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

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
CHAPTER THIRTEEN. With Friends Like These
It was chilly outside.
Lisa was even glad of the voluminous fur cloak she was wearing, and even gladder still when Jackson placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as they walked. She, in turn, slunk an arm around his waist, savoring the warmth of his body beside her.
Just minutes later and they were in the capacious foyer of Jackson's apartment block which was close to De Bowen's deluxe penthouse on Fifth Avenue.
Jackson was engaged in earnest conversation with the night watchman.
The two men exchanged a joke, and Jackson headed over to Lisa, who was patiently waiting by the elevator, perspiring profusely – a mixture of panic-stricken fear in response to the horrific events she had been subjected to, and unutterable exhaustion.
Jackson summoned the elevator.
'Ben's going to keep an eye out for us,' Jackson said quietly. 'Warn us in case anyone comes snooping.'
Lisa regarded Ben a little dubiously. He was a small, wiry guy with wizened features and a shock of white hair, immaculately turned out in a smart green uniform. But he looked to be far too old to be of much real use to them, if anyone even halfway as sinister as what they had had to deal with that evening, decided to pay a call.
'Believe me Lise. Ben's a Vietnam vet and wily as a fox,' Jackson said with a grin. 'The best lookout I know.'
Lisa was amazed that Jackson was able to smile at all, considering the circumstances.
XXXXXXXXXX
It seemed another lifetime since they were last in this elevator heading up to Jackson's apartment, Lisa thought ruefully. Yet less than thirty-six hours had lapsed.
Lisa vividly recalled how Jackson had pushed her against the elevator wall, devouring her with his lips.
She closed her eyes, relishing the memory.
And yet now, Jackson was lost in thought, his eyes darkened with planning and plotting – wholly enthralled in the business of survival.
With so much to fear already, the steep and precarious landing, leading to his apartment, was somehow less terrifying than before. Sure, she still had beads of sweat breaking out across her forehead and a ferocious beating of her heart as they circled the landing to his door, despite Jackson's tight grip on her arm.
But this time, her predominating thought, was the fact that the elevator was the only means of arrival and departure.
They were effectively cornered.
'Is it safe to come here?' she asked, unable to quell the trembling quaver in her voice.
Jackson was unlocking the door, a concentrated frown on his face.
'Probably not,' he murmured. 'But I need to get some stuff and make a call or two. So it'll have to do for now.'
Once inside, Jackson flicked on a lamp to their right, which illuminated a wide, circular hallway with black and white checkered tiling, doorways peeling off in every direction.
'This is not what I expected,' Lisa said.
Jackson didn't respond. He was far too preoccupied with a series of buttons and screens set behind a cast iron door, built into the wall behind the door. Lisa surmised that this was a security system of some sort.
She wandered into a darkened room, and was about to flick on the main light, when Jackson grabbed her arm from behind. He encircled her, pulling her round to face him.
'Not a good idea,' he whispered, his voice a little husky. 'Always let me go first.'
Pressed this close against him, Lisa couldn't suppress the tight tingling which flooded her body, an acute physical awareness of his proximity.
She sighed, her head falling onto his shoulder. She could feel his body had tensed, his heart thumping loudly in the darkness, against her own.
He brushed his lips, warm and soft, against her cheek.
She could feel his breath, hot on her face, and feared he was about to kiss her.
A momentary lick of panic spurred her into breaking free from his grasp.
If they started, they wouldn't stop.
She stumbled backwards in the darkness, finally arriving at a wall on the other side of the room to the door.
Jackson hadn't moved. 'I'd better check out the rest of the apartment,' he said, a little gruffly.
He reached out somewhere to his left, and switched on a lamp, which emitted a soft, warm glow, then hastened away, leaving her alone.
Lisa fell against the wall, glad of the cool plaster against her feverish forehead. Her whole body was thrumming. And a little too warm from the fur cloak.
How could this be happening to her, she wondered. Less than a month ago, the thought, the fear of ever seeing Jackson Rippner again, had been all-consuming. Petrifying.
And yet here she was, in his apartment, saved by him yet again, and deeply regretting how she had pulled away when he had looked set to kiss her, as now she could feel his momentary absence from her as an almost tangible void, a coldness, that she wanted him to swiftly banish.
She took a deep breath, studying the room she had wandered into, its contents.
It was tastefully furnished. Clean, contemporary lines. An old brown leather chair that she fancied had some history to it; something she found surprising. She'd never really thought of Jackson as a man with a past, a family, a world of experience.
Most interesting was the bank of books, a tower of shelves, extending from the floor to the ceiling.
He certainly had wide-ranging tastes, if all these books were actually his. And yes. He hadn't lied. He really did like French philosophy, she thought with a fond smile, browsing a series of names she had never heard of: Deleuze, Barthes, Virilio, Badieu. Many others. Perhaps not all French she realized.
Stretched along the length of an entire wall was an impressive piece of Bang and Olufsen kit, and above it, affixed to the wall, were racks of CDs. Again, he seemed to have very catholic tastes. There was a substantial amount of classical, she noted, including Rigoletto, which she plucked from the rack. But there was also an extensive range of pop and rock, especially indie music, and even some jazz, although this was generally more old-fashioned - Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald. Certainly not the anonymous-sounding smooth jazz she had often associated with him, following his description of the assassin who had waited to kill her Dad in Miami, during that fateful night of the Red Eye.
The Red Eye … . It seemed so very far away. Such a long time ago.
'Looking for something?' Jackson asked.
His voice, so close behind her, startled her.
'Nothing in particular,' she breathed. She grinned. 'I expected more smooth jazz.'
Jackson pulled a face. 'Really? I'm allergic to that bland crap.'
He saw she had Rigoletto in her hand. 'Is this what you went to see?'
She nodded. He took it from her, turning it over in his hands, a thoughtful expression on her face.
'It can come with us,' he said. He slipped his hand into hers. 'You probably need to freshen up. We've got to get out of here.'
'I need to speak with Charley.'
'We'll call her on our way out.'
XXXXXXXXXXX
Lisa had never been so relieved to shower.
The bloody wound George De Bowen had inflicted on her earlier, by smashing the butt of his gun into her scalp, had congealed into a purplish jellied mess, and until she removed her underwear, she hadn't realized how hot and sweaty she had gotten either.
She wondered what she was going to wear when they left the apartment. The idea of wearing the same clothes and the stifling fur cloak was just unbearable.
The shower was wide and accommodating; a walk-in, decorated with glistening blue mosaic tiles.
Lisa crouched on the floor, the hot water soothing her. The dried blood in her hair sloshed down her body, dissipating on the floor, before swirling down the plughole.
Fortunately, the cut De Bowen had inflicted on her, was pretty shallow, and didn't need further medical attention.
Her mind drifted inexorably back to the gory events in George De Bowen's study.
She could hardly believe that she was still alive.
And stranger still, that it had inadvertently been Alex's intervention which had saved them.
For one brief moment she had felt sorry for George De Bowen. The teary desperation of his final wish. A father's urge for reassurance that despite his own multiple, heinous sins, the one person he loved, his child, would remain unharmed.
But when she recalled his callous cruelty, his willingness to inflict the very worst mental torture, her blood ran cold.
She shivered, losing herself in the loud drumming of the water which hammered her body. She huddled closer to the wall, wrapping her arms around herself, head rested on her knees, eyes closed, trying to block out the tumult of sickening thoughts which crowded her head.
A voice penetrated her reverie.
At first she didn't recognize it.
She peered blearily through the cascade of water enveloping her, and realized that she must have fallen asleep.
'Lisa!' came Jackson's voice.
Through the walk-in shower's opaque glass tile wall, Lisa could vaguely make out his lean, dark form, leaning against the bathroom door.
She wondered how much he could see of her. And realized that she was probably little more than a flesh-colored blur.
'Sorry … I think I was asleep,' she said.
'Come on. We have to get going,' he urged.
She waited for him to move. Although she was half-wanting him to stay.
She closed her eyes, and buried her face in her hands.
XXXXXXXXXX
'What am I going to do about clothes?' Lisa asked. Her melancholic mood from the shower had stayed with her. Added to which, she was fast succumbing to an unpleasantly draining weariness.
She had a huge white towel wrapped around her, and was dripping water all over the hallway floor.
Jackson seemed faintly amused at her plight. He beckoned her into the main bedroom, which was illuminated by a single dimly lit lamp.
The room was spacious, yet somehow intimate too, in being dominated by a vast white bed.
There was a huge window, currently obscured by a blue blind.
Jackson opened the door to a built-in wardrobe, revealing an array of woman's clothing.
Lisa was momentarily confused, and then realized, with a heavy heart, that this had to be Alex's wardrobe.
But of course. As his fiancée, she probably stayed over on a regular basis.
And they were darned lucky that tonight was not one of those nights.
'Take what you want,' Jackson said. He seemed unwilling to look her in the eye and was soon heading out of the door.
He paused at the threshold.
'I've already packed … grab a few extra clothes, just in case we have to stick together for some time … but not too many,' he said, in flat, lifeless tones.
Lisa's despondence grew. I'm a nuisance, she thought miserably. He wants rid of me. He was only prepared, it seemed, to keep her on board, to 'stick' with her, if her life was truly in imminent danger.
And now that De Bowen was dead, that threat might well have been vanquished.
Which was a good thing. Of course it was.
But somehow she didn't want to be left alone at this particular juncture. She didn't want to say goodbye.
'Have you spoken to your friend?' she asked.
'Not yet,' Jackson said.
He smiled reassuringly and disappeared from view.
It was wrong to dally, she knew that. But Lisa couldn't help herself. She was dog-tired, and she had zero desire to browse Alex's wardrobe.
She sank onto the bed, collapsing into a huge fluffy comforter, and wished for oblivion.
She must have lain in the same spot for longer than she thought, because Jackson soon returned. He too had showered, and was also wearing a towel, tied around his middle. His torso was gleaming wet and his hair was damp and had been roughly toweled into boyishly untidy tufts.
He didn't even glance at the bed, opening a wardrobe instead.
He pulled out some clothes – a couple of suits, shirts, jeans and a jumper.
Lisa wondered if she should say something, but then Jackson suddenly turned around, catching her unawares, spiraling her into embarrassed confusion.
She saw that there was a mirror hanging on the inside door of the wardrobe.
'I thought you were done,' he said, his eyes cold and piercing.
'I was tired.'
Jackson sighed, pushing damp hair out of his eyes. 'There's no time to be tired,' he said bluntly.
He opened Alex's wardrobe.
"Did you find anything suitable?' he asked, thumbing through the copious garments on display, pulling out the occasional skirt, dress or top.
'Pants are no good,' he muttered. 'She's got a good few inches on you.'
Lisa could feel tears welling, and had to stifle a sudden, unbidden sob into the mound of soft white pillows on the bed.
'Lisa?' he asked. There was a curt note to his voice which pained her. 'Lisa?'
Why was he suddenly being so cold? So uncaring?
She had become nothing but a burden to him.
Didn't he care that her world was falling apart? That she was tired and scared. Worried about her future. Worried about her life. Worried for him.
Lisa couldn't stop the tears from flowing, her shoulders heaving with the effort. She buried her face deeper into the bed, half-wishing the bedclothes would swallow her whole.
There was a long silence, and then, the soft, kneading pressure of someone else joining her on the bed. Jackson padded softly towards her, then lay beside her, his lean form stretched against the entire length of her body.
She kept her back to him, ensuring he only had a view of her hair.
'Lisa?' he said, in warmer tones.
His hand landed on her shoulder. It felt hot; an unnerving presence.
He eased her onto her back.
She covered her tear-stained face with her hands.
Gently, he moved her hands away too, and tilted her head towards his own.
She was gasping for breath, as sob after sob continued to judder through her.
She feared looking at him. Being greeted by a hard, blank stare – one she had come to know well as his unflinching face of imperturbable businesslike efficiency.
But instead, his tousled damp hair had fallen, yet again, into disarray over his forehead, and his eyes were soft, a dense, penetrating blue.
Relieved to see that he was not as furious as she had feared, Lisa surged forwards, burrowing close to him, suddenly desperate for the comfort of physical intimacy.
'No … no Lisa,' he warned, trying to force her away from him. 'Please. Don't.'
But Lisa simply couldn't contain the bottled-up emotions swelling inside her chest.
She held him tight, kissing him on the throat, nuzzling him, wallowing in his warmth.
'Lisa. That's really not a good idea,' he said, a little breathlessly.
She instinctively entwined her arms around his neck, smoothly stroking the nape of his neck, relishing his warm smoothness, and the maddening feel of his bare skin against hers.
It was only then that she noticed, that her towel had slipped, while she nestled against him. And that his chest was now next to her naked breasts.
She slowly slid her skin against his, hardly daring to breath. Staring deep into his eyes.
'Oh fuck,' Jackson moaned, screwing his eyes tightly shut, almost as though, by doing this, he might block out the exquisite sensations which were assailing him.
'We can't do this Lisa,' he begged. 'Not now. We have to get out of here. You know that, don't you?'
Yet despite his protests, Lisa could feel that he was highly aroused. And she could feel his eyes, hot and sensual, burning into her. Lingering over her half-naked body, stretched out before him.
She knew he was right. That this was the wrong time. The wrong place even.
But she couldn't help what she was feeling. Which at this particular moment was an urgent desire to kiss him.
She pressed herself tightly against him, thrusting her fingers into his hair, coaxing his mouth to meet hers.
'Jesus,' Jackson said softly, under his breath, before kissing her with mind-spinning ferocity. Deeply. Urgently.
He brusquely shoved her backwards, pinning her against the bed, pushing her arms deep into the mattress.
'What are you trying to do to me Lise?' he asked.
Lisa could feel her heart pumping frantically in her chest.
Slowly, deliberately, he tugged at the remainder of her towel, pulling it away and discarding it, so that she was now completely exposed.
A look of intense arousal flashed across his face as he surveyed her body.
'You're so fucking beautiful,' he said, his voice dry and rasping.
His hot mouth drew hers into a long, deep kiss, which left her reeling, tight blissful tension knotting her stomach.
'You've fucking blown my mind Lisa,' he said, his breathing harsh and labored. 'Do you know that?'
She smiled. 'Is that a good thing?'
Jackson gently stroked her face. 'It's a very dangerous thing. Probably the most dangerous of my entire life.'
'Really? Is that so?' she teased, dancing her fingers, with feather-light delicacy, across his taut stomach, gently pushing away his towel, before trailing her hand up his hot, hard body.
Jackson winced, eyes half-closed in rapture.
He groaned, falling forwards heavily at an angle, entangling a leg between hers as he fell. He slipped an arm underneath her, and in one swift movement, he pulled her close, so close he could feel her body pulsing against his. She hooked her leg around his waist so that she was closer still. So that their hot breaths mingled. Their lips brushed against each others.
'Anyway. I thought you liked danger,' she said in hushed tones, gently arching her body against his, sliding seductively, her eyes never leaving his face.
'I love it,' Jackson said, his voice cracked with emotion, his clear blue eyes gazing deeply into her own, as he tenderly traced his fingers down her body, outlining the curve of her breasts, circling her navel, before sliding his hand further still.
Lisa froze, holding her breath, as with trembling fingers, he gently caressed the soft, warm skin of her inner thigh, closely watching her face, her eyes, before moving higher, deeper.
His breathing came in sharp, ragged bursts, as he reveled in the feel of her.
She writhed uncontrollably, waves of feeling shuddering through her body, as his hand explored her with increasing vigor. She couldn't help moaning, clawing at him, urging him closer still.
He briefly closed his eyes, as though trying to blank out the all-consuming desire which was threatening to overwhelm him, but she could feel his entire body pulsating, teetering on the brink.
'Come here,' he groaned urgently, finally giving in.
He roughly grabbed her by the hips, grinding himself powerfully against her.
'You have no fucking idea, Lisa,' he said, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. 'How much I want to make love to you.'
Her arms encircled his neck, as she pushed herself hard against him, panting heavily with mounting excitement.
He clasped her tightly, one arm supporting her back, his hand in her hair, as he kissed her deeply, brutally on the mouth, kissing her so hard, her lips felt tingling and bruised.
Then, he made love to her, with such force, she thought she might pass out with the pleasure exploding through her body.
XXXXXXXXXX
When Lisa awoke, cool gray light was streaming through a gap between the windowsill and the big blue blind, hanging in the bedroom window.
She felt peaceful, cocooned, snuggled closely against Jackson's chest. So close she could hear his heart beating.
Jackson was already awake, and staring down at her, his eyes a soft, warm blue, which sent her stomach into a frenzy of gently rolling flip-flops.
'Good morning, you fucking gorgeous beautiful woman you,' he said, beaming.
Lisa curved an arm around his neck, pulling him into a long, luxuriant kiss, which neither really wanted to break. Indeed, it was increasingly obvious that Jackson wanted to progress further, as his body pressed against hers with considerable urgency, and one of his hands roamed across her breasts before venturing southwards.
But it was clearly much later than it should be, considering their dire circumstances.
Lisa abruptly slapped Jackson's hand away, and made a strenuous effort to pull herself free from the warm comfort of his body.
'What time is it?' she asked.
'Half six,' he said, catching his breath, and retracting his arm to a comparatively safer position, resting on Lisa's tummy. 'The police will now be at De Bowen's apartment.'
'How do you know that?' Lisa asked.
'He's an early riser. There'll be a cook, a chauffeur and no doubt cleaning staff already there. He's often in the office from seven onwards.'
Lisa's insides chilled.
She remembered that Jackson had said last night that he would be suspect numero uno in a murder inquiry. Which meant they had to get out of this apartment. And fast. The police could be here any minute.
'I guess we need to get going,' she said.
Jackson was clearly experiencing a similar epiphany. He jumped upwards with sudden determination, swiftly dressing, before throwing a pile of Alex's clothing in Lisa's direction.
'No time for niceties,' he said.
'Charley. I have to call Charley,' she gasped.
Jackson threw a cordless phone onto the bed.
'You've got one minute Lise. And then we're out of here.'
XXXXXXXXXX
Lisa waited and waited for Charley to answer the phone, a sickening dread gradually taking hold of her. If Charley, of all people, wasn't there at this time in the morning, then something must have happened to her. She must have been hurt or even killed when they – a faceless, ghastly they – had come to take the tape.
She was about to hang up, when Charley finally answered. She was breathless, as though she'd been running.
'What's up?' she asked, a note of irritation in her voice once she realized it was Lisa.
'I wanted to see how you were,' Lisa said.
'I can't talk now,' Charley hissed in a low whisper. 'I've got company.'
'Oh? You mean … .'
'Yes. And he's just stepped out of the shower so I'd better go.'
So Colm had stayed after all, Lisa thought. In that case, when and how did the tape leave Charley's possession and wind up at De Bowens's?
However, now didn't seem an opportune moment for Lisa to pursue the matter, as she could hear Colm's deep, burnished tones in the background, advancing rapidly towards the telephone.
'It's just Lisa,' Charley explained, as an offside.
There was what sounded like a low rumbling laugh from Colm, which then drifted out of earshot.
Charley bustled back to the phone. 'Yeah, he can't believe you'd ring at such a goddamned stupid hour either,' she said with a chuckle.
So everything seemed to be fine, Lisa thought, soothed that Charley at least seemed to be wholly unawares that anything might have gone awry last night. And even feeling a little sorry for Colm who was in for a worse day than he could have possibly imagined at the Keefe campaign, once the news of Talbot's murder took hold.
Which reminded her.
'Charley?' she asked.
'Yup.'
'You still got the key card for the Sheraton?'
'Sure,' Charley said, a little suspiciously.
'Look, I've got to skip out of town for a few days … don't ask why … could you drop by the hotel this morning and grab my things? Check out on my behalf?'
Charley paused. 'Everything OK Lisa?'
'I'll tell you later. I promise.'
Colm's baritone had returned, clearly hoping to attract Charley's attention. She giggled.
'Right Lisa. That'll be fine. I've gotta dash hon.'
'I'll speak to you soon,' Lisa said, a little mournfully, as she instantly realized that she wasn't sure exactly when that would be. That the future had suddenly become so very uncertain.
She clambered out of Jackson's bed, tidying the bedclothes out of force of habit, and sifted through the mound of Alex's clothes, Jackson had left out for her, eventually donning a lace camisole and charcoal gray suit. Alex was certainly bigger than herself. She had to turn up the jacket sleeves, and the skirt was knee-length, when she fancied it was meant to be considerably shorter.
XXXXXXXXXX
In the hallway, Jackson was speaking on a cellphone to someone – presumably his friend, who it was hoped could help them out.
'I can get there even sooner,' Jackson was saying.
He nodded, listening to whoever was on the other end of the line.
'Sure. I appreciate that,' Jackson said. 'No … no. I'll tell you when I see you. It'd be better face to face.'
Jackson checked his watch. 'Well, we'll make it on the hour then … OK. Sure. One last thing. Have you swept your offices lately? Because I don't want to be … that's right. OK. Good. I'll see you then.'
Jackson turned to Lisa. 'We've got an hour and a half to kill. He's got a breakfast meeting, and can't get out of it.'
Lisa sighed, exasperated. 'Did you say it was urgent?'
Jackson shrugged. 'Kind of. I didn't want to overload him with too much at this stage. You never know who's listening in.'
'What are we going to do?' Lisa asked.
Jackson grimaced. 'Unfortunately, we can't stay here,' he said. 'And I need to find us some transport.'
'And I'm hungry,' Lisa moaned.
Jackson's face softened. 'Come here,' he said, drawing her into a warm embrace.
He kissed her on the lips repeatedly. 'This is so fucked up,' he murmured. 'But I'll make it better. I promise.'
Lisa privately wondered how. As far as she could tell, either the police or De Bowen's shady associates might do for Jackson, and as for herself, there was a remote chance, a slim possibility, that she might be able to walk away from this mess unscathed.
Except that wouldn't ever be possible. Not now.
Not if Jackson was in some kind of trouble. Or worse … .
Seized with a burst of impassioned angst, she clung to him, kissing his neck, then his lips.
'You'd better take the fur,' Jackson said, laughing at her sudden ardor.
'As long as I don't have to wear it,' she said grumpily.
Jackson hoisted a large leather holdall onto his back. Lisa took a smaller brown suede bag which contained her own ripped clothing from last night, her purse which Jackson had extricated from the De Bowen residence, and a few additional garments.
There was also a black leather holster, and a gun.
XXXXXXXXXX
Ben was just quitting duty when they finally made it downstairs.
'Not such a quick getaway after all,' he muttered, his eyes twinkling.
'What the hell did you tell him?' Lisa asked Jackson, as soon as they had left the building.
But Lisa could tell he was hardly listening to her, as he quickly surveyed the area just beyond their doorway, checking for unwelcome onlookers.
He turned left, briskly walking in the opposite direction to Fifth Avenue.
'Where are we going?' Lisa asked, struggling a little to keep up with him. Despite her customary insomnia, he was clearly better accustomed to such acute sleep deprivation.
However, instead of replying, Jackson suddenly pushed her against a parked car, forcing her down onto the ground. He crouched beside her.
'What was that for?' Lisa cried, but realized from the wide-eyed, vigilant expression on Jackson's face that he was clearly hiding from view.
Lisa was able to peer around the tire of the Buick she now found herself pinned against, and saw, on the other side of the street, a tall, gray-haired man stepping out of a parked black Mercedes.
She instantly recognized him as the man she had seen enter Beauchamps, shortly before Jackson, just five days ago.
Jackson snaked an arm around her, pulling her close.
'OK Lisa. Let's move slowly around the car. He's coming our way.'
She did as he bid, crawling on her hands and knees, glad that there hadn't been any rainfall, glad too that this was the Upper East Side, and that the sidewalk had at least been cleaned in the not too distant past.
Jackson followed close behind.
Lisa could now see the gray-haired guy was strutting across the street and heading straight for Jackson's apartment block.
'Fuck,' Jackson muttered. 'This means they're onto us.'
'I recognize him,' Lisa said.
'Yeah. You should,' Jackson said dryly. 'He sat in your hotel reception everyday for three months straight.'
'You serious?' Lisa asked, genuinely shocked at this piece of information.
'Uh-huh,' Jackson said. 'You've met Gerry Montana, many times over.'
So this was the famous Gerry Montana. The guy who'd devised the plot to kill Keefe. A plot Jackson had described as … what was it? … 'A crock of shit.'
Montana entered Jackson's apartment building.
'Come on,' Jackson said, grabbing Lisa by the shoulder.
They ran down the remainder of the street, turning left onto Madison Avenue, which was already seething with early morning traffic.
Lisa had to stop, collapsing against a shop window. Jackson looked at her a little impatiently, but then saw that she was doubled up with pain.
'It's just a stitch,' she gasped.
'I thought you were in good shape,' he said.
'Usually. I am,' she panted. 'But not after a night like …. .'
'Last night,' Jackson said, removing the heavy fur cloak from her care.
Lisa was feeling queasy with exhaustion. And hunger. She closed her eyes, and was relieved, when she opened them again, to see that Jackson had hailed a cab.
XXXXXXXXXX
'Where's this?' Lisa asked, as they exited the cab in a surprisingly deserted side street, not too far from the United Nations building.
They rapidly walked towards a car lot belonging to a car rental company.
'Wait here,' Jackson commanded.
She watched him enter the car lot, and cross the yard to talk to a man who was standing on the steps of a trailer. He seemed to know Jackson, judging by their cordial handshake.
He invited Jackson into the trailer.
Jackson momentarily looked back at Lisa, then he disappeared inside.
She waited with growing impatience for Jackson's re-emergence.
She was also beginning to attract some unwanted interest. A couple of guys sauntered past her, eyeing her strangely. Their pace slowed and they seemed to be debating between themselves whether they should approach her.
She pointedly looked away, suddenly glad that Jackson had packed a gun into her suede bag.
To her relief, Jackson re-appeared, trotting busily down the trailer's steps, jangling a set of keys in his hand. He beckoned her over.
Lisa grabbed the suede bag and flung the burdensome fur cloak over her arm, tripping towards Jackson as fast as her heels could carry her.
Jackson was already throwing his heavy holdall onto the backseat of a coffee-colored Chrysler sedan, which had clearly seen better days.
'Welcome to our new home from home,' Jackson announced proudly.
'You rented this?' Lisa asked.
'Nope,' Jackson said. 'I bought it. Cash. It's an ex-rental. The guy here owed me a favor, so I called time.'
Lisa didn't dare ask what the favor was, and from the warning look in Jackson's eye, she knew not to ask.
Instead, she hopped into the passenger seat, grinning inanely.
It felt good to have some kind of vehicle to hide away in.
Even better to finally offload the fur cloak, as Jackson piled it into the rear, away from sight.
He climbed in beside her.
'OK, we've got twenty minutes to make Lexington,' he said.
'Lexington?' Lisa asked. 'Your friend works on Lexington Avenue?'
Jackson smiled. 'Sure Lise. You've been there before. Remember?'
XXXXXXXXXX
They parked a short walk away from the offices on Lexington, close by Fifty-Third Street, where Lisa had followed Jackson and Alex.
It was almost eight o'clock.
Jackson had suggested she stay in the car. But Lisa couldn't stand the idea of yet another anxious wait for his return.
Lexington Avenue was already humming with activity, as hordes of commuters were arriving for work.
Jackson stood in line at the same kiosk, situated to the right of the office block's amphitheater forecourt, where Lisa had tried, in vain as it turned out, to spy covertly on Jackson and Alex.
Jackson shoved a pack of M&Ms into Lisa's hand.
'We'll grab a bite as soon as this is done with,' he promised.
'Thanks,' Lisa said, cramming a huge handful of candies into her mouth. Anything to sate the hunger pangs which were gnawing at her insides.
'You not hungry?' she asked.
'I can wait,' Jackson said.
They entered the building, joining the throng of suits waiting in the foyer for an elevator to whisk them upstairs to their place of work.
'So who is this friend?' Lisa asked, dimly aware that she had seen him once – right here – except he had been obscured from view. In any case, she had been too fixated on Jackson and Alex, to pay over much attention.
Jackson smiled. 'My oldest. I've known him since we were kids. You'll like him.'
Lisa didn't want to alarm Jackson, but she was becoming increasingly aware of a short, stocky, bald man in a beige suit who was keenly staring at them – yet the moment she had caught his eye, he had looked away, making a great show of checking his watch instead.
'Is that your guy?' she asked Jackson, nudging him and subtly flicking her eyes in the beige-suited man's direction. Jackson had been preoccupied with dialing a number on his cellphone, but he looked over, nevertheless.
The beige man instantly pulled a cellphone from his pocket, turning away from their gaze while he made a call.
'Something's wrong,' Lisa said, tremulously. 'I know it.'
Jackson scrutinized her face, a flicker of concern in his eyes.
'What makes you say that?'
'Where's your friend, for one?'
'I was about to call him. Tell him we were here.'
Yet even as he spoke, a shadowy recollection of the broad-chested man with a rumbling laugh, crossing this same foyer with Jackson and Alex, flitted through Lisa's mind.
How had she not thought it before? But of course … .
She gazed upwards at the placards hanging on the wall, detailing the names of the companies located in the office block. She didn't have to look far. She'd already seen it before, but somehow it had never registered, never fully seeped into her consciousness.
Buchanan, Sheen and Smith Associates. Seventh Floor.
A flurry of nauseous bile filled her throat. She swallowed hard, grabbing at Jackson's arm.
'Don't make the call,' she urged.
But she knew it was too late. The beige man was staring at them with renewed interest, gabbling into his cellphone as he moved quickly towards the elevators.
Luckily there was still a thick clump of people between him and them.
'Why not? Lise? What's wrong?' Jackson said. 'You've gone pale. Are you ill?'
'I know him. I know your friend,' she said, pulling him rapidly away from the elevators and the beige man, back towards the main entrance.
'Yeah, you saw him.'
'No Jackson. He works for the Keefe campaign. His name's Colm Buchanan. I've seen him almost everyday since I've been in New York. He took me and Charley to see Rigoletto and he spent last night with her. He was in her apartment when I called her early this morning.' Lisa said all this as fast as she could, hoping that it was enough to at least dissuade Jackson from calling.
Enough to persuade him to get out of here.
Fast.
In the space of a few seconds, Jackson's face changed hue from a normal flesh tone to a livid chalky white. His eyes had iced into a fierce cold blue.
Lisa could tell that he was frantically calculating the import of this information.
He thrust his cell back into his pocket and grabbed Lisa's hand,
'OK Lise. We're going to walk out of here, calmly and coolly. Don't look back at Baldie, whatever you do,' he said in low tones. 'And run when I tell you.'
Lisa inhaled deeply.
'OK.'
They headed out of the main entrance, fighting against the flow, into the forecourt.
'Come on,' Jackson said, quickly pulling her away from the building. 'He's watching us.'
'Who?'
'Colm. He's behind us. Watching from his office window.'
Lisa was desperate to stop and look, but Jackson pre-empted her, gripping her hand ever more tightly. 'There's no time. We've got to get back to the car. And Baldie's going to be on our heels any moment now.'
Jackson blanched, almost coming to a standstill. 'Shit. Montana.'
Sure enough, Gerry Montana was waiting on the sidewalk, arms folded, a broad grin on his face.
Jackson seized Lisa's arm and bolted, dragging her across the forecourt in the opposite direction.
Jackson ploughed through a line of people waiting at the kiosk, scattering them in a variety of directions.
'Asshole!' yelled a burly-looking guy, stepping onto the sidewalk, and fortuitously blocking Montana's direct path to them. The burly guy was roughly pushed aside, but Jackson and Lisa were already around the corner, and sprinting up Fifty-Third in the direction of East River.
Except now, having managed to avoid the chaos at the kiosk, the beige-suited guy from the foyer was also in close pursuit.
'Jackson!' Lisa panted. 'The car's in the other direction.'
'We'll get it later,' he yelled.
Lisa dared to glance behind and saw that their beige-suited pursuant was grappling for his gun.
Jackson pushed Lisa to the ground, falling clumsily on top of her, as the beige man stopped to take aim.
From her prone position on the sidewalk, Lisa could see Gerry Montana was close behind the beige man, approaching at a rapid rate.
Then, to her surprise, Montana pulled at the beige man's jacket, forcing him to topple backwards, his gun flying out of his grasp.
The beige man leaped up, furiously berating Montana, who stood and watched, an inscrutable expression on his face, as Jackson and Lisa took advantage of this golden opportunity, to scrabble to their feet and run.
They continued running, hand in hand.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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The Real Deal