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The Real Deal	By : Gallivant Category: M through R > Red Eye Views: 3200 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye. I am not making any money from publishing this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Rigoletto
'So you're telling me that you actually met this Jackson character yesterday afternoon?' Charley asked, as she stuffed a forkful of bacon and scrambled egg into her mouth. 'Don't you think that's a tad dangerous Lisa, in view of his past record?'
Lisa sighed. 'Probably.'
But not for the reason Charley envisaged, as she increasingly feared she was more in danger from her own feelings, than anything Jackson might actually do to her.
Since her abrupt departure from Jackson's apartment building yesterday afternoon, she had been in turmoil. She didn't know how, when or why she had evolved such a strong emotional response to him.
It seemed a nonsense, particularly after the angst and fear he had subjected her to.
But there it was. She couldn't help it. Couldn't help herself from feeling terrified that Jackson had not been wholly honest with her, and that his own life was possibly in danger.
Why else had he given her the tape?
'I mean ... you say he was watching my apartment two nights ago,' Charley continued. 'How the heck did he know where I lived? Has that occurred to you?' She then looked around, trying to catch the attention of a passing waiter. She signaled for fresh coffee. 'Might as well get what we can ... this is on tab, huh?'
Lisa smiled. 'Sure. It's all billed to the Keefe campaign.'
Lisa toyed with her breakfast; a hotel buffet special, comprising typically sloppy scrambled eggs, greasy rashers of bacon and some insipid squidgy-looking mushrooms which resembled a collection of small brown slugs congregating on the side of her plate.
She had little appetite after a restless night. Made worse by the fact that Charley didn't show up until this morning, after a crazed night out with some friends she'd met while shopping yesterday afternoon in Bloomingdales. She'd forgotten her agreement to stay at The Sheraton Manhattan, instead rolling back to her apartment at four in the morning, only to find she was locked out and forced to call an emergency locksmith.
'And you say Jackson gave you a tape?' Charley asked, eyeing her friend thoughtfully. Lisa nodded.
'A tape you made of a conversation you and Jackson once had in Miami ... which said what exactly?'
Lisa blinked back tears. Why had she ever got herself involved in this almighty mess? It all seemed so silly, so sordid.
'It was a dialogue ... well, more an argument ... where he stated who he was, and ...' She leaned closer across the table to speak in a whisper to Charley, only just avoiding spludging fried tomato stains on her pale blue blouse. 'He admits his involvement in the plot to kill Charles Keefe.'
Charley smirked. 'So this is the famous tape you made while making out?'
'That's ... beside the point Charley,' Lisa said, reddening.
'Sure it is,' Charley said, watching her over the rim of her coffee cup.
'Can I hear it?' Charley asked.
Lisa shrugged. 'I don't have a player.'
Charley looked pensive. 'I tell you what Lisa. Let's finish up. You pop back upstairs to your room and give me a few minutes. I've an idea.'
XXXXXXXXXX
Charley soon arrived with an old-fashioned Sony Walkman, which she had procured from reception.
'It's a temporary loan ... someone might come back and reclaim this one day, although it's been stuck in lost property for five years,' she giggled.
'You really want to hear it?' Lisa said, strangely reluctant to pass the tape to Charley.
It felt like a small betrayal.
'I'm interested to see just how explosive this stuff actually is,' Charley said in surprisingly matter-of-fact tones. 'If you're dead set on still handing this tape over to the police, you'd better have some idea just how badly this might screw up lover boy.'
'He's not my lover boy,' Lisa said, exasperated. 'Nothing like ... .'
'So why are you still holding on to the tape? Why aren't you currently discussing its contents with your nearest NYPD officer?' Charley asked.
Charley opened the mini-bar. 'Is this on tab too?' she asked. Lisa didn't know.
Charley pulled out a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, cracked open the seal and poured it into a tumbler.
'You've just had breakfast,' Lisa scolded, pacing the room impatiently.
'Best hangover cure I know,' Charley mumbled. She perched herself on the edge of the bed, and thrust out a hand to ambush Lisa as she passed. Lisa was still clutching the tape.
'Come on. Hand it over,' Charley said.
Lisa passed the tape to Charley who slotted it into the Walkman, then pushed the headphones onto her ears and pressed play.
She listened intently, a concentrated frown on her face.
Lisa waited anxiously. She sank onto the couch facing Charley, who was sprawling on the bed.
After what felt like an age later, but was actually closer to ten minutes, Charley slipped the headphones off, a stern expression on her face.
'OK, you want my opinion?' she asked.
Lisa was chewing her nails, a habit she thought she'd given up over twenty years ago. She nodded mutely.
'This would see your friend in court, for sure, and likely imprisoned.'
'So you say I do nothing?'
'This is as good as a full confession. Although a decent lawyer might claim it's inadmissible evidence, seeing as you effectively set up a honey trap … and I'm not sure that's legal.'
'Maybe it's admissible in some states and not in others?'
'Whatever. You need a lawyer Lisa. I'm just a poor, struggling artist. Who am I to know?' Charley flashed Lisa a bright, reassuring smile. She gulped back her Jack Daniels, swilling it around her mouth, before swallowing.
'What about a police officer?' Lisa asked, largely to herself, as she suddenly recalled how Officer Novelli had insisted she call him if she had any concerns.
Well. Surely this counted.
Charley shook her head vehemently. 'Bad move Lisa. Any law-abiding police officer – and there's still a fair few of them out there – would feel compelled to investigate further.'
'But I know someone … he was going to help me out before,' Lisa remonstrated.
'You first need to speak with this Jackson guy. Clarify his intentions.'
Lisa sighed. 'He's in the Hamptons. Some business meeting.'
'Can you call him?'
'I don't have his number. Whenever he calls me, for some weird reason, the number is never stored on my cell,' Lisa said fretfully.
Charley slipped the tape out of the Walkman, and studied it. 'Have you just the one copy?'
Lisa nodded.
'OK. Here's what we do,' Charley said efficiently. 'I'll keep hold of this and get a copy made. I've got a double tape deck in my apartment. And meanwhile, you find a way of contacting lover boy.'
Lisa opened her mouth to contradict her, yet again, but Charley blithely carried on.
'You need to see if he wants you to go to the police … 'cause if he does Lisa, that means there's some heavy shit going on … and you're involved too, whether you like it or not.'
'I know.'
'So it's best you don't keep this on your person,' Charley said finally, snapping open her purse and dropping the tape inside.
Again, Lisa nodded.
Charley was right. They could do with a back-up copy. And it had already occurred to her too, that if Jackson feared for his own well being, then she might also be in some danger. Better to have the one piece of evidence which could re-open the Keefe case, as far away from herself as possible.
But now she had to find Jackson, or at least hope he contacted her, as soon as conveniently possible.
She chewed her nails anxiously.
'Hey kid!' Charley exclaimed, reaching out and batting her friend's hands from her mouth. 'Enough of that! We've got a plan … a good plan. Just call this Beauchamps place where Jackson works. Or drop by. Get hold of his cell number.'
If only it was that easy, Lisa thought with an inward groan. But of course Charley had no idea that Jackson actually worked for George De Bowen – who also happened to be Charley's main sponsor and benefactor.
Best to leave it that way.
'I've got to get ready to meet Charles Keefe,' Lisa said breezily, in a bold attempt to pep herself up. 'I'll probably get to see him later this morning. I'll … handle Jackson later.'
'Sure. It's your call,' Charley said, suppressing a yawn. 'Shit man. I'm pooped.'
Not surprising, Lisa thought, looking at the empty Jack Daniels bottle.
XXXXXXXXXX
Lisa was called by Talbot Haynes a few hours later.
Keefe had finally arrived in New York, late last night, but a day earlier than expected, booking into the Presidential Suite at The Sheraton New York, where he had originally hoped to talk with Lisa this morning.
Unfortunately, his visit to New York had excited far greater interest than first anticipated. His morning had already been inundated with press requests for interviews and a few prominent fundraisers had petitioned him to attend a string of events in New York state over the next couple of days – events he felt it rude to ignore.
Lisa realized, with a rapidly sinking feeling, that she was being bumped again.
All she wanted to do, was pay her respects to Keefe – if only for his hospitality in recent days – and head home to Miami. Jackson had warned her to get out of New York as soon as possible, and she increasingly felt the need to heed his words.
Talbot explained that Charles had a major studio interview that afternoon and a fundraising dinner that evening, so unless he managed to squeeze in a quick one-to-one with Lisa very late tonight, she'd have to wait until the following morning.
Lisa agreed to visit the Presidential Suite for a late 'nightcap' as Talbot put it.
At least then her commitments in New York would be out of the way; the opera got through, and Keefe sorted.
Tomorrow she would be free.
XXXXXXXXXX
Charley had headed out to go shopping on Madison Avenue some hours ago, hoping to find appropriate opera attire, as she put it – although Lisa thought she had plenty enough nice clothes, and that really, going to the opera wasn't so fancy anymore.
She realized she might have got this very wrong when Colm Buchanan, very handsomely dressed in a tuxedo, arrived, unannounced, at her hotel room.
Lisa was immediately thrown into disarray. She was slumped on her bed, half-heartedly watching a re-run of Oprah, a lurid green face pack smeared on her face, when the door buzzer burst into action.
For one fleeting but joyous moment she hoped it might be Jackson.
Colm didn't seem to realize he was some forty-five minutes early. He was supposed to arrive at six thirty.
'I hope I'm not disturbing you,' Colm said casually, settling himself onto the couch with an air of natural entitlement which Lisa found especially riling. 'And where's your friend Charlotte?'
'Charley,' Lisa said emphatically. She hoped Charley didn't like Colm as much as she had made out, otherwise she might be sorely disappointed.
'She's out. Shopping,' Lisa informed him in curt tones. 'Do you mind if I go freshen up?'
Colm grinned. 'Feel free.' He folded his arms over his chest and gave her a long, appraising look. Lisa could feel herself blush hotly under his scrutinizing gaze.
Lisa was glad to escape to the bathroom, but was soon overcome with an acute sense of self-awareness that she was standing naked in the shower cubicle, aware that Colm could hear the running water and probably knew this too.
She hastened out of the shower, quickly towel-drying her hair, ruing the fact that she had carelessly left her dress – simple, red and tightly-fitted – hanging over a chair in the bedroom.
Colm was checking his bow tie in the mirror when she entered. He jumped guiltily. Her eyes instantly flicked to her suitcase, which was open. Had he been poking around? she thought suspiciously.
But a brief moment later and he was smiling, seemingly at ease.
'You caught me,' he said.
Lisa looked at him quizzically, wrapping herself more firmly into a huge white enveloping towel she had tightly wound around her body.
'I was being vain,' he explained.
Lisa smiled, then she quickly grabbed her dress, along with some underwear, stockings and suspenders, and headed back to the bathroom to get dressed and apply a little bit of makeup.
Where the hell has Charley got to? she thought, increasingly uncomfortable at Colm's presence in her bedroom. Why hadn't he just waited in reception, like any reasonable human being?
XXXXXXXXXXX
Soon afterwards, she was in the elevator with Colm.
Charley still hadn't arrived, and Lisa was increasingly anxious.
'She knows where to go,' Colm said coolly.
'I'd better leave a message for her,' Lisa said, heading straight for reception once they had exited the elevator.
Lisa swiftly wrote a note, which she handed to the receptionist, informing Charley that she had already set off for Rigoletto, and hoped to see her later.
Colm had a car waiting outside.
'Talbot's a little late … says he'll follow on afterwards,' he said.
Lisa could hardly believe that she was thinking this, but the prospect of seeing Talbot Haynes was a very welcome one indeed.
XXXXXXXXXX
Lisa was sure they would be early for the opera, but there was already a sizeable crowd milling in the grand plaza at the Lincoln Center, thronging around a central fountain. The Metropolitan Opera House itself was lit up inside, shimmering invitingly through the tall, graciously arched windows which dominated the building's elegant front façade.
Lisa couldn't help thrilling at the sight.
Colm quickly ushered her inside.
'I should wait for Charley to show,' Lisa said. But Colm linked his arm through hers and firmly steered her towards a bar.
'Let's enjoy a glass of champagne together,' he said, grinning. 'Charley's a big girl. I'm sure she'll find us soon enough.'
'No Colm. I insist,' Lisa said, untangling her arm from his grip. However, just as she was about to break free, Talbot Haynes, shiny-faced, his tall spindly figure firmly trussed into an ill-fitting suit, was fast approaching.
'Lisa! Colm!' he squeaked excitedly. 'I managed to get away … finally. Hugely successful afternoon at NBC,' he added with gusto, seizing the glass of champagne Colm offered him. 'Charles was just great. Impeccable. Perfect.'
'Glad to hear it,' Colm said.
Lisa nodded politely, her eyes constantly darting towards the open doorways, imploring Charley to come striding towards them.
'Have you seen Rigoletto before?' Talbot asked, forcing her to address him in return.
'No … I've rarely been to the opera.'
'Well you're in for a treat Lisa,' Talbot said, grinning with what Lisa realized was genuine boyish fervour about the opera in prospect. 'This was the first major musical triumph of Verdi's middle period,' he added, assuming a learned air.
'Leave it out Talbot,' Colm snapped. 'The girl's not wanting one of your bloody musical appreciation lectures.'
Lisa instantly felt protective towards Talbot, who she saw shrink a little under Colm's sneering rebuttal.
'I would love to know more, Talbot,' she said defiantly.
Talbot brightened. 'Well, Verdi … as you know … is one of the great operatic composers. Italian. Nineteenth Century. And Rigoletto is something of a tragedy, when all's said and done. Although it has its lighter moments.'
Colm brusquely intervened, shoving a program into Lisa's hands. 'Here. It's all in here.'
He smiled winningly at Lisa.
It struck Lisa that Colm was actually fighting for her attention, and not being overly gracious about it in the process.
She glanced at the plot synopsis, Talbot craning to share her view. He trailed a long, thin finger down the page.
'You see Lisa,' he murmured. 'It's about this Duke, who's a bit of a womanizing cad.'
Lisa could hear Colm snickering behind her.
'… and he falls for this beautiful girl he sees in church one day. And he has this fool … a court jester.'
'Rigoletto,' Colm interjected in his burnished baritone, booming in Lisa's ear.
Talbot nodded. 'And he hates the corruption and evil he sees in society, even though he is part of it, so he prefers to hide his daughter away … away from harm. But one day the Duke comes to visit her, pretending to be a humble student. You see she was the girl he saw in church. He professes his love, and she falls for him. But then, Rigoletto's enemies abduct his daughter… .'
'Gilda. Her name's Gilda,' Colm said.
Talbot sighed, huffily. 'Yes. Gilda. And poor old Rigoletto even assists them. Unwittingly, of course. Anyway, the Duke is very sad that Gilda has been abducted until he is told by his noblemen that she is actually waiting for him in his bedchamber, so off he goes to ... well ... seal his conquest. Meanwhile Rigoletto is heartbroken. Gilda, however, continues to love the Duke, despite his ill-use of her and his appalling reputation. Even though ... she is now effectively ruined.'
'Why? What has she done?' Lisa asked.
'In those days, a woman's virtue was all important.'
A loud bell clanged, alerting the gaggle of people crowding the bar and the foyer that the show was soon to commence. Colm instantly pulled Lisa away from the bar, guiding her towards the theater.
Talbot trotted after them, a peevish scowl on his face as he had been unable to finish his story.
'Oh hell. Charley's not come,' Lisa said.
'Yes she has,' Colm muttered, as Charley bounded towards them.
'Oh man!' she shrilled. 'That was a close call. I was stuck at this god awful bar in Gramercy Park … a friend's birthday bash. I nearly forgot! … hey guys, do you like my frock?'
She twirled, showing off a gauzy pink number, cut into what Lisa could only describe as 'interesting' tatters.
Colm grinned broadly. 'You're a feast for the eyes, milady.'
Charley colored with pleasure at what she perceived to be a compliment, although Lisa wasn't so sure that was how it was intended.
XXXXXXXXXX
Colm's parterre box, situated to the side of the stalls, ensured they had an excellent view of the opera. Lisa loved every minute, relishing the singing, the music. She was moved most particularly by the loving relationship between Rigoletto and his daughter, and his efforts to protect her.
Her thoughts often flitted to Jackson, wondering if he liked opera. Wondering what he would think of the singers – particularly the young Russian soprano singing Gilda, whose voice effortlessly soared to the highest points of the musical register, like a beautiful bird taking flight.
At times, in the darkened theatre, Lisa almost felt or at least desired Jackson's presence, so much so, she couldn't suppress a flicker of hot-blooded spite when Colm accidentally brushed his knee against hers, then left it, lingering, his thigh warm against hers.
She edged away, hoping it was an accident.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Luckily Charley seemed to wholly preoccupy Colm during the first interval.
Colm had ordered a fresh bottle of Cristal, and bagged a table in advance in the intermission bar reserved for parterre ticket holders only.
Lisa thanked Talbot for his synopsis thus far of the opera. He told her that the Duke, unfortunately, would soon prove to be a faithless, nasty, misogynistic piece of work, and that Rigoletto would decide to murder him.
'Good job too,' Lisa smirked.
Talbot frowned. 'Sadly Gilda, who somehow still loves him, even though she sees him flirting with another woman, decides to sacrifice herself for the Duke instead.'
'What do you mean?' Lisa asked, alarmed.
'I warned you it was a tragedy,' Talbot said with a cheerless shrug of the shoulders. He swigged back some champagne. 'She infiltrates her father's assassination plot, and pretends to be the Duke, hiding in a sack intended for him, meaning she gets killed instead of the Duke. Her father discovers the gory truth and they sing together as she dies in his arms.'
'Shit no!' Lisa said, seriously rattled at this outcome.
'It's spine-tingling,' Talbot said lugubriously. 'The final duet is something else.'
'That's so unfair,' Lisa muttered. She thumbed through the program half-heartedly, hoping to hide the unexpected wave of emotion which washed through her. She hated that Gilda had to die. And that it was her own father who inadvertently killed her … it was too much.
She then spotted the familiar curly S-loop of the De Bowens corporate logo. Slap bang at the head of the sponsors page with a mini-biography of George De Bowen.
So they weren't just interested in painting, but all the arts, she thought. She imagined George De Bowen, smiling graciously with due gravitas and dignity at the mere mortals who had ventured to one of his operas.
It seemed incongruous that such a man might also be the chief architect of the Keefe assassination plot.
But she believed Jackson. Completely.
Talbot was watching her closely. 'Such a great, great guy,' he said, pointing to the tiny black and white photo of George accompanying his biography. 'Used to be a big-time fundraiser, and a good friend to Charles too.'
'Really?' Lisa asked, genuinely taken aback at this news.
'Oh yes. And he's still a big party man.'
'So what went wrong?' Lisa asked, curious.
Talbot pondered this question for a few moments. 'You know, I'm not entirely sure. But they fell out. We all feared De Bowen might take his money to Fitch, but he seemed to pull away from politics altogether. Now he puts his money into the arts instead.'
Talbot suddenly grimaced. 'Hey Lisa. Don't mention this to Charles when you see him later.'
'Don't worry. I won't.'
'He still doesn't like to hear about him. Doesn't even like to hear De Bowen's name. Says he's not called the Axeman of Wall Street for nothing.'
Lisa suddenly felt her insides spinning frantically. The Axeman of Wall Street?
'Why … why is he called that?' she asked tentatively. 'He looks such a … congenial old man.'
Talbot laughed. 'You're joking, right? Sure, he's a real gent … but he's damned ruthless in business. Takes no prisoners, you know what I mean?'
Lisa nodded, unable to speak. Her throat felt dry and constricted and she was struggling for air.
If De Bowen's nickname was The Axeman, did that mean the computer virus which had invaded the systems at the Lux Atlantic was in fact a warning … to her, from him? The virus had been preceded by a single image, Cynthia had said, of an axeman … with the words, The Axeman Cometh.
Cometh where? To Miami?
Her head reeled with this fresh information. Had the virus simply been a sign that he, they, whoever and whatever De Bowen's organization truly represented, knew that she had been in communication with Jackson?
And did Jackson know this already?
'You OK Lisa?' Talbot asked, concerned at her sudden morosity. He poured more champagne into her glass.
'I'm fine,' she whispered.
Thankfully, the bell rang, saving Lisa from Talbot's prying attentions.
'Colm suggests we go for a drink after the show. You up for it?' Charley said to Lisa, her eyes shining with excitement.
'I can't,' Lisa said. 'I'm meeting Keefe.'
'Again?' Charley asked.
Lisa pulled a face. 'Nope. This is third ... actually, it might even be the fourth time lucky … I've lost count.'
XXXXXXXXXX
The next act flew by in a flash. Lisa could hardly concentrate. Her mind was reeling with the thought that even Miami might not be the safe haven she - and clearly Jackson too - had once hoped. Of course it was probably folly to think that anywhere would be safe when dealing with a man of the power and resources of a George De Bowen.
She was relieved when the next interval came and she was able to get out of the theater, desperate for fresh air and a moment's respite from Talbot's well-intended but irritating babble and the oppressive sense that Colm was watching her every move, even whilst being talked to death by Charley who was in full-on flirtatious hyperdrive.
Other theatergoers had congregated outside, chiefly around the fountain.
Lisa was so desperate to see Jackson, to talk with him, she even fancied, for one fleeting moment, that she had seen him, a lean, shadowy figure, loitering to the left of the crowd, then skulking out of sight.
Lisa was so driven with hope – however false – she found herself running in that direction.
But there was no one there.
She now faced Columbus Avenue, and seeing an available cab, she was half-tempted just to jump inside and take off. Sod the meeting with Keefe. She didn't want to work in politics anyway. And home to Miami. Home to Dad, who she had badly neglected since this whole nasty business had gotten underway.
Home to reality.
Thinking of her Dad made her realize that she had missed talking to him. A voice of reason. Of normalcy.
She plucked her cell phone from her purse and switched it on.
Instantly she saw she had three voicemail messages.
The first was from Charley, explaining that she was late. The second was from her father, who was sounding decidedly agitated that he had not heard from her. She resolved to call him immediately.
But then she heard the third message.
It was Jackson.
He wanted to speak to her and had left a number for her to call.
Lisa's fingers were trembling as she dialed. This had to be bad. Scary bad. She could feel it in her bones.
After a long wait, Jackson finally answered.
'Lisa?' he said.
'Yes, it's me.'
'OK, listen Lise, I'm going to be real quick … .'
She was straining to make out his voice, almost as though he was walking through wind.
'Sure. Where are you?'
'On a roof-top. In New York,' he said. 'The thing is Lise, I've got a bad feeling … .'
For a brief moment his voice seemed to fade away, then he returned. 'Can you hear me?'
'Just about,' Lisa replied, her heart beating frantically. 'Go on.'
'Look, I think it's best you get out of town tonight. If you can.'
'Why?' she asked, aware of a ghastly sickening in her stomach. 'Why so soon?'
'Something Alex said. She knows a lot more about you than I thought.'
'Like what?'
Jackson sighed. 'There's a fundraiser, for Keefe, coming up sometime this week in New York. She's been invited. She mentioned, in passing, that we met a girl at Charley's art show who once saved his life. She … she doesn't know that I know you.'
'Did she say this to you alone?'
'Yeah. I've no idea if she's said anything to her father. I mean it's not the stuff of everyday chit-chat … and he's been pretty wrapped up … .'
His voice momentarily went out of range, then drifted back again.
'Jackson. The virus at work, I told you about,' Lisa blurted. '… There was a picture. Of an axeman.'
There was a long pause at Jackson's end. 'You know that could just be kids Lise.'
'But De Bowen … it's what they call De Bowen,' Lisa said, struggling to suppress the panic in her voice. 'Jackson? Did you get that? Are you there?'
'… OK, look … this is a bad connection. I'd better call off now, but I just wanted to be sure you knew what was going on. That you know to get yourself home.'
Lisa fell silent. Was that really it? No instructions. No offers of further assistance. No apologies for this whole damned mess.
'Lisa?' Jackson asked. 'Lisa. Are you still there?'
'Sure. I'm here,' Lisa sighed wearily.
The performance bell was clanging, recalling everyone to their seats. The plaza was gradually clearing.
'You heard what I said?'
'Yes, Jackson.' she snapped. 'Except I can't just go running off on a whim, this second, however much I want to. It's just … not polite. I'm at the opera with Keefe's guys. And I'm seeing their boss tonight. After that, I can do what I like.'
'Cancel,' Jackson said sharply. 'Why take unnecessary risks?'
'And what about you?'
'What about me?'
'Well, you're not running away, are you?'
Jackson laughed bitterly. 'I can look after myself. I've dealt with worse. … And don't forget, I'm marrying the boss's daughter. I'm almost untouchable.'
'How very convenient,' Lisa said sarcastically.
'Look Lise. You've got the tape right?' Jackson said, a little more urgently now. 'Hold it safe. Don't destroy it.'
'I wasn't going to,' she said softly.
'You never know. It might come in handy one of these days. If … if something happens to me.'
'How would I know?'
'You'd know,' Jackson said. 'I promise.'
Lisa could hear a burble of voices in the background. And then Jackson was gone.
Slowly, reluctantly, she switched off her phone, aware of the insistent ringing of the theater bell. She spun round to return to the opera house, almost colliding with Colm Buchanan, who was rapidly striding towards her.
'Lisa. There you are,' he said in his warm, smooth tones. 'We thought we'd lost you.'
'I was just making a call,' she muttered.
'The show's about to start,' he said, snaking his arm around her waist and drawing her close. Lisa could smell his after-shave; a clean, bracing odour. He led her back inside.
XXXXXXXXXXX
What had he meant? If something happens to me … just how much imminent danger was Jackson really in? This was far worse than she'd first feared.
Lisa's head was alive with a jumble of thoughts, gut-churning fears, rolling through her, as she sat in the corner of Colm Buchanan's parterre box. She was so highly strung she could hardly breathe. Her chest felt tight and sore.
She was almost too frightened to think about her current situation, the possible consequences … yet almost too frightened to focus either on the stage before her, as Gilda's tragedy gradually unfolded and the Duke's morally vacuous perfidy ultimately revealed.
Somehow every note, every quaver, seemed to pierce her emotionally, stoking her into a fizz of feeling.
There was an outstanding quartet, a melding of voices so sweet, she could hardly hold back the tears at the beauty of it all.
However, she gave in during the final glorious duet, allowing her tears to fall thick and fast down her cheeks, as Rigoletto cried out in anguish, as he held his daughter in his arms, her voice soaring skywards, even as she was dying.
Yet this heart-stopping moment was almost ruined, by the uncanny sensation that she was being watched.
Sure enough, Colm Buchanan, who was wedged beside her, was gazing at her with rapt attention, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. And somehow his witnessing her unguarded display of emotion felt particularly intrusive.
Lisa's resentment was interrupted by a tumultuous burst of applause which let rip from the audience. The singers were taking their bows and many in the audience were standing, to demonstrate their support.
For one brief moment, Lisa forgot her worries and fears, and felt herself uplifted, even moved, by the collective outpouring of appreciation. Charley was standing too, clapping and whooping at the top of her voice, clearly lost in the moment. Lisa couldn't help but grin at her indomitable, spirited friend, who never cared what people thought of her.
'We'd best get going,' murmured Colm.
'Sure,' Lisa said politely.
XXXXXXXXXX
The four of them huddled together outside the theater. Lisa was glad she had brought a thick black wrap with her. The temperature was rapidly dropping. Charley's flimsy outfit seemed particularly ill equipped to deal with a harsh, wintry breeze which was suddenly gusting across the plaza towards them. She shivered, clutching her arms for warmth, sidling close to Colm for extra protection. Colm smiled benignly, and to Lisa's surprise, he pulled her closer.
Maybe Charley had finally hooked her fish, after what had been a determined effort all evening, Lisa thought wryly.
'Are you sure you have to go see this Keefe guy now?' Charley moaned to Lisa.
Lisa pulled a face. 'He's a busy man.'
'I'll escort you back to the hotel,' Talbot offered.
'Hey, you promised me a drink, don't you remember?' Colm said cheerily.
Talbot grimaced. 'I've got a family to get home to … and it's late enough as it is.'
Colm looked troubled. 'One drink won't be hurting ya Talbot, come along,' he urged, his native accent suddenly harsh and grating.
But Talbot stood his ground. 'I've a young lady to attend to,' he said, indicating Lisa.
'Thank you,' Lisa said, smiling. And she meant it too. After speaking with Jackson, she didn't fancy wandering the streets of New York on her own. And she was slightly surprised that the ever gentlemanly Colm Buchanan hadn't rushed to escort her himself.
But instead, his attention now seemed to be firmly focused on Charley, and their next destination.
Charley planted a sloppy kiss on Lisa's cheek. 'Give me a call in the morning Hon,' she said. 'Hope all goes well.'
'You're going home then?'
'Yeah. I've changed the locks, remember? I'll be safe as houses,' Charley said in low tones.
'And … I'm thinking I might have some company,' Charley added, gesticulating towards Colm, who was talking with Talbot.
'I see,' Lisa said. 'Well, look after yourself.'
'I will,' Charley said, with a wink.
Talbot was already waiting for Lisa. They walked through the plaza together towards Columbus Avenue. There was a throng of operagoers waiting for cabs, or standing in line at the bus stop, so they decided to push on, tripping down the steps leading from the Lincoln Center Plaza to the sidewalk. They headed towards Midtown.
'It's gotten nippy,' Talbot said, wrapping his coat a little closer around his lanky form.
'Thanks again for walking with me,' Lisa said.
'You're welcome Lisa,' Talbot said. 'And it's only fair that I deposit you safely with Charles, seeing as I've dragged you all the way from Miami for what's going to be a very brief meeting I'm afraid.'
'Oh don't worry about that. It's been fun,' Lisa said, sharply aware of the irony of that statement. She was simply desperate to get this whole business over with.
They paused a moment, hoping to spot an available cab, but were out of luck. They reached the junction of Columbus Avenue and Sixty-Second Street.
'We should take a left here,' Talbot said. 'We'll soon hit Broadway where there'll be more cabs.'
They crossed Columbus Avenue and headed onto Sixty-Second Street, which was a lot less trafficked this time of night, with cars moving one-way, but in the opposite direction to where they were headed.
Lisa felt a little uneasy, speeding up a little, in the hope of hitting Broadway that bit quicker.
'Looks like you might get home pretty late,' Lisa said grimly, panting a little.
Talbot shrugged. 'Marlene's used to it unfortunately. It's the nature of the beast.' He cast a sidelong look at Lisa. 'I mean my line of work. It's very time-intensive.'
'But very rewarding.'
'I hope so,' Talbot said eagerly. 'That's what I tell myself! Once President Keefe has been duly elected, I can get home to Marlene and the kids any time, any day … until the next campaign comes along.'
They arrived at a wide junction with Broadway. But there was hardly a cab in sight, even though the sidewalks were surprisingly packed with people.
'We ain't gonna get much luck here,' Talbot murmured. 'I say we push onto Central Park, and even if we don't get a cab, it's not too great a walk from there to Seventh Avenue.'
Lisa concurred, although deep down she would rather have stuck to the bright lights and bustle of Broadway. Instead they plunged further into the comparative stillness of Sixty-Second Street as it stretched from Broadway towards Central Park West.
Lisa's sense of unease was swiftly magnified by the almost complete lack of traffic in this section of Sixty-Second Street, and the sudden unnerving quiet, as the sounds of Broadway faded behind them. There were large-scale building operations in place on both sides of the street, forcing them to walk under poorly lit covered wooden walkways; the outcrops of extensive scaffolding structures, attached to darkened high-rise office and apartment blocks.
Lisa could hear her own breathing, tense and labored, as they walked.
Talbot's steps close behind her were a source of comfort.
'I'm not liking this,' she said, trying to inject a note of laughter into her voice.
'Maybe we should have stuck to Broadway,' Talbot murmured. 'Just a little bit further and we'll hit civilization,' he joked.
A couple of cars passed them, which Lisa found oddly reassuring. Better not to be alone, she thought.
However, she was mindful that one of the cars had stopped, pulling into the opposite curb. She hurried on. She could see a clump of trees and a busier road just moments ahead.
Suddenly a tall, stocky man was blocking her path.
He seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
Lisa gasped in shock. She braked fast, then tried to push beyond him, but he grasped her wrists and pulled her roughly against him, his arm hoisting her upwards by the neck, with such force, she could hardly breathe, let alone scream. He dragged her to the end of the walkway.
Talbot emerged from the shadows, after them, and seeing that Lisa was under attack, he launched himself at the man, a terrified yet furious look on his face.
'Get your hands off her!' he yelled.
The tall man simply kicked him to the ground, but Talbot scrabbled to his feet, intent on pursuing them.
Lisa now saw what Talbot couldn't. That another man, young, clean-cut and horribly familiar, was hastening across the street towards him.
Lisa desperately tried to cry out, to warn Talbot, but the tall man holding her, clapped an expansive hand over her mouth, forcing her against his stationary car, crushing his body against hers so that she was unable to move, despite her frenzied attempts to wriggle out from his grasp.
Only now did Talbot notice the second man.
He tried to run, his eyes wide with fear, but was instantly hauled backwards by his coat, falling clumsily against his attacker who held him tight.
Talbot writhed desperately, whimpering fearfully.
Lisa froze in horror, the moment she saw the glint of cold metal. In a single brisk movement, the clean-cut young man drew the knife across Talbot's throat.
Talbot staggered forwards, as if dazed, and fell face down onto the sidewalk.
Lisa couldn't help the tears streaming down her face, the muted cry of anguish that was choking her. She was trembling all over, convulsed with fear.
The tall man opened a door and shoved her inside the car, where she crumpled against the back seat.
His associate, who she recognized as the same Brody from the art show and Charley's apartment, got into the driver's seat. He reached over to the passenger's side and pulled out a small box from the dashboard glove compartment. Lisa saw there was a syringe inside.
'No!' she shrieked. But instantly the tall man smacked her into silence with a heavy fist pounding her jaw. He grabbed the syringe and despite her ferocious squirming and kicking, he rolled up her skirt and plunged the needle into her thigh.
Lisa gasped out loud at the sudden shooting pain before being overwhelmed by a powerful heady wave of nausea. Dark spots crowded into her eyes and she felt a rush of blankness surge through her.
XXXXXXXXXX
The blank darkness gradually began to melt into brightness, mingled with the low hum of voices.
'Oh good! She's coming round,' a man was screeching excitedly.
Lisa rolled her head, trying to ease the tooth-jangling pain surging through her jaw. Her head struck a hard wooden board behind her, which she realized was probably the back of a tall, stiff-backed chair. She blinked her eyes open, squinting at two faces, bearing down on her.
She instantly recognized Brody, and with a further sinking feeling, saw that his companion was none other than George De Bowen, inspecting her with the same twitchy-nosed curiosity one would expect of a zoologist inspecting his latest find.
'Marvelous,' he said. 'Miss Reisert's finally decided to join the party.'
Lisa squealed in panic. She tried to stand up but soon realized she had been bound to the chair, her legs trussed together with thick plastic twine, her arms attached to her chair's armrests.
'Where am I?' she cried.
De Bowen grinned at Brody before answering.
'You're paying me a visit,' he said with what seemed like infantile glee. Lisa half-expected him to skip around in circles, cackling with goblin laughter.
Brody stood next to Lisa, his face a stiff mask of austere professionalism.
Lisa peered, dazed, into the bright light of a lamp, perched on a side-table to her right. The table was between herself and an expansive, red leather armchair.
Bit by bit, she was piecing together the events that had led to her being here. The full horror of what had happened.
George settled himself onto this armchair, a self-satisfied look on his face. He picked up a glass tumbler half-filled with rich, brown whiskey, from the side-table, and cradled it in his hands.
'I'd offer you a drink Miss Reisert,' he said. 'But I can't afford to untie you I'm afraid. My man says you're a bit of a wildcat.'
'You didn't have to kill Talbot,' Lisa croaked tearfully, recalling with a sudden hot flush of anger, Talbot's lifeless body, prostrate on the ground.
'He was in the way,' George said coolly.
'He was harmless,' she gasped, overwhelmed by a fierce surge of hatred, which almost took her breath away. 'He didn't deserve it.'
George sighed, as if bored. 'There's really no point upsetting yourself Miss Reisert. You hardly knew the man.'
'That's ... that's not the point,' she said in tremulous tones.
'Well. It is actually,' George chided. 'Better to save your tears for when it really matters my dear.'
He nonchalantly sipped his whiskey. 'Now ... Enough of this misery. It turns your nose all red and shiny ... which is a shame, as you have such a pretty little nose.'
Then, in jolly tones.
'I tell you what. Now that we're all here, we might as well begin having some fun, mightn't we?' He nodded to Brody who hastened away.
Lisa quickly scanned her surroundings, desperately trying to assess any possible escape routes, even though she was currently bound to a chair. She was in what looked to be a windowless, book-lined, wood-paneled study, which led to an adjoining antechamber, which she couldn't see into from her current angle. A pendulous chandelier was hanging from the ceiling, which was high and ornate, and there was a grand marble fireplace.
Above the fireplace was a broad painted canvas – bold brush-strokes depicting a series of skyscrapers, trees, streets and oddly twisted people, in grays, greens and blacks. The florid style was instantly familiar to her. The painting was clearly one of Charley's – maybe even Manhattan Jungle, which she had sold to the De Bowens, and presumed to be hanging in George De Bowen's flash Fifth Avenue apartment.
So that's where she was. And this room, this was George's personal retreat.
'I see you're admiring your friend's handiwork,' George said, referring to Manhattan Jungle.
Lisa suddenly realized, almost faint with relief, that Charley too would have been in peril – like poor Talbot – if she had dared to head back to the hotel with her, rather than opt to go home to her apartment instead.
'She's … she's very talented,' she said, her mouth suddenly dry.
'Yes. This is one of her better works in my opinion. She can get a bit beyond herself, at times. Still. My daughter's a big fan … and I do like to please my little Alex,' George said. 'Such an artistic soul.'
'She has fine taste,' Lisa added politely, wondering if her best approach in this situation might be flattery rather than bile.
'Yes … she has a good eye,' George said. He sipped a little more whiskey. 'Her mother did too.'
It now occurred to Lisa that Mrs De Bowen must be dead. And Alex was all he had.
Brody returned with the tall man from the car.
'Ah Kimble, there you are,' George said, addressing the tall man. 'Bring him in, will you?'
Kimble pulled Jackson into the room, forcing him at gunpoint to sit in another wooden chair, similar to Lisa's, close to the fireplace, facing Lisa and George.
Lisa felt sick with fear and disappointment at the sight of him, hating that they'd got him too. But she refrained from speaking, from registering her alarm. Somehow, she had to keep a cool head.
Jackson cast a brief, cursory glance at Lisa, but otherwise seemed suitably composed, although he was pale and drawn, and there was a dried ooze of blood at the corner of his mouth. Clearly he had been involved in some kind of tussle.
George frowned deeply.
'Dear me Jackson. I credited you with better manners. Aren't you at least going to acknowledge the presence of a lady in the room?'
Jackson reluctantly looked at Lisa and nodded. Kimble nudged the barrel of his gun against Jackson's head, prompting him to do more.
'I'm ... I'm so sorry Lisa. Sorry this is happening,' he said quietly. His eyes, sad and defeated, lingered on her face for maybe a split second longer than was necessary.
Lisa could feel a sob clawing at her throat.
She looked down, determined not to reveal her emotions, anything this monstrous old man with his tanned features, silvery hair and plush wine-red cardigan – as if he were all set for a jovial night of Bridge rather than whatever vile fun he had planned for them - could seize upon and enjoy.
'You can, of course, thank our dear mutual friend Mr Rippner for your being here at all, Miss Reisert,' George said. 'Turns out he really does have reason to be sorry.'
Jackson narrowed his eyes.
'Don't you recall Jackson? You were foolish enough to refer to Miss Reisert as Lise, directly in front of me at that art show where Lisa's friend made such an exhibition of herself?' George said.
Jackson had blanched. Lisa could see he was digging his nails deep into his palms. But he remained tight-lipped.
'Such a silly, silly error,' George said smiling fondly. 'Particularly seeing as she had been introduced to us as Lisa. I knew then that you were intimate in some way, and I determined to find out as much as I could about Miss Robinson's charming little friend from Miami.' He smiled an ingratiating, smarmy smile in Lisa's direction. His hand twitched, almost as though he was imagining stroking her bare arm, which he now stared at before lifting his eyes to her face. 'I have to protect my daughter's interests, you see.'
Lisa instantly looked away.
'Lisa's friend was only too ready to spill the beans, as they say … she was hardly in a condition to know what she was saying at all actually. But I soon knew enough, and I must say, it came as quite a surprise to me. … Dear, dear. I never expected you to extend your acquaintance with Miss Reisert beyond what was necessary. Remarkably unprofessional behavior Jackson.' George shook his head in admonishment.
'So you've known … all this time!' Jackson exclaimed, beginning to froth over with heated frustration. 'And you said nothing, did nothing!'
George laughed. 'I thought it best to wait until we were back in New York … I've been rather looking forward to this little interlude and I didn't want to miss it. As for doing nothing … Far from it. Our dear friend Mr Kimble here has been quite feverish on my behalf … haven't you Kimble?'
Kimble nodded.
'All at great cost to himself I might add … you're not a natural art lover, are you Kimble?'
So they'd been tailed at The Met, Lisa thought angrily.
'You see Jackson. You've been getting very slack,' George said bluntly. 'But then … you are young, and susceptible. And as a man of course, I can't really blame you,' he continued, casting what Lisa realized could only be a termed a look of drooling lasciviousness in her direction. Then his face hardened. 'But as the father of your future bride, I simply can't tolerate this errant nonsense.'
'I couldn't care less what you or your daughter think of me,' Jackson sneered.
George laughed, but there was a darker, menacing note to his voice. 'But you will care Jackson Rippner. When I've finished with you, you will care very much indeed.'
Jackson fixed his eyes, a cold, steely blue, on George's face. 'I imagine I'll be too dead to care,' he said, his voice wavering slightly.
Lisa could feel her heart racing frantically inside her chest. She hadn't wanted to face that unpalatable truth. But it was crystal clear. The likelihood of either herself or Jackson escaping this situation alive was extremely low.
George took a long sip of his whiskey. 'I have no intention of killing you Jackson. Until recently, you've been a loyal and efficient employee. And you are one of the best-trained men in the business.' He smiled, a cold, reptilian smile. 'I don't want to lose you. You're far too valuable.'
Jackson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Kimble pushed his gun even more firmly against his neck.
'And it would break my daughter's heart if something happened to you,' George said.
'But you've been trying to kill me for months!' Jackson said, exploding with rage. 'You … you sent me off to that fucking godforsaken hole in Africa, when it wasn't even my hit … .'
'You were protecting company interests,' George said in measured, tolerant tones.
Jackson shook his head and opened his mouth as if about to argue further, but decided instead to say nothing. Lisa saw that he was furiously digging his nails into his palms again.
'I simply wanted to toughen you up,' George said. 'Teach you a few little lessons. Embellish your life experience.'
'It doesn't need embellishing,' Jackson yelled, his face flushed red with fury.
'Oh but it does, Jackson, it does,' George said steadily.
'So … so I can be a better man for your blessed daughter, is that it?' Jackson said in a wheedling tone.
'Not entirely,' George mused. 'I've known you for many years. Followed your career, your personal development, with interest. And you forget I was close friends with your uncle.'
'Big fucking deal,' Jackson snarled angrily.
'I've invested a lot in you Jackson,' George continued, in gently paternal tones. 'I've defended you and protected you after that horrible little mess you made for yourself in Miami … which lost me a lot of good will I might add … and I genuinely admire your talents. Even when you're frittering them over such a worthless piece of skirt as our pretty little Miss Reisert here.'
Jackson thumped the armrest on his chair and looked like he was about to spring from his seat, but Kimble elbowed him in the face, forcing him back into the chair where he writhed in agony, clutching his nose and lips. Blood streaked across his cheeks, trickling down his mouth onto his chin.
Jackson coughed uncontrollably, spitting blood onto his hands, which he then smeared down his white shirt and pants.
George laughed. 'Dear me Jackson. What a mess you're making.'
Jackson looked again as though he was about to leap out of his chair, but Kimble was waiting. He punched him hard in the stomach, winding him. Jackson fell backwards, his face puce, eyes bulging.
Kimble then smashed a fist repeatedly against Jackson's temple, violently knocking his head against the wooden back of the chair. Fresh blood erupted and was now flowing down his face, from a gash which had opened up across his left eye-brow.
'Stop it!' Lisa cried, recoiling as if she too was feeling his pain. Hot tears flooded her cheeks.
'Don't worry my dear,' George said soothingly, reaching forwards to pat her hand. 'You won't have to watch him suffer too much you know… Like I said. I'm not going to kill him.'
He smiled smugly.
'No, indeed. Instead he's going to kill you.'

Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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The Real Deal