Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

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
- 11
- 12
- 13
CHAPTER TWELVE: Manhattan Jungle
Lisa couldn't believe what George De Bowen was saying.
Jackson was going to kill her?
Why Jackson?
George frowned deeply. He heaved a heavy sigh, laced with sadness. 'The tragedy is, of course, Miss Reisert, that you are a mere innocent bystander in this sordid little business. It's always the way, isn't it?'
Jackson's face had darkened. He stared at George, his eyes blazing with defiance.
'You've fucking lost your mind,' he said. 'She's done nothing wrong.'
'No. But you have,' George said nonchalantly. 'It's a shame that Miss Reisert won't survive your negligence, but there it is … you have to learn somehow Jackson. We've all had difficult learning experiences in life. You'll probably even thank me for it some day.'
Jackson was open-mouthed in astonishment.
'But you said she could live … that she was nothing to us, to the network. Completely discredited as a potential witness. You did say this George … you didn't want the fucking mess, remember? What's changed?'
'You've changed,' George said coolly. 'She's become a distraction, you, we, can all live without.'
Lisa struggled to contain the sense of helpless anguish which was brewing up inside her, threatening to explode into a flood of hysterical tears, as George De Bowen so casually discussed the rationale for her demise.
In an effort to stay calm, Lisa tried to focus on Charley's painting, Manhattan Jungle, perched above the fireplace in front of her. Tried to submerge herself in the painting's swirling kaleidoscope of colors and images. To be anywhere but here, amidst this nightmare.
Jackson's harsh, irate voice intervened.
'If this is a belated punishment for the Charles Keefe fuck-up, then you should know George, that the A-Plan was virtually unworkable … In fact, by almost pulling it off … and we were close, real close … I very nearly wrought a fucking miracle,' Jackson spewed furiously.
'I notice you haven't dared to criticize Gerry to his face … as you well know, the A-Plan was mainly Montana's work. And he's never let me down,' George said defensively. 'Unlike yourself.'
'Then why bring me on board in the first place, unless you were trying to set me up?' Jackson said suspiciously. 'You knew as well as I did, that the whole damn plot was a crock of shit.'
George shook his head wearily, his eyes glazing. But Lisa felt certain there was a glimmer of fear, of doubt maybe, lurking in his downward glance, as he fidgeted with his whiskey glass.
'I mean, it must have been a real fucking shambles,' Jackson growled. 'I don't even do homeland. It's not my remit.'
Lisa couldn't help but listen with interest. What the hell was Jackson talking about? As far as she could tell, the plan to kill the Keefes had looked set to work very well indeed. A missile had managed to blow a huge chunk out of her hotel, striking the Keefe's suite at just the right time, and if it hadn't been for her own late intervention and Cynthia's plucky dash to warn them, the Keefes would now be dead.
'There were easier methods to accomplish what you wanted,' Jackson continued, in acid tones. 'Other ways and means,' he added cryptically.
'We have our ways and means, young man, as you well know. Tried and tested,' George said officiously. He took a long sip of his whiskey, before returning the glass to the side-table next to his armchair. 'And I don't need you to tell me otherwise.'
Jackson sneered at his boss, with undisguised disdain.
Lisa noted Brody was looking increasingly uncomfortable. His cellphone was thrumming interminably in the pocket of his pants. He quickly grabbed it, scanning the Caller ID display, whilst still pointing a gun at Lisa's head.
He grunted, distracting George from his heated exchange with Jackson.
George instantly looked at Brody, a searching look on his face, and then he visibly relaxed, as if a subtle communication had passed between the two men.
Brody instantly passed his gun to George, and dashed out of the room.
Pre-empting the sudden wolfish look from Jackson as he latched onto the subtle change in dynamics, Kimble pinned Jackson back into his seat with a heavy clunk of his fist against Jackson's bruised face. Jackson winced in pain.
Moments later and Brody returned, holding something in his hand, which he presented to George with considerable pomp.
George erupted into giggles. 'Bravo Brody … here comes the entertainment!'
Lisa stared, wide-eyed in horror at what George was holding.
It was the tape …the tape of her and Jackson in Miami.
Jackson glowered, perplexed, at the tape. But then he didn't know what she knew, Lisa realized. That to get the tape, they had to get Charley first.
He merely glanced at Lisa in bewilderment.
Lisa's mind was in turmoil. She was struggling to breath. She had seen what Brody had done to Talbot. How cruel and senseless his death had been. Surely they wouldn't think twice of hurting, even killing Charley too? Most particularly as she knew so much about Jackson's true identity and his role in the Keefe plot.
'Well my dear,' George said to Lisa in soft, clucking tones. 'There's no fun killing you, is there now, unless we've all had a listen to this.'
'How … how did you get it?' Lisa cried, hot tears suddenly flooding her cheeks. 'What have you done to her?'
A shade of alarm scuttled across Jackson's face.
George chuckled. He passed the tape to Brody, with a nod. Brody momentarily disappeared again, returning with an old-fashioned boombox.
'Lisa. Did you give this to someone?' Jackson asked, in cool, steady tones, although his eyes were shot through with a mixture of pity and annoyance.
She managed to nod in agreement, even though looking at him directly, sharing that information, and seeing it reflected in his face, only served to increase her hysterical sobbing.
Why had she let Charley take the tape? How could she have been so thoughtless? So selfish? If anything had happened to her, it was her fault, and her fault alone.
Brody popped the tape into the boombox's tape deck.
'Hold on. How did you know about this?' Jackson demanded, forcing Brody to pause before pressing the play button.
George waved a staying hand to Brody.
'By chance,' George said dryly, glad to elaborate. 'Yet another schoolboy error on your part, Jackson.'
Jackson knitted his brow in grim consternation, cocking his head as if to listen all the more closely.
George seemed almost gleefully eager to enlighten him further.
'Brody planted a recording device amongst Miss Reisert's baggage … the simplest little espionage operation imaginable. At first I was somewhat concerned with Brody's little act of ingenuity, I must say. And I even told him so, in the harshest possible terms, didn't I Brody?' George said, acknowledging Brody regretfully. 'I thought, how could something so basic, so menial, possibly slip past the famously efficient scrutinizing gaze of our dear Mr Rippner … and I feared you would find the device and know that we were onto you.'
Lisa couldn't help but feel a brief flicker of anger ignite inside her. Why hadn't Jackson thought about it? Come to that, why hadn't she?
Jackson's face was blank and still, seemingly devoid of emotion. But Lisa was sure the color had drained even further from his bloodied cheeks.
'Which is how we discovered that this tape even existed,' George said smugly. He now grinned at Lisa. 'Courtesy of our lovely Miss Reisert here, who shared a most interesting conversation, just yesterday morning, with our dear mutual friend Miss Robinson.'
'Have ... have you hurt her?' Lisa stammered, still hoping to extract at least an inkling of Charley's fate. 'Please Mr De Bowen. Please tell me. I beg you.'
George brushed her pleas aside with a dismissive wave of the hand.
'I have to know,' Lisa screeched. She could feel white-hot rage bubbling up inside of her. She glanced desperately at Jackson who was warning her with his eyes to keep a lid on her emotions as best she could.
She took a deep breath, and sucked in her lower lip.
George indicated to Brody to press play.
The tape started off with the unmistakable soft sighs and moans of two people making out. Lisa couldn't suppress a shiver which trembled through her entire body – not one of embarrassment, or shame, as had been typical in the past, but almost of joyous recognition. Something warm and undeniably pleasurable amidst this horror, despite the fraught and unnatural circumstances of its creation.
The tape rolled on. The heated argument between Jackson and Lisa ensued. But rather than relive her anger, she felt nothing but a glow of unmediated fondness for the two people so wrapped up in trying to hate the other. Almost as though they were strangers, or characters she once knew in a book or a film, whose history she had followed with kindly interest.
She dared to look at Jackson who was gazing at her, his eyes brimming with feeling, and she knew he felt the same. She felt her chest tighten with sadness, even while she tried to smile. He smiled in return, a twisted, poignant smile, his eyes never leaving her face.
It seemed remarkable that she had reviled that tape so much. But now, strangely, it was a window opening out onto a time of comparative innocence. At the time she had narrowly escaped from what could have been a fatal attack. But Jackson had rescued her.
Meaning she was comparatively safe. Free to continue with that luxury of living from one day to the next, oblivious to the fact that each day, each waking moment, was a countdown to her last.
More than anything in the world, she wanted to capture, to savor that feeling of being alive, possibly, it seemed, for the last time.
Jackson's final sneering retort sounded on the tape – 'You're fucked up enough as it is' - and then there was her sobbing, replaying in tandem with the hot tears freshly staining her cheeks, as she relived the moment over again.
'Stop it,' George hissed venomously, shocking her out of her reverie. She looked at him for the first time since the tape had begun.
His face had clouded. He took a sip of his drink, his hand shaking.
'Take the tape and destroy it,' he ordered Brody, who immediately ejected the tape, dashing it into the empty fireplace. He seized a small can of lighter fuel which was positioned on a shelf close by, and doused the tape, before lighting a match which he flung into the fireplace.
Lisa watched soberly as flames licked steadily at the tape, curling and bruising its edges, before engulfing it in a hot, orange glow, emitting a thin plume of dense black smoke which was drawn upwards. The smell of burning plastic was rancid, stinging Lisa's nostrils.
George De Bowen suddenly stood up, still wielding Brody's gun in his hand, and stealthily approached Lisa. She shrank back into her chair, fearing the worst.
Jackson automatically lunged forwards, but was immediately pinioned back into his chair by Brody, who sprang at him, kicking him in the chest. From behind his chair, Kimble pulled Jackson's hair, forcing his head back against the chair's tall backrest, while shoving the barrel of his gun, flush against Jackson's pale throat.
Lisa screamed, but was stunned into silence by George, striking her with the butt of his gun. The pain was excruciating. She could feel warm blood soaking her hair.
She retched.
'You dirty little whore!' George spat. 'You think yourself quite the Mata Hari don't you?'
'No, no,' she muttered in tremulous tones, unable to look at her tormentor. She could hear scuffling from Jackson's direction, and a groan.
'Look at me,' George said. He wrenched her head upwards with a sharp jab of his finger to her chin. Then he slapped her across the face. She yelped in fright, aware of a stinging sensation in her lip. She saw that George was wearing a signet ring which must have caught her painfully.
George suddenly burst out laughing.
'I've got an idea … you're going to like this one Brody,' he said, nodding to his associate.
'Seeing as Miss Reisert reckons herself to be such a femme fatale,' he continued in cutting tones. 'Why don't we ask her to give us a little floorshow?'
Lisa felt her pulse quicken in terror.
'Maybe she can convince us to prolong her life span for that little bit longer? After all, she seems to have worked wonders on young Jackson here, even though he is so soon to be united with my lovely daughter in connubial bliss.'
Brody plucked a long knife from a holster hanging off his belt, and set to cutting the twines tethering Lisa to her chair. She was relieved to find her limbs were free, but was still unable to move, because George was holding the cold, metal barrel of Brody's gun to her head.
Seeing the long thin blade in Brody's hand, Lisa instantly thought of poor Talbot. The thought seemed to trigger fresh panic within her. Her heart was galloping frantically inside her chest, so fast, she thought it might explode.
Brody levered her into a standing position, but she was hardly able to stop herself from collapsing back into the chair, as her legs had gone to jelly, and she was fighting a sudden desperate desire to urinate.
'Your lover can watch,' George said, a savage expression on his face, indicating to Kimble that he should adjust Jackson's viewing position.
Kimble tipped Jackson slightly forwards, so that he could now see the full horror of what was happening to Lisa. He struggled in Kimble's grasp, but Kimble simply pushed his gun deeper into Jackson's neck, so that he could hardly breathe. So that when he tried to speak, he made a strange gulping noise.
George now gestured to Brody, who grabbed one of Lisa's binders, using it to fix Jackson into place.
'Good,' George said with obvious satisfaction. He grinned menacingly at Brody.
'Would you like the pleasure?' he asked.
Brody's eyes lit up. He grabbed hold of Lisa, and slowly, deliberately, trailed his long, thin knife down her tight, red dress. She screwed her eyes shut in fearful anticipation, aware that her legs were shaking uncontrollably.
'Go on. Cut her,' George hissed.
She waited for a searing, deadly pain, but instead she heard a ripping sound, as Brody took hold of the hem of her dress, and using the knife, he slowly tore it upwards, the blade occasionally nicking her skin on its journey towards her neckline.
She dared to open her eyes, sickened at the sight of George De Bowen leering at her exposed body. She now realized exactly what he planned to do with her.
'Please don't,' she begged, her teeth chattering with fear and a sudden rush of cold goosebumps. She could sense a disturbance by the fireplace, and knew that Jackson must be reacting, but she couldn't bear to look at him. Not like this.
Brody roughly pulled her dress off her, forcing her to stand, shuddering, in her underwear and stockings.
'You see Jackson,' George grimaced, his eyes twinkling. 'You might find the idea of killing her a barbaric one now, but after we've finished with her, you'll want to kill her.'
George's face brightened, his eyes fixed on Lisa's chest.
She realized with a sinking feeling that he had spotted her scar.
He smirked. 'Looks like we won't be the first to play this little game with you, will we Miss Reisert?'
She pursed her lips tightly together, refusing to respond, acutely aware as he cast a lewd eye over her breasts, before venturing further down.
'But don't worry your pretty little head, my dear,' George said, lips pursed. 'I'm no rapist … although I can't speak for my associates here of course.'
He settled himself into his armchair, still pointing a gun directly at Lisa. He sighed in satisfaction.
'Can … can I speak to Jackson?' Lisa asked in a small voice. 'Alone.'
George frowned. 'Whatever for?'
'Please,' she gasped. 'Just one minute. Thirty seconds.'
George eyed her with suspicion. 'You know I can't allow that.'
He then seemed to pause for thought, and seemed to enjoy what had occurred to him, judging by the fiendish little giggle he emitted straight after.
'Yes, yes Miss Reisert. Why not? But not quite alone. Kimble will remain.'
He instantly leaped from his chair, with surprising alacrity for someone of his age, and summoned Brody to follow, handing him his gun in the process.
Kimble untied then released his hold on Jackson, and moved to the door, where he remained, gun in hand.
Unable to stand any longer, Lisa instantly fell to her knees, heaving sobs convulsing her body.
Jackson seemed to be caught off-guard. At first he merely watched Lisa, confounded by their momentary respite and confused by her response.
She looked at him, silently pleading him to come and comfort her, to shrug off the strange cold detachment which had infected his features.
'Jackson,' she murmured.
Slowly, almost uncertainly, he moved from his chair, casting a cursory glance at Kimble, and approached her. He crouched down beside her, seemingly hesitant, but then in what seemed to be a sudden rush of feeling, he grabbed her to him, clutching her tightly.
The warmth and comfort which suddenly enveloped her, allowed Lisa to give full rein to her emotions. She cried into Jackson's chest, savoring his smell, the feel of him, the closeness of another human being.
'What do you want to do?' he asked quietly.
Lisa braced herself. 'I … I want you to kill me,' she whispered.
Jackson held her even closer. 'I don't want to, you know that Lisa, don't you.'
'I know,' she said. 'But if you don't, they'll … well, you know what they'll do. And they're going to kill me anyway. So I'd rather it was you who did it.'
She gazed up at Manhattan Jungle, high above the fireplace, a distorted, blurry mess of colors when viewed through her tears. A picture of a place which made no sense, that had lost all natural orientation, as wild and untamed as its title.
Lisa smiled at Charley's unwitting prescience.
The only solid, tangible substance in her world, at that moment, seemed to be the man before her.
She pressed her lips against his. They felt warm and yielding. Jackson quivered, encasing her in his arms. He kissed her in return, tenderly at first, but with increasing passion.
She pulled away, fighting a little for breath.
'Just think of it as finishing off the job,' she said firmly, maintaining eye contact.
Jackson sat very still, closely watching her.
'OK Lise … how do you want me to do it?'
'What would be quickest?' she asked, hardly believing she was talking so matter-of-factly about her own death.
He leaned forwards, resting his head against hers. 'They … they won't give me a gun. I'll try, but it won't happen.'
Lisa nodded mutely.
'So,' he took a deep breath. 'It'll be a knife.'
He pressed a hand against her breast, palpating the spot where her heart lay thumping manically beneath her skin, and as he did so, he encircled her tightly, so that he was now whispering in her ear.
'At the last moment … I'll stab whoever's nearest,' he urged, in low tones, ensuring that Kimble couldn't hear them. 'They'll likely shoot us … but at least it'll be fast.'
Lisa shook her head vehemently. 'There's no point your dying too,' she groaned.
'You really think they're not going to kill me Lise?' he asked. 'It might not be today. Tonight. But it'll be soon.' Then, with a wry smile. 'George doesn't tolerate disobedience.'
There was a commotion behind them as George and Brody returned. Kimble stepped forwards, pulling Jackson away from Lisa.
They exchanged one long, soulful look.
Jackson turned to George. 'She wants me to kill her,' he said simply.
George sneered. 'And ruin all our fun? Bah. What a spoilsport.' He paused. 'I take it there is a condition here, isn't there?'
Jackson nodded.
George grinned at Brody and Kimble. 'Thought so. Sorry boys. But I'm a man of honor you know.'
He settled himself comfortably into his armchair, retrieving his whiskey tumbler from the side-table. 'I thought you'd come round,' he said with complacent jocularity.
He faced Jackson, who was still standing in the center of the room.
'And to be honest Jackson, I'm going to get a great deal of pleasure out of watching you kill her,' he smirked, fixing his eye on Jackson's face as he spoke. 'You see. I know how much she means to you.'
Jackson visibly flinched but said nothing in return.
George took a long sip of his whiskey, smacking his lips in appreciation. He grinned at Lisa, who was trying to shield herself as best she could, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. She jutted out her jaw in a show of defiance against him, even though her stomach was churning with fear and a strange excitement.
'Have you a weapon of choice my dear?' George said obligingly.
Lisa refused to answer.
Jackson interjected instead. 'A gun would be most humane.'
'A gun?' George scoffed. 'Don't be ridiculous.'
He gestured to Brody, who brandished the long, slim-bladed knife he had used to cut Lisa's dress off. Jackson reached out his hand but Brody pulled the knife away, waiting for George to give him the nod.
George was about to do so, when a loud clanging alarm ripped through the highly charged silence.
Lisa flicked her eyes towards Jackson, whose eyes were instantly alight, flitting from person to person, judging their reactions to this new development.
George's face reddened. 'I thought I told you no interruptions!' he yelled at Brody.
The clanging persisted.
'Excuse me Sir,' Brody said. 'But I did disable all comms, like you said. This is your emergency line.'
George paled. 'My what?' he spluttered.
'This is your emergency line Sir,' Brody continued stolidly, although he was recoiling slightly from George's fierce stare.
'It's Alex,' Jackson explained, a small smile curling his lip.
The truth dawned.
'God damn,' George muttered angrily.
He turned to Jackson. 'Have you done something to her?' he snarled.
Jackson shrugged, wide-eyed with innocence.
'Well for god's sake answer,' George said furiously to Brody.
Brody placed the knife on the mantelpiece, a little too far from Jackson to grab hold of without getting a bullet in the head for his pains from the ever-vigilant Kimble, then scampered away, soon returning with a large portable phone.
'She wants to speak to Jackson,' Brody said. 'Says she knows he's here.'
He passed the phone towards George, his arm suspended in mid-air, waiting.
George was about to take the phone when Jackson snatched it, slamming it to his ear.
'Hey Alex!' he said. 'It's me.'
He immediately glared at Lisa, who on cue, started screaming as loud as she could, before Kimble lumbered forwards, clapping a hand over her mouth as fast as he possibly could. She tried to bite one of his fingers, which were large and misshapen, like flabby sausage rolls, but he spun her backwards into her chair with such painful force, that for a few brief, breath-sapping seconds, she wondered if he had cracked her vertebrae.
'I don't know Alex,' Jackson said coolly. 'What do you think it sounded like?'
'Give the phone to me,' George urged, his face mottled with rage, fists clenched.
But Jackson danced backwards, towards Lisa, listening to Alex with a droll, exaggerated smile on his face. All the while Lisa was trying to make as much noise as possible, and Kimble was struggling to keep her still, despite his comparative bulk.
'Sure, I've been with your father all evening … he's entertaining … no, I haven't forgotten,' Jackson continued, grinning. 'Come on now Alex … there's no need to cry.'
George pointed furiously to the antechamber which led off the study and pushed Brody forwards, commanding he accompany Jackson.
George straightened his collar, and sat down again. He gulped back his whiskey.
'She can't hear you Miss Reisert,' he said, throwing her a cruel, sardonic smile. 'And one word out of line from her beloved fiancée and Brody will know what to do.'
Lisa could hear Jackson laughing at something Alex said, all the while making soft cooing sounds, as if comforting a hysterical child.
'Sure. Sure,' he said. 'Look I'll get it done. Straight away. Let me write it down.' She heard Jackson pause, and ask Brody in quiet tones if he could borrow a pen.
What was he doing? She wondered. How could he calmly write down instructions amidst all of this?
And then it struck her.
She smiled.
Moments later, there was a loud gun shot which seemed to explode inches from her face. Lisa gasped in fright, falling away from Kimble, who staggered backwards.
There was another thunderous report, and Kimble fell sideways onto the chair, splattering blood onto George who was frozen with fear in his armchair.
Lisa felt like crying with relief when she looked up and saw it was Jackson who was holding a gun … Brody's gun.
He quickly turned about heel and shot behind him, into the antechamber.
There was a dull thud as what Lisa imagined could only be Brody's body fell to the floor.
'Get Kimble's gun!' Jackson barked to Lisa. She instantly scrabbled forwards on her hands and knees to retrieve the bloodied gun from Kimble's grasp, afraid to look at his face and his glassy-eyed stare, as he slumped on the chair, lolling towards her.
She grabbed the gun, and with quivering hands, directed it at George De Bowen, who seemed to have shrunk into his armchair, suddenly looking wan and pale, despite his heavy tan.
Meanwhile, Jackson grabbed the long thin knife Brody had produced for Lisa's execution, and now pointed both Brody's firearm and the knife at De Bowen.
'Right George,' he said, panting heavily. 'I'm going to give you a choice.'
He looked at Lisa, a tiny smile flickering on his lips.
Lisa tried to smile back, but couldn't, caught between awe and horror at the sight of Jackson, his visage pale and bloodied, his eyes a cold, icy blue, reveling in the deadly mayhem he was wreaking.
He was in his element, she thought ruefully, trembling at how extraordinarily powerful he seemed at this moment. Yet despite this, despite her instinctual fear, she couldn't help but feel a mad rush of hot-blooded excitement, a heady sense of arousal which shocked her.
Suddenly the emergency phone shrilled, piercing the tension.
'That'll be Alex,' Jackson said smugly. 'Probably wondering why I put the phone down on her so abruptly.'
The phone continued to ring, insistently.
George writhed uncomfortably, screwing his hands together tightly.
'Can I speak to her?' he said in hoarse tones.
'No,' Jackson said.
'We can work this out … you, me, Alex,' George pleaded, in raised tones, striving to be heard over the phone's clamoring din.
Jackson vehemently shook his head.
The phone finally rang off.
Tense silence ensued.
'I don't trust you,' Jackson said. 'You've set me up over and over. You wanted me dead … I don't care what you say.'
'It wasn't like that Jackson. There's … there's things you don't understand, that I can't tell you.'
Jackson laughed. 'Shut up old man,' he sneered.
He turned to Lisa.
'Lisa,' he said softly. 'Why don't you step outside?'
Lisa glanced at George De Bowen; surprisingly shriveled and sad-looking, a far cry from the jeering manic goblin she had encountered in this same room just a short time ago. She felt as though she had lived and died multiple times since being bundled by his henchmen into that hard-back chair, stripped, humiliated, and threatened with certain death at the hands of the man she both feared and desired more than anything in this world.
She moved towards the door, pausing briefly to glance into the ante-chamber.
Brody's body was sprawled heavily on the ground, at a sidewards angle so that she could not see his face. She could see the outline of a pen, jutting from his throat, half-shielded by his upright shoulder.
Jackson impulsively pulled her towards him, using his knife-bearing arm, into a close embrace. Forcing George to look at her. To acknowledge that she was still alive, and he was soon to die.
Jackson kept his gun firmly trained on George.
There was no escape.
'Wait for me in the lobby,' he said to Lisa, brushing his lips against her ear. 'And don't touch anything, whatever you do.'
He released her.
'Don't let him hurt my Alex,' George De Bowen begged, his hand outstretched towards Lisa. She jumped back in fright.
'Promise me,' George said, his eyes watery with emotion.
Lisa glanced at Jackson, then at George.
'I promise,' she said.
She left the room, closing the door tightly behind her.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Beyond George De Bowen's private chamber, the rest of the apartment was still and silent. She was surprised that there was little to no sound emanating from the study. Perhaps it was soundproofed in some way?
Lisa slumped against a heavy oak bureau in the lobby, her mind reeling with a mix of emotions.
On the one hand she was trembling with exhilaration – glad that she was still alive.
But undercutting this was a nagging fear, a sickening dread, that Charley probably wasn't.
She could sense a hot pool of anxiety gnawing away, deep inside her. She wanted to scream hysterically, at the top of her voice, but for some reason, she felt numbed too.
She gasped, momentarily paralyzed by the muffled sound of three gunshots emanating from the study.
With clear cold logic she realized that Jackson had just killed George De Bowen.
She wondered if it had been face to face. George in the armchair. Jackson, his cold eyes burning with cruel hatred, standing before him.
Or had Jackson forced George to kneel on the floor, head bowed, and shot him in the manner of a formal execution?
Even though she hated George De Bowen, more than she had imagined it was possible to hate a fellow human being, until the events of tonight … she didn't revel in his death. She didn't enjoy the feeling of queasy revulsion which swept through her.
She closed her eyes tightly, held her breath, and for one brief moment, fervently wished she could be at home, in Miami, at her Dad's house. Listening to him pottering to and fro, mumbling and moaning about silly everyday stuff, which paled into insignificance when compared to the true trials of life and death.
But somehow, this was the stuff of living. What she feared she had lost forever.
She suddenly missed the dull, monotonies of her life, with what felt like a visceral ache in her chest. Perhaps because she realized that, after tonight, her life might truly never be the same again.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
It was some time before Jackson emerged from the study, gun in one hand, knife in the other, wiping blood-streaked sweat from his face. He'd been out of sight for a little too long, Lisa thought. She had just started to panic that somehow George had overcome Jackson, and shot him instead.
Seeing him, Lisa could hardly believe the surge of relief which swept through her – relief so powerful it was as though her limbs had dissolved, and despite her best efforts, she was unable to stand up.
She hadn't recognized how terrified she really was, until that moment.
Jackson's face was clenched tight, teeth gritted. But he seemed to melt a little once he spotted her, slouched, helpless on the floor.
He hastened over, carefully placing his weapons on the bureau behind her, before enfolding her tightly in his arms, and pulling her into a standing position.
'That was a fucking close one,' he breathed.
Lisa could feel he was trembling with the excitement of it all. It hadn't occurred to her that someone so accustomed to bloodshed might still be adrenalized by the kill. She remembered the ferocious energy she had felt burning off him, when he had struck her in Room 3113 at the Lux Atlantic, and she had been sure he had considered killing her in that instant.
'We have to go check on Charley,' she said.
'That's not the only reason we have to get out of here,' Jackson smirked. 'I've just killed one of the most important men in America.'
But neither seemed able to move. Lisa wrapped her arms around Jackson's neck, holding on to him. He pulled her closer, his hands gripping her waist.
She stared directly into his eyes, and tentatively kissed him, tasting the salty, metallic tang of blood, on both their mouths. He slid one arm around her, his hand caressing the smooth skin at the small of her back, while he plunged his other hand into her hair, forcing her forwards into a deeper kiss, which startled her in its intensity.
He groaned, grinding his hips rhythmically against her, pushing her back into the bureau, which in turn jolted against the wall. She was surprised by his ardor, his obvious arousal, even though she too was swiftly succumbing to a heated excitement, a tightening in her belly, which slightly shamed her in view of the circumstances.
She frantically tried to rationalize her response as a potent combination of adrenalin and sexual desire – probably some kind of animalistic instinct for survival, a triumphant bravura at cheating death.
But it wasn't right. Not here. Not like this.
She pulled her face back, and then roughly pushed Jackson's face away too.
A flash of anger, which she found a little disturbing, spasmed his features. For one chilling moment, she thought he might bare his teeth and strike her.
'Jackson … this is sick,' she panted, crossing both her arms, to act as a buffer between their bodies, even though he was now holding her by the hips and was still pressed hard against her.
'There's … there's three bodies in there,' she said, gesturing to the room behind them.
Jackson gazed downwards, his eyes darting frantically beneath his long lashes. 'I know … I know. It's just … .' He looked at her, startling her with the clear blue intensity of his eyes. 'It's just, I'm so fucking glad to be alive Lise … to be able to hold you like this. In fact … I've never felt so fucking alive in all my life.'
Lisa took a deep breath. She leaned forwards and gently kissed him on the lips.
'Well, let's keep it that way, shall we?' she said, resting her warm cheek against his. Even as she spoke she yearned, yet again, to slide her mouth over his.
'Let's get moving,' she sighed.
Lisa slipped out of his grasp. 'I need something to wear,' she said, in reference to her under-dressed state.
'You look fine as you are,' he said, with what approximated in the circumstances to a cheeky grin.
She tingled with unbidden excitement, sensing his eyes as they roved greedily over her body. She tried to sidestep his gaze and was about to peruse a coat stand which was in a corner by the door, but Jackson clawed her back.
'Don't touch anything,' he warned. 'Forensics will be combing the joint.'
Sticking out from the cluster of coats was an over-sized brown fur cloak. Jackson lightly tugged at this, loosening it from the stand, without having to touch any other garments in the process.
Lisa wrinkled her nose in disgust. 'I can't wear that.'
'You've no choice,' Jackson said.
Reluctantly, Lisa donned it over her underwear and gawped at herself in a full-length mirror hanging close by, thinking she looked like a regular at the Playboy mansion.
Jackson was busy tucking Brody's gun into his belt. He looked up, a concerned expression on his face, noting that the security camera, which was positioned by the front entrance, was currently filming Lisa as she stared at herself in the mirror.
'We need to get rid of this footage,' he murmured contemplatively, chewing his bottom lip.
He swept out of the foyer, through a large double door.
Lisa looked up at the offending camera, and then followed.
'Remember. Don't touch anything,' he said.
They wandered through a vast, palatial salon, with pillars and plush white furnishings, into a corridor which seemed to stretch for some distance.
'How big is this place?' Lisa asked, incredulous.
There were rooms leading off the corridor, mostly with their doors closed, or ajar, leading into dense darkness.
Jackson finally halted, nudging open a door with his elbow. The door led into a narrow darkened room, festooned with long blocks of twinkling lights. To Lisa's unschooled eye, the place resembled the flight deck of an airliner, except there was also a bank of TV screens.
Jackson gingerly tugged open a drawer and surveyed its contents. He slammed it shut, then opened a small cupboard, positioned under a desk. He pulled out a cloth from the cupboard and wiped down where he had touched with his bare hands.
He had also found a pair of black gloves which he tried on for size.
'A bit too big,' he grimaced. 'Probably Kimble's. But they'll do.'
'Surely the police would expect to find your prints here anyway?' Lisa asked, leaning against the doorway before she remembered she shouldn't touch anything. She stepped away guiltily.
'Sure, they would,' he said. 'But not in here. Not trying to dismantle the security system at any rate.'
Jackson frowned in concentration, immersed in trying to negotiate his way through a complicated computer system wearing gloves which were too large for his hands.
'Fuck,' he muttered irritably. He turned to Lisa, a darkly serious expression on his face.
'You know what Lise. Maybe you should go on ahead. Get clear.'
'You're kidding,' she said, breathlessly, feeling as though her heart had missed a beat.
'I don't want anyone to find you here. And I don't know how long this is going to take,' Jackson persisted. 'I'm pretty fucked anyway … Alex knows I was here, with her father, and I'll be suspect numero uno when they can't find me for questioning.'
Lisa didn't like the thought that Jackson was suddenly dismissing her. Even if it was for her own safety.
And she desperately didn't want to be alone.
'The thing is Lisa, I've killed three men tonight, while you are completely innocent,' he said.
He turned his back to her to continue his work on the computer, clicking through a series of screens using the mouse.
'It doesn't feel that way,' Lisa moaned. 'If something's happened to Charley, it'll all be my fault.'
'Well, that was a real dumb ass thing to do … giving her the tape,' Jackson muttered. 'But don't jump to conclusions. She's probably tucked up in her bed, safe and sound.'
'I hope so. She might have company too. One of the guys we were out with tonight was getting kind of cozy with her.'
Jackson turned round, arms folded, his face illuminated by the myriad lights and screens on the 'flight-deck' behind him and to his side.
'You were out with guys from the Keefe campaign, right?'
Lisa nodded. 'One of them had a box at the opera. Charley left with him.'
'There you go. She's probably in safe hands.'
'Not so safe,' Lisa said, barely able to contain her feelings. 'The guy who was walking back to the hotel with me … when they, when they came for me … they killed him. Brody killed him.'
Jackson stared at her, clearly shocked and perturbed to hear this.
A streak of bloody sweat was rolling down his cheek. He spotted a box of tissues on the desk. He pulled a handful out and mopped away some of the blood he had shed earlier that evening, thanks to Kimble's beating, although there were still some clots of congealed blood in his hairline.
'And to think Jackson,' Lisa said, scornfully, 'you once told me, Brody wasn't a mindless thug. That you guys didn't kill people for the sake of it.'
Jackson stuffed the bloodied tissues into his pocket. 'It doesn't make sense,' he murmured. 'Mindless killing is not our style. Believe me.'
'Tell that to Talbot's wife and kids,' Lisa said bitterly.
'And you say this guy works for the Keefe campaign?' Jackson asked. 'Because they'd have known that, if, as seems likely, you were being tailed.'
'Maybe they wanted to frame me for his murder?' Lisa asked, with a mocking laugh that half-choked her. 'After all, I was the last person to see him alive. I haven't reported his death to the police. And don't forget, there's some guys out there who actually believe I had a hand in the attempted assassination of Keefe.'
She had hoped to see Jackson smile ironically in return. Dismiss her fears as foolish fancy, but instead he continued to chew his lip with increasing anxiety.
And … and,' she continued with forced bravado. 'Guess what? I was on my way to see Keefe when I was abducted. And then I go AWOL.' She sighed. 'I should have listened to you. Just quit New York while I had the chance.'
There was an icy chill to Jackson's penetrating blue eyes which was beginning to scare Lisa, as he listened intently to what she was saying, and was clearly pondering the ramifications.
'There's something we're missing here,' he said softly. 'This Talbot. What exactly did he do?'
'He was Keefe's campaign adviser,' Lisa said, finding that she too was beginning to chew her lip, mirroring Jackson.
'This will be big news,' Jackson said, 'There'll be a major investigation.'
'Nothing compared to De Bowen,' Lisa added.
'Even so. Why did Brody risk it? I mean, I know the guy's a fucking dildo, but we're not thugs. Really Lisa. We're meant to be a lot smarter than that.'
Jackson's eyes flicked to a clock hanging on the wall. He instantly resumed his attentions to the computer.
'Everything has a reason. A purpose,' he said.
'Well. De Bowen said he … Talbot … was in the way. Kind of a flimsy reason if you ask me,' Lisa said.
Jackson made no response. He was now preoccupied with deleting files on the computer screen.
'Cool,' Jackson finally said. 'That's tonight wiped. And the backups should be …,' he crouched down, and tried to prise open a steel cupboard under the desk. But the door was locked. 'Well. They should be in here.'
He rummaged through a drawer.
'There's no fucking key,' he complained.
Instead, Jackson pulled out a screwdriver and set to unscrewing the front panel of the cupboard.
'So … is this the central HQ for organizing De Bowen's global killing sprees?' Lisa asked curiously.
Jackson laughed, a low, hollow laugh. 'Hardly.'
He glanced at her. 'He's not quite the sponsor of manic murderous rampages you imagine him to be Lisa.'
'Well, you could have fooled me.'
Jackson paused, still holding the screwdriver.
'George isn't … he wasn't some kind of evil criminal mastermind. He was a cog in a wheel. Nothing more. Nothing less.' He thought a moment, then added. 'Sure, he was also a heartless psychopath and I'm glad he's dead. But there's other George De Bowens out there, other links in the chain, or the network, as we call it at De Bowens.'
'Right,' Lisa said slowly, deliberately. 'That sounds kind of creepy.'
Jackson laughed mirthlessly. 'It is.'
He brusquely returned to his work under the desk with increased vigor.
'What does this network do?' Lisa asked, desperately trying to inject a confident, fearless note into her voice.
'They fix things.'
'Fix what?'
Jackson shrugged. 'Everything … to their liking.'
'You mean money markets,' Lisa said, thinking of the primary function of both De Bowens and Beauchamps. 'It always comes down to money.'
'I used to think that,' Jackson said. 'But now I think it's sheer bloody-mindedness.'
'And yet you work for these people? For George De Bowen? How can you do that?' Lisa asked.
Jackson pondered a moment.
'Because I'm greedy and soulless,' he said. 'And … until recently, George had always treated me with respect.'
Jackson ducked even further under the table, and pulled the screws loose from the cupboard door. He then gradually slid the heavy metal cover free.
'You know Lise, I meant it you know, when I said you can walk away from all of this if you really want to,' he said, panting a little from the exertion of working at such an awkward angle. 'Because, frankly, your greatest danger at this moment in time, is probably knowing me.'
She could feel his eyes on her, peering at her from the shadows cast by the desk above him.
'If you want to, you can go to the police, go to Keefe even … say you and Talbot were attacked. You panicked and ran. And ask for police protection.'
He began pulling out spools of tape. 'And once I've cleared this footage out of here, and disposed of it, there's no proof you were here tonight at all.'
Jackson stood up, rolling the film into a tight ball, which he crushed between his gloved hands. He stared at her.
'However. Having said that. Somebody out there knows that there was a tape, lodged with your friend Charley, and they know for certain that the tape ended up here. Tonight,' Jackson said.
He stuffed the film into his pocket, which was already bulging with spare tissues.
Lisa didn't like the sound of that. Even though it was clearly true.
'So you're saying I'm as fucked as you,' she said glibly.
'Not necessarily. We just don't have any hard information to work with,' Jackson said. 'We don't know how much that person knew about that tape. Or what they knew, if anything, about you. But what we do know, is sticking around with me is probably not going to help you, one little bit.'
Jackson briskly exited the room, leading Lisa after him by the hand.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Back in the lobby, there was a deathly silence.
Lisa couldn't help flicking her eyes towards the study, aware of the three corpses inside.
Jackson disappeared momentarily, returning with a large plastic pail filled with a bottle of clear liquid, rags and fresh paper towels.
'I forgot something.' He gestured towards the study.
'Jackson,' Lisa called, in a quavering voice. 'I don't want to hold you back. Would you rather we just went our separate ways?'
Jackson sighed. 'Would you hate me Lisa, if I said I don't actually know? I can't decide what's safer for you.'
He downed the pail and stepped forwards, placing one hand on her shoulder, while the other tenderly stroked her face.
'Our main priority is to get out of here, as fast as we can, and then … well, I've got a close contact, a friend, who might be able to find out more for us. Help us out.'
Reluctantly he pulled away from her. 'Look, give me a few minutes.' He briefly looked her up and down. 'What did you do with Kimble's shooter?' he asked.
Lisa thought a moment, and then pointed to the floor, under the bureau. Jackson picked it up, applying the safety latch.
'You're going to be needing this,' he said in clinical tones. 'Whatever happens.'
He handed the gun to Lisa, who took hold of it, with trembling fingers. She fearfully turned it over and over in her hands.
Jackson kissed her gently on the forehead. 'If anyone comes to the door, come and get me. OK?'
'Can I help you?' she asked.
Jackson pulled a face, disbelieving. 'You really want to?'
Lisa nodded vehemently. 'We can get out quicker if I do.'
She slipped her hand into his, and he led her back into the study.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.
- 11
- 12
- 13
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Real Deal