on with life, be happy.'
Jackson frowned, a pensive look on his face.
'So the dark side … that's just far too dangerous, isn't it? Too unsettling,' he said.
'There's enough vile crap going on in the world as it is,' Lisa said. 'Why add to it?'
She looked directly into Jackson's eyes, and again, had that odd sensation that the world around them had slowed down, but then a few intrusive voices sharply reminded her that this conversation was still taking place slap bang in front of the Jackson Pollock – and they were beginning to rile a few onlookers.
Jackson had noticed too because he grabbed her hand and pulled her away.
They moved towards the staircase leading to the lower floor.
'You see none of that's a surprise to me Lisa,' Jackson said in slightly more cutting tones. 'I figure there's two types of people when it comes to art. And it all boils down to what they feel about death.'
'You're obsessed with death, you know that?' Lisa said sardonically, as they jogged down the steps to the floor below.
'Well. It's a pretty fucking huge thing about being alive Lisa.'
'But it doesn't need to be dwelt on,' Lisa argued.
'You see. You're making my point for me,' Jackson said triumphantly.
'Which is?'
'That some people, like you, get off on art and books and TV because it makes them happy, because it takes their mind off the fact that one day they have to die.'
'Great. Go on,' Lisa said, her mouth twitching with amusement.
'Whereas someone like me – I'm not frightened of the macabre, the fucked-up. I think facing up to fear, to death, makes us value life all the more.'
Jackson pulled her through the room, towards a strange, eery picture, showing a large, misshapen statue of a woman lying on a stone platform in the middle of a deserted square, bordered on one side by multiple shadowy arches.
'For example. This painting. Ariadne. This really creeps me out, but instead of wanting to avoid it, I feel drawn to it,' Jackson explained.
Lisa smiled. 'That's because you're naturally miserable. You're an assassin. It's not exactly the most cheerful profession, is it now?'
Jackson leaned closer towards her, so close his lips were touching her ear. 'You don't need to broadcast that to the entire gallery Lisa.'
Lisa smiled. Then in a deliberately quiet voice, so quiet it forced Jackson to stay virtually cheek to cheek with her, she said, 'OK then Mr Sunshine. Who's the artist? Educate me.'
'Giorgio De Chirico. Look, his name's right there,' Jackson said, pointing to the accompanying placard.
'Well, I don't like this painting too much,' Lisa said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. 'Although ... it is kind of atmospheric I guess. In a spooky sort of way.'
Jackson stood beside her to look at the picture, and then stepped back so he was virtually behind her instead.
'I think it's meant to be,' he murmured. 'This guy loves to paint this same creepy scene over and over. Like some never-ending paranoid nightmare. And ... you just can't help wondering who's watching from the shadows.'
'Probably people like you,'Lisa said dryly.
'What's that supposed to mean?' Jackson asked.
Lisa reached round, placing her hand on his waist and whispered in Jackson's ear. 'Men who like to kill people.'
A shadow scurried across Jackson's face.
'Oh. I see. You mean I'm scared of myself. Very insightful that one Lisa. That must be Freudian or something,' Jackson said in sarcastic tones.
'No,' Lisa said with exaggerated patience.' People like you.'
Jackson pondered this for a moment. 'Maybe you're right.'
Lisa couldn't help gazing at his mouth which was so close to her own, now that she was effectively leaning backwards into him. For one brief, crazy moment she wished he would fold his arms around her and kiss her.
She quickly moved away, spinning round to face him.
'Talking of which,' she said in a whisper. 'On the phone you said you think we're in the clear ... .'
Jackson nodded, although he didn't meet her eye when he spoke, which was a little disconcerting. 'I hope so. But ... let's go some place else.'
'Well. I'm hungry,'she said.
'We'll go eat then,' he said breezily, although Lisa sensed a note of tension in his voice.'I'm sure there's a cafe somewhere round here.'
XXXXXXXXXX
They found a table positioned next to vast ceiling-to-floor windows, looking out on to Central Park. The scenery was marred somewhat by a heavy downpour of rain and clotted gray skies.
There was a slight chill in the air. Lisa shivered, sensing an outbreak of goosebumps on her arms and her legs. She delighted in the sensation.
'Are you cold?' Jackson asked.
'A little,' Lisa said. 'I quite like watching rain actually.' She grinned. 'Sounds a bit odd that coming from a Floridian, doesn't it?'
'I had to drive through a hurricane in your state once,' Jackson said grimly. 'The rain was falling so hard I thought it might break my windshield.'
'Well that was plain silly,' Lisa said, smiling.
Her smile quickly faltered. Jackson was staring at her again, with an intensity that rendered her momentarily breathless, as though the cafe was fading into gray around them. Lisa desperately tried to dampen down the fluttering excitement inside her, to overcome her sudden acute self-consciousness.
She was glad that a waiter intervened, passing them a menu.
'Oh, I just want a salad,' she said, flicking through the menu half-heartedly. She indicated her choice to the waiter, and also ordered a glass of dry white wine. Jackson did the same but waived the food.
'I ate before I came out,' he said.
'I've never seen you eat,' Lisa remarked.
'Yes you have.'
'No ... I haven't.'
Jackson thought a moment. 'Probably not. Well ... I do eat Lisa. Often.' He leaned across the table, then whispered, 'even men who like to kill people have to eat you know. We're not just automatons.'
'So you admit you like to kill people,' she said, in similarly hushed tones.
Jackson frowned deeply. 'No. Those were your words, remember? But ... we do live in very different moral spheres Lisa ... my entire life I am surrounded by psychopaths, and believe me, I meet most of them through my work at De Bowens, not when I'm on a job.'
'What do you mean?' Lisa asked, curiously.
'I mean there are many more psychopaths stalking the corridors of power and money, than there are hired killers.'
The drinks and salad arrived.
Lisa supped her chilled wine mournfully.
Jackson grabbed her fork and spooled a piece of pasta and rocket onto it before cramming it into his mouth.
'See Lise,' he smiled. 'I can eat. I'm all real.'
Lisa smiled weakly in return. 'I know.'
And she did know, she thought with an inward sigh. Almost too real.
She nibbled diffidently at her salad and stared out of the window, recalling the feel of his warm skin as she lay close against him last night.
It was best she just finished this and left.
She had to move on, get home. Forget this beautiful man with the chilling blue eyes sat in front of her, before it was too late.
'So ... you're absolutely sure everything's OK then?' she asked, yet again, still a little fearful of his response. So far she hadn't felt entirely convinced by him in this regard.
Jackson grimaced. 'I went back to Charley's this morning. I swept the place for bugs. Everything seemed fine. I spoke with both Alex and her father, before they set off for East Hampton ... and there was nothing unusual in what they said, or how they said it. So, I can only surmise ... .'
'I guess there's nothing else you can do.'
'Not really. Did you get to speak to Charley?'
Lisa cackled softly. 'She wasn't in the best shape this morning.'
Jackson laughed. 'That's not a surprise.'
Lisa hesitated, a little uncomfortable at what she had to say next. 'One small thing Jackson,' she said. 'You didn't decide to play a prank on my hotel's computers this morning, did you?'
Jackson narrowed his eyes in suspicion.'What kind of prank?'
'Well. It looks like someone has hacked into the server and sent us a malicious virus.'
Jackson drank some of his wine, but Lisa could see he was thinking, and not too happy with his thoughts.
'I told you Lise,' he said. 'I told you that system was vulnerable. And it wasn't me ... but then you know that already, don't you?'
Lisa smiled weakly. 'I had to ask,' she said softly.
But if it wasn't Jackson, then who was it?
Jackson cleared his throat. 'The important thing, Lisa, is that you're going to be home soon to handle it. Get this little business you have with this Keefe guy out of the way, and get back to Miami.'
'I see you can't wait to get rid of me,' Lisa said crankily. But she instantly regretted her tone when she saw that Jackson was deadly serious – even though he was trying hard to be as light-hearted as possible.
'All I'm saying is you're best off in Miami. And while you're here, stick with the Keefe campaign. Don't go back to Charley's,' he said doggedly, almost imploring.
'I thought you said Charley's place was cool,' Lisa hissed.
'It is cool ... as far as I can tell, but I'd rather you stayed at the hotel, stayed close to Keefe and his guys,' Jackson said earnestly. 'It's just a precaution ... and I'm going out of town.'
'For a long time?'
'I don't know yet,' he said sullenly.
So she wouldn't be seeing him again. This was what he was telling her, Lisa realized.
Try as she might, she couldn't help the sudden sinking feeling which swamped her, unsure if it was motivated by fear or disappointment. She gulped back some wine and stared disconsolately out of the window, which was gradually misting over and streaked with rain.
'What's up?' Jackson asked.
'Nothing,' she said.
Jackson didn't look convinced. 'You should be overjoyed Lise,' he said. 'Considering this is the last time we'll ever meet.'
Lisa continued to look out at the rain.
'Not that there's any real point to our meeting of course ... we could have talked this over on the phone. But ... I really wanted to see you,' Jackson said. He swallowed, as if something was caught in his throat. 'Because ... getting out of your bed this morning was the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life.'
Lisa could feel her heart beat a little faster. Don't say that Jackson, she thought angrily.
She sighed, and put her fork down.
'You know I'm not that hungry any more.' She roughly pushed her plate aside and took another long cool sip of her wine instead. 'I should really get going.'
'Sure,' Jackson said, business-like. 'I've got to get to East Hampton anyway.'
Jackson drank back half his wine. He checked his watch. He placed his hand flat on the table, inches from her own. Lisa noted he had round, smooth, unbitten nails. Strong, shapely hands. No jewelry.
'When ... when do you get married?' Lisa asked, instantly regretting the question.
She dared to look Jackson in the face. There was a faint pink flush streaking across his cheeks.
Jackson shrugged. 'Whenever. It's not decided.' He sighed. 'You know Lisa. I really don't care about Alex, you know that, don't you.'
'No Jackson. I have absolutely no idea what you think and feel about anything,' Lisa said sharply. 'And ... and frankly it's got nothing to do with me.'
Her words were met with a cold silence.
'All I can say,' she said slowly, deliberately, 'is if you're engaged to be married, then that's a pretty big deal. And if you don't care about her Jackson, why the hell are you marrying her?'
'It's complicated,' Jackson said.
'How is it complicated? People fall in love, they get married.'
'I'm not like people,' Jackson said peevishly.
He stood up abruptly to go, pulling his wallet out of his jeans pocket and slapping a bill onto the table.
'Come on,' he said, seized with sudden petulant anger.' Let's go.'
He snatched Lisa's hand and hauled her up and away from the table, dragging her through the cafe towards the exit.
XXXXXXXXXX
They walked briskly through a statue gallery, down one staircase leading to the first floor, and then down another leading ultimately to the crowded lobby and the main doorway leading outside onto Fifth Avenue, where the rain was falling thick and fast. Here they were jostled onto the steps, and forced against a tall, Corinthian pillar, by a pack of large-boned tourists wielding umbrellas with seemingly dangerous intent, who were determined to push inside at any cost.
Lisa was slightly sheltered by an overhang far above her, but Jackson had been jettisoned into the rain which was tumbling in heavy torrents from the clouded skies overhead.
'You wanting a cab?' he asked brusquely.
'Well, I'm hardly going to walk, am I?' Lisa said irritably. She shuddered involuntarily, as a roll of thunder echoed across the sky. She folded her arms tightly across her chest. 'It's gotten cold,' she said.
Jackson's hair was gradually getting wetter and wetter. Thick globs of rainwater were trickling down his face, soaking his shirt.
Jackson wiped the rain from his face, and ran his hands through his hair, scooping his damp fringe out of his eyes. Lisa couldn't ignore the lurch of undeniable attraction she suddenly felt for him, unable to take her eyes away from the sculpted line of his cheekbones, the soft curve of his mouth, the fierce, blazing blue of his eyes.
Instinctively, she pulled him close, out of the rain, wrapping her arms around his waist.
'You're getting soaked,' she said affectionately.
'I know,' he said, with a grim smile. He paused, watching her carefully, desperately trying to read her tone, her face.
Then, tentatively, cautiously, he touched her cheek.
'You still cold?' he asked.
'Freezing.'
Jackson rubbed her back, hoping to warm her. Then he encircled her tightly in his arms, even though this meant his wet shirt was pressed against her.
'Lisa ... I'm not very good at saying goodbyes,' he said awkwardly. 'In fact ... I'd probably find it easier just to shoot you.'
Lisa laughed nervously. 'Well. A quick peck on the cheek will do just fine Jackson.'
'Like this?' he whispered, leaning in and sliding his warm mouth across her cheek, his damp skin slightly rough and unshaven, gently grazing her own.
Lisa closed her eyes, aware only of his breathing, the feel of his lean, hard body pressed against her. The sounds of people milling to and fro around them and the tumultuous rain mingled and faded, as though someone had dipped the volume.
'That's ... that's perfect,' Lisa breathed.
Jackson pulled back and gazed at her intently, his hand stroking the back of her neck. She could tell he was struggling with what he wanted to say.
'The thing is Lise,' he said, his voice thick with feeling. 'I don't really want to say goodbye ... even though I know I have to.'
Lisa smiled, her eyes gleaming. She tipped forwards, and lightly kissed him on the lips.
She noticed he was shaking.
'And now you're freezing too,' she said, even though she knew, they both knew, this was not strictly true.
Jackson softly caressed her face, smoothing away the rainwater which was gradually drenching her hair, her clothes.
Lisa was solemnly aware that her heart was thumping wildly with anticipation inside her.
'If .. if you come to my place,' Jackson said slowly, deliberately, his eyes fixed firmly on hers. 'You know what will happen, don't you?'
Lisa could scarcely breathe. He pressed closer against her, his thumb tracing the lines of her open mouth, toying with her lips, her teeth.
'How far is it?' she gasped.
'Close, very close,' he murmured.
There was a resounding clap of thunder. The rainfall had suddenly accelerated in both density and velocity. Great blank sheets of water were falling from the skies, sloshing the pavement, gurgling excitedly into the gutters.
Lisa beamed. 'I think we'd better make for a run for it,' she shouted, barely audible above the thunderous weather.
Jackson grabbed her hand and they ran.
XXXXXXXXXX
Minutes later they arrived outside a large sandstone apartment block. A discreet green awning shaded the front entrance. Hieroglyphics and Egyptian animal symbols were carved into the portico above the doorway.
'This is going to be one of those grand, old posh places, isn't it?' Lisa murmured.
Jackson lead her into the ill-lit foyer, where a gray-haired man in a green frock-coat, seated behind a marble desk, nodded a greeting.
'Good afternoon Mr Rippner,' he said courteously.
'Good afternoon,' Jackson grunted in reply.
Before them was a traditional, wrought iron elevator.
They waited for the elevator to descend. Hand in hand. Dripping water onto the black and white quarry tiled floor.
'Like I was saying,' Lisa said with a smirk on her face. 'Very posh.'
She glanced sidewards. 'It's not mine,' Jackson said quietly.
'Is it the firm's?' she said in deliberately dark, ominous tones.
Jackson laughed. 'God no. It was my uncle's. Well. My sort of uncle's … I'm just a tenant.'
The elevator doors clattered open and they hastened inside.
Jackson pressed the ascent button and the doors swung shut.
Finally alone, they stared at each other. Jackson advanced towards her.
He pushed her hard against the elevator wall.
'You sure about this Lise?' he whispered, his eyes searching her face, his hands fondling her skin, her hair.
She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him closer.
'Completely,' she said, aware that she was trembling.
He smiled, then kissed her greedily on the mouth, with such force her legs gave way beneath her and she was struggling to catch her breath.
He hoisted her upwards, crushing her close to his body, as he continued to kiss her. She encircled his hips with her legs, holding him tightly, cradling his head in her arms as she kissed him deeply, passionately in return.
Jackson groaned in pleasure. He slammed her back into the elevator wall.
Lisa felt dazed, overwhelmed. More excited than she could have ever imagined possible.
But then the elevator came to a halt with a violent shudder. The doors swung open to reveal a portly middle-aged lady in a dark navy mackintosh and a huge, wide-brimmed hat, who eyed them disapprovingly.
'Come on Lise. This is our stop,' Jackson said, panting, reluctantly disentangling himself.
He flashed a charming smile at the lady, who scowled in return, and lead Lisa by the hand out of the elevator and onto the landing.
XXXXXXXXXX
The landing was wide, airy, and circular. High above them, Lisa saw there was an old-fashioned chandelier, hanging precariously over a vast, hollow core, positioned behind the elevator.
There were just two doors on this floor.
Jackson's apartment was to their right, facing another apartment directly opposite.
Lisa was instantly wary. The black and white checkered tiles of the ground floor courtyard, which she had not noticed when she first entered the building as they had headed directly for the elevator, seemed a very long way down.
What unnerved her most was the strangely surreal sense that the landing itself was floating in the ether, even though common sense told her that this could hardly be the case. She looked up and saw that the landing above them was stoutly constructed, supported by vast concrete pillars, which seemed to originate from the ground floor.
'You're not scared of heights, are you?' Jackson asked.
'A little,' she admitted. 'Though, it's more fear of the building.'
'It's beautifully designed,' Jackson said.
He held out his hand for her to take hold of.
'Well. Just in case you are scared,' he said.
Lisa hadn't realized how frightened she was, until they walked around the landing towards Jackson's flat, away from the relative safety of the elevator and closer to the hollow heart of the building. The only barrier between the landing and the steep drop below was an ornate metal banister, which Lisa fancied to be a little too flimsy for her liking.
To her shame, she couldn't help but pin herself as close to the wall as possible.
She was also perspiring.
Jackson gently pulled her towards him, his eyes never leaving her face.
'Are you sure it's the building you're frightened of Lise, or is it me?' he asked.
Lisa pulled him close, clutching at him for comfort.
'It's not you,' she said, terrifyingly aware that she was beginning to boil over with panic.
Not now, she pleaded. Not now.
'Everything's fine. I promise,' he said soothingly. 'Stay calm.'
Jackson tenderly stroked her hair. He kissed her repeatedly on the forehead, her cheeks, her lips. But as soon as he moved away, towards his front door, Lisa could feel herself panicking again, succumbing to visions of her toppling forwards, headlong over that banister – it suddenly seemed too close.
Lisa held onto Jackson's shirt as he rummaged in his jeans pocket for a bunch of keys. He slotted a key into the lock.
Lisa smiled bravely at him. How ridiculous he must think I am, Lisa mused.
But then Jackson froze, his face instantly stiffening.
'What is it?' she asked.
Jackson pushed his ear to the door, keenly listening.
'Fuck,' he whispered.
He was about to manoeuvre Lisa away from the door, and head back to the elevator, when the front door swung open, and Alex's voice echoed around the landing.
'Jackson!' she cried. 'Where have you been?'
Loud indie rock music was blaring from inside the apartment, and there was a man's voice deep inside, laughing uproariously.
Lisa instinctively crouched down, squeezing herself tightly against the wall, to the left of the doorway, out of eye shot.
She closed her eyes, determined to fight the swirling nausea brewing up inside her.
She let her hand fall from Jackson's shirt, even though he had instantly moved leftwards, slouching against the wall, in an effort to conceal her.
'Oh, just doing stuff,' he said in a bored drawl. He was fumbling in his back pocket for something.
'Well come on in,' Alex said impatiently, kissing him on the cheek. 'Daddy's sending a car round to pick you up any minute. He's frantic to see you.'
'What for?' Jackson still hadn't budged from the doorway. He had pulled a small rectangular box out of his pocket and was desperately reaching behind himself, trying to find Lisa.
She grasped it, shoving it into her jeans pocket, strangely conscious of his warm skin, even in that briefest of contacts.
It occurred to her that she might never touch him again.
Jackson stepped into the apartment. The door was closing behind him, and yet still Lisa could hear Alex's high-pitched voice informing him that his meeting had been brought forward to tonight and Daddy had been trying to call him all afternoon.
And then the voices faded, so that all Lisa could hear was the faint blare and beat of music, throbbing in the background.
She took a deep breath, willing herself not to look straight ahead, and decided to crawl instead, on all fours, back to the elevator, focusing only on the narrow band of cold tiles directly in front of her.
Her heart was pounding frantically inside her chest and sweat was streaming down her face.
She reached the elevator, clawing herself into a standing position using the portcullis-styled grille which acted as a gateway, usually ready to spring open once the elevator arrived, and pressed the call button, tightly closing her eyes until she heard its arrival.
She opened the door and dived inside.
XXXXXXXXXX
Once outside the building, Lisa ran as fast as she could, her lungs almost bursting with the effort to get away, as far away as possible.
As soon as she returned to the hurly burly and driving rain of Fifth Avenue, Lisa hailed a cab, panting with exhaustion, marveling that she was able to find a cab so quickly in this weather.
Safe inside, she asked the driver to take her to the Sheraton Manhattan.
Only now did she dare to think about what might have happened.
Dare to look at what Jackson had given her.
She pulled the box from her pocket.
Clutched tightly in her palm was the cassette; the recording she had made of them in her bedroom, that night in Miami..The recording she had once hoped would convince the police of Jackson's identity and his involvement in the Keefe case.
It felt so long ago.
Why had he given it to her? she wondered, her throat constricted and aching from a sudden desire to sob. She wiped thick hot tears away, with her rain-soaked shirt-sleeve, then stared out of the window, at the sodden streets, the pedestrians splushing through puddled sidewalks, steering clear of the spray kicked up by passing vehicles at the curbside.
It had to be a goodbye gift. His final parting gesture. A memento, she thought. He knew how much she had wanted it. And presumably he now trusted her enough to have it. To not reveal his true identity to the police, to not expose his complicity in the Keefe case.
Unless ...
What if ... What if he expected, even hoped she would play this tape to the police? Might that mean he wanted the Keefe case to be re-opened? And if so, why?
That would only mean one thing. That he felt his own life was in serious danger. Serious enough to pass the tape on to her. As insurance.
Lisa sighed, terrified of the fear and confusion bubbling up inside of her. She had to think this through, very carefully.
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The Real Deal