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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
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Fight or Flight
After many hours of watching rolling news coverage, Lisa was surprised to find out that George De Bowen's sudden death was attracting less attention than she had expected.
The network, she thought wryly. Had to be. Covering their tracks.
After all, there had notably been no mention of De Bowen's henchmen, Brody and Kimble, who had also been slain on that fateful night in De Bowen's apartment.
Meanwhile Talbot's demise was being discussed in most depth, by political pundits, of all people, on CNN, debating the effects of his untimely demise and the subsequent police investigation on Keefe's campaign to be president.
Oddly it seemed to be Charley's murder which had attracted the most mainstream media attention, in large part because of her recent successes in the art world. It didn't surprise Lisa to discover that Charley had so many friends and acquaintances. And that her untimely death had prompted such genuine grief in so many quarters.
There was precious little detail about her death, beyond the basic facts. Her body had been discovered that morning by a friend. She had been dead for almost twenty-four hours, which Lisa realized meant she had been killed that same morning that herself and Jackson had fled New York.
With a cold shudder, Lisa concluded that Colm had probably killed her soon after she had spoken to Lisa on the telephone.
Similarly disturbing was the thought that all these killings were inter-connected. She couldn't help but wonder how long it would take the police to realize this.
Jackson had watched the news for some time, huddled against her on the threadbare sofa in the living room, gently stroking her back. But he had soon fallen asleep, which surprised her, in view of his suspicious fear of this place.
He must have been exhausted.
She didn't dare disturb him. He looked so peaceful, and he clearly needed the rest.
So did she. But there was a tumult of worries, fears and a constant whine of guilt-ridden grief, thrumming through her mind.
Desperate for a drink, Lisa braved the kitchen. There was no way she could enter without putting the light on, even though she knew Jackson would rather they operated in the dark, to ensure they did not attract unwarranted attention.
Even with the chill, fluorescent lighting, there was still something shadowy about this place. She shrugged off her fears, which were unfounded and frankly juvenile.
She put the kettle on, and leaned against the sink unit, arms folded, back to the window, listening to the faint bubbling of the water as it gradually came to the boil.
She inhaled deeply. Trying to relax.
See. There was no reason for fear. It was all in the mind.
Or rather in Jackson's mind, and he'd somehow transmitted it to her. Infected her with his own dark thoughts and memories.
Even so, a stab of anxiety shot through her, unbidden. And she swung round to gaze outside, out of the window, where it was pitch black, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.
She half-expected to see a face suddenly pressed against the glass, peering at her.
She saw the kitchen reflected in the window, still and empty.
But then a brief movement in the doorway, alerted her to the presence of a long, lean figure.
The light cut to blackness.
Lisa felt sick with fear. She clapped her hands to her mouth, to stop herself from screaming.
'Jackson?' she asked, in tremulous tones.
Any answer was muffled by the kettle, exploding into life, the boiling water frothing and fizzing. Lisa fumbled for the OFF switch on the kettle.
Jackson was soon at her side.
'I saw the light,' he said, by way of explanation.
'You scared the life out of me,' she muttered angrily. 'I need light to make myself a coffee, if you don't mind.'
Jackson moved away. She could hear him rummaging through drawers. He finally halted, slamming a drawer shut, and moments later, she heard the harsh lick of a match being struck, and Jackson's face emerged from the darkness, flickering in the pale, orange match light.
She had time only to grab a mug and the coffee jar from a cupboard, before they were plunged again into darkness. He lit another match.
'Come on Lise,' he growled. 'We haven't got all day.'
Lisa slopped hot water over a smattering of dark instant coffee granules, coating the bottom of her mug.
'Did you want anything?' she asked.
The match faded, accompanied by a sharp curse from Jackson. Clearly he'd allowed the match to burn down to his fingers.
'I'm fine. Let's get out of here,' he grumbled.
XXXXXXXXXX
Now that they were back in the relatively safe confines of the living room, with the TV for company, she had to say something.
'I don't believe in ghosts, or things that go bump in the night,' Lisa said emphatically, 'but there's something darned creepy about that kitchen.'
She gulped back her hot coffee, glad of its fragrant warmth.
Jackson pursed his lips. His eyes large and gleaming in the moving white light emitted by the TV set, shadowy and veiled the next, as the pictures shifted from one scene to another.
'Well. Maybe the fact the place scares you, proves you do believe in them, after all,' he said bluntly.
'I'm not scared,' she said. 'Just …. Unnerved. Jumpy.'
There was a long, awkward pause, broken eventually by Jackson's cool tones, prefaced by an unmistakable sigh.
'The kitchen's where I found them.'
Lisa instantly knew he was referring to his parents.
'Mom had been shot in the head,' he said icily.
'Jesus,' Lisa murmured. No wonder he hated the place.
'He was still alive. But only just.'
Lisa couldn't help but notice the venom in Jackson's voice when he mentioned his father … or the man who he had thought was his father.
Yes. There was definitely a glint of anger, or was it remorse, in his eyes. But Lisa was unable to study him further, as his attention immediately switched to the TV, seemingly mesmerized by the newsreader.
'Who … who killed them?' she asked, a little anxious about this answer. She recalled with chilling clarity, how he had once joked that he had killed his parents.
Jackson didn't reply at first. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the sofa.
'Apparently they had enemies,' he said finally. 'He had been involved in some pretty vile, thuggish stuff, when they'd lived in New York, before they moved to Maine.'
Lisa hazarded a guess that Jackson wasn't too surprised about his adopted father's past.
'And it finally caught up with him,' he smirked. 'Well. Them,' he added, his voice softening.
He'd liked his Mom, Lisa thought.
'So. It was a hit,' she said.
Jackson nodded. Then he looked at her.
There was something deeply intense and raw in that single gaze. She felt the breath in her throat hitch at the unexpected sadness she saw in his face.
'I could have saved him you know. He'd been stabbed. Repeatedly. But one quick phone call might have made a difference. But I … I left him instead. Sprawled across the kitchen table,' Jackson said. 'He bled to death.'
'You were just a child. You didn't know what you were doing,' Lisa said, instantly closing the gap between them on the sofa. She placed her coffee cup on the floor, then nestled against him, grabbing his hands, and cradling them in her own.
'Believe me Lise. I was ten years old and I knew exactly what I was doing,' Jackson sneered. 'I didn't like the man. Never did. And in that instant, I blamed him for what had happened to Molly.'
Lisa guessed that Molly was 'Mom.'
'Of course, the irony of it all, is I became an assassin myself,' Jackson said.
'A manager,' Lisa corrected.
'Oh Lise, I hope you haven't deluded yourself here. You become a manager.' He turned his hands over in his lap so that they were resting on top of hers. 'These hands are very bloody indeed.'
'But … you're a better man than that Jackson. You do know that, don't you?' Lisa whispered.
Jackson narrowed his eyes curiously. Almost as though he was seeing Lisa for the first time.
She waited for an answer, soon realizing that there wasn't going to be one. Not now, at any rate.
She pulled her hands away from his lap, and folded her arms tightly against her chest. She lolled wearily against Jackson's shoulder, eyes fixed on the TV screen. Gradually her eyes slid shut, overcome with a sudden wave of tiredness, and she drifted into sleep.
XXXXXXXXXX
Jackson had insisted they leave as soon as dawn broke. They took the Subaru, leaving Colm's BMW in the barn.
Lisa was surprised at the minor devastation wreaked the night before by the storm. More than she had expected. Clearly the storm would have put paid to any hopes of Jackson's to spend the night in the barn.
Of course it was nothing on the scale of a full-blown hurricane. Far from it. But from the state of it, Cutters Cove had certainly suffered a fair degree of damage from high-speed winds. Yet again, the main street was deserted, the only difference being that the sidewalks were littered with broken glass and strewn with trash.
'This place is kind of creepy,' Lisa said in hushed tones.
Jackson sneered. 'I never liked it. I was only too happy when my Uncle Henry moved me away.'
XXXXXXXXXX
They drove in silence for an hour or so, finally pulling into a small coastal town, no bigger than diminutive Cutters Cove. The sea was as wild and churned as it had been yesterday, and the winds were still hugely forceful. So fierce, Jackson had to battle to edge himself out of the Subaru, to grab a paper from a vending machine.
He was panting when he returned, his cheeks pink, his dark hair ruffled into a Gothic punk frenzy by the unforgiving winds.
Lisa couldn't help but giggle.
Jackson refused to look at her, but his mouth was slightly tilted into what could have been a smile, had he not then found himself looking at a sizable studio portrait of Charley, smiling and vivacious, featured prominently in the news pages.
'You know what Lisa,' he said softly. 'I'm really, truly sorry. I didn't think she'd be in any immediate danger. I don't understand why this has happened.'
Lisa wanted to say it was alright. To reassure him. But if truth be told, there was a small but insistently nagging part of her that agreed with him. He had been stupid and trusting, for some unaccountable reason, rigidly sticking to what he perceived to be a certain protocol, a form of etiquette in his dirty line of work, despite mounting evidence to the contrary. Brody killing Talbot Haynes being a case in point.
And now her dear friend. Lovable, gregarious Charley. She had paid the price for it.
She blinked back tears, scooting closer to Jackson to read what the article said about her.
The first most shocking piece of information was her manner of death, which bore all the hallmarks of a frenzied knife attack. She had imagined Colm to be a clean, no-nonsense killer. A swift bullet to the brain.
Police reports suggested that there had been a prolonged struggle.
This didn't surprise Lisa. Not one jot. She even felt a surge of bitter pride on Charley's behalf, despite the ghastliness of the situation. And an all-consuming hatred of Colm. She clenched her fists into tight, angry little balls and ground her teeth together in rage, fervently wishing she had jammed that fork deep into his eye.
She took a deep calming breath and forced herself to continue reading the article, and was immediately roused from her darkly murderous fantasy, by further heart-stopping information, which came a few paragraphs later.
The deep frown on Jackson's face suggested to her that he was sharing her anxiety at the news that police were now seeking a 'Lisa Reisert' who had been vacationing in New York with Charley, and was now viewed as a missing person.
'I should notify the police. Tell them I'm OK,' Lisa breathed. 'Poor Dad'll be scared out of his wits.'
Jackson let the newspaper fall onto his lap.
'I don't want to keep you with me against your will, you know that, don't you?' he said, his piercing blue eyes intently scrutinizing her face. 'But you do realize the police will link you and Charley to the Haynes case. It's inevitable. You were all together the night Talbot died, and on the eve of Charley's murder.'
'As was Colm,' Lisa said pointedly. 'The only difference being, of course, at the moment he can say what the hell he likes, because he's not in hiding. Colm can present himself as a credible witness. And as I very much doubt Charley ever made it to the Sheraton to check me out, it'll simply look like I've gone AWOL. I've no choice but to prove otherwise.'
Jackson chewed his lip thoughtfully.
'If you want to reassure your folks that you're still alive, then yes, there's a strong argument for your going to the police,' he said finally. 'Maybe you should have gone to them the night I killed De Bowen after all,' he added ruefully. 'There was nothing to link you with that case. And you now know much more that could hurt you, than you did back then.'
He didn't have to mention Colm by name, but his presence persisted as a dark spectral shadow between them. Even this veiled reference sent an acute anxiety shuddering through her.
'Except if I go to the police alone, that does nothing to help you,' Lisa said, unable to suppress the sigh which heaved through her.
'And just how, exactly, does your potentially becoming a police suspect for double murder help me Lisa?' Jackson asked. 'Because as you know, if you don't show up soon, it's gonna look mighty suspicious. One way or another.'
'Oh for sure,' Lisa agreed. 'But I'm scared Jackson. Because without your protection I'd make a damned easy target for Colm, don't you think? I know way too much.' Lisa said. 'And I kind of doubt the police would believe me if I told them the truth about Colm – not without substantive evidence. Not without you.'
Jackson didn't answer, seemingly lost in thought.
'Hey. Are you hungry?' he finally asked, folding the newspaper away before stowing it in the dashboard's glove compartment. 'Let's find some place to eat and we can talk this through.'
XXXXXXXXXXX
They drove on for a few miles, soon encountering a small, scrappy-looking roadside café, constructed out of dark wooden timbers. The place was deserted, bar a red pickup truck parked close to the diner, as most traffic seemed to have been deterred by the dangerously windy driving conditions.
Jackson checked out the café first before beckoning Lisa indoors.
She fought against the swirling winds, glad to get inside.
Jackson ordered two coffees and two plates of eggs and toast from a sour-faced, rather dingy-looking waitress.
She brought them their coffees then scuttled away to fetch their food. They hoped to resume their conversation, but their words echoed loudly in the deep silence.
The sour-faced waitress soon returned with their eggs, then retreated to a long counter, decked with condiment holders and plastic menus. She parked herself on a high stool and flicked lazily through a magazine.
Jackson moved his chair closer to the table, so that he could speak with Lisa in a more casually confidential manner, which didn't just amount to conspiratorial whispering. His chair squeaked violently as he moved. They both grinned, but said nothing, tucking into their food instead.
Fortunately, a telephone behind the counter rang, and the sour-faced waitress was soon expounding in loud tones to her caller, that Stan's haemorrhoids were playing him up something terrible.
'Poor Stan,' Jackson said, wincing at her words. He gulped back his coffee, an amused twinkle in his eyes.
'I've had an idea,' Lisa said, leaning even closer to Jackson. The hot steam rising from her coffee pleasantly tickled her chin.
'Maybe we should kill two birds with one stone?' she said. 'I know this guy … a good guy, Kirk Novelli, who works for the Miami police department. He ... he knows a fair bit about you already. Maybe I should speak with him, tell all ... .'
A dark shadow scudded across Jackson's face and he instinctively pulled back.
'OK, not all. But enough. See if he can advise me. Make some preliminary inquiries. Because the last thing I want is to go to the police and then wind up without any protection. Not while Colm's still at large and can take me out.'
Jackson pondered this. 'You sure you trust this Novelli?'
'I think so.'
'He's the guy you wanted to play our little tape to, isn't he, when we were back in Miami?' Jackson added with a cheeky smile.
Lisa grinned smarmily in response.
'OK. So he's definitely familiar with this case,' Jackson leered.
Lisa sighed, a little exasperated, recalling her acute embarrassment when Jackson had switched the tapes, ensuring Novelli was treated to a burst of impromptu disco fever rather than a serious exposition of Jackson's attempt to kill Keefe.
She toyed with her food, all the while wondering if Novelli could help them in another way too. It seemed improbable, but then, maybe it was worth a try?
'And don't forget. There's also Keefe,' she said. 'Novelli could maybe contact him on our behalf. Act as a go-between.'
Jackson vehemently shook his head. 'You know Lise, I've been thinking about that. It's a stupid idea. All my instincts are telling me it's a no go.'
He was interrupted by the waitress, emitting a hail of shrill, grating laughter as she continued her telephone conversation.
'How can you say that? If we get Keefe on side, we potentially solve both problems. You and me,' Lisa retorted.
'No Lisa. By going to Keefe, you don't realize what you're asking me to do,' Jackson said, in low, threatening tones. 'Let me just cut and run and be done with it. It's better that way.'
'But we need to tell Keefe about Colm. Inform him that he has a known assassin on his staff, before it's too late. And then we might also gain some leverage. Keefe's a powerful man. And he's a good guy. He'll value what we have to say.'
'Except it won't stop at Colm, Lisa,' Jackson said, his blue eyes blazing. 'If I am a genuine suspect for the De Bowen killing, which I'm pretty darned sure I am, then I'll have to give a lot, lot more than just tip Keefe off, to buy myself any kind of immunity here. Any kind of … normality. And frankly I've no desire to spend the rest of my days languishing on some fucking witness protection program, because that's where I'd wind up. Believe me.'
'Isn't that better than being on the run for the rest of your life?' Lisa asked, spitting out her words angrily.
Jackson scowled. 'In my business, making enemies and avoiding them is what you do. You just get on with it.'
Lisa could feel her eyes stinging with unshed tears. A hot flush stole across her cheeks.
She didn't want to cry in front of Jackson, so she muttered her excuses and headed for the restroom.
XXXXXXXXXX
She sat heavily on the toilet, knickers round her ankles, and sobbed uncontrollably.
Stupid bloody guy, she thought. Didn't he realize? Didn't he care?
She grabbed a long length of tissue and spooled it round her hand, dabbing at her wet cheeks, before blowing her nose.
How could she have been so foolish? She actually had feelings for the cold-hearted prick.
She'd stupidly allowed herself to fall for him. Had hoped, deep down, that he felt the same way too. Enough even to come clean about his past, to change his way of life. To maybe stick around.
Sure, she didn't want him to settle into some kind of turgid domesticated obscurity, for her sake. Indeed, she could hardly imagine returning to her past life. The steadiness, the drudgery and predictability of it all.
But she had crossed the Rubicon when they left New York that day. She had wanted him. To be close to him. To love him, even.
Crazy as that seemed, in view of their particular history.
Something in him had touched her like no other. Like nothing else.
But clearly it wasn't mutual.
He seemed all too happy for them to go their separate ways.
For her to go to the police, return to her old life, her life before Jackson … even with the constant unresolved threat of Colm, casting a dark, ominous shadow over the rest of her days.
While he skidaddled off to wherever guys like him went running when the going got too tough to handle.
XXXXXXXXXX
Lisa had no idea how long she'd been sitting in the toilet cubicle, but she soon learned she had company.
There was a loud thwacking crunch as the door leading into the 'Ladies' was pushed hard against a wall, and the distinctive sound of heavy treaded shoes stomping restlessly on floor tiles, resounded throughout the restroom.
Lisa instantly froze, holding her breath.
It was probably Jackson. But in the absence of any reassurance, a greeting of some sort, she couldn't help but fear that Colm had finally caught up with them.
She was sure the sound of her heart galloping crazily inside of her was echoing loudly, alerting whoever it was loitering outside her cubicle, to her presence within.
This, of course, was why she didn't want to leave Jackson. Not just because … because she had feelings for him. But also because she was scared. Terrified, even. Terrified of being alone.
'Lisa,' Jackson said softly. 'Are you alright in there?'
The sound of his voice was her undoing. Lisa broke out again into a fierce rally of sobs.
'Let me in,' Jackson urged, thrusting his shoulder against the door.
She didn't answer, unable to stem the tears that insisted on flowing down her cheeks. She didn't want him to see her like this. Pathetic and frightened. Because if he did, he really would see her as a liability.
'Lisa,' Jackson pleaded. 'I know you're in there.'
There was a long pause. So long Lisa almost wondered if he had tiptoed out of the restroom without her noticing.
And then the cubicle door exploded as Jackson shouldered it off its hinges with brutal force.
Lisa yelped, suddenly ashamed to be found with her knickers round her ankles, her tear-stained face red and puffy.
Jackson leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded nonchalantly, an affectionate smirk on his face.
'Don't just laugh at me, you bastard,' Lisa choked.
Jackson's smirk extended into a broad grin. He crouched down beside her, his eyes shining with amusement. He gently caressed her cheek, then brushed his fingers against her lips.
Lisa shuddered with pleasure at his touch. But any real pleasure was stymied by her painful awareness that she was still sitting, rather inelegantly, on a toilet.
'I'd … I'd better stand up,' she said hoarsely.
Jackson looped his arms around her and hauled her to her feet. She scrabbled to pull her knickers on.
He continued grinning, standing aside with exaggerated courtesy to let her pass him on her way to the sinks, where she washed her hands.
'You forgot to flush,' he said.
'I didn't go.'
She looked at her face in the mirror, and saw Jackson approaching her from behind. He embraced her, head bent, mouth muffled into her shoulder, his eyes gazing at hers in the mirror.
'You're right,' he mumbled. 'I should cut a deal somehow.'
Lisa blinked in surprise, keeping her eyes firmly locked on his.
'With the police?'
'Eventually,' he said. He tightened his hold on her, easing his chin onto her shoulder. 'But first with Keefe. Maybe get your police pal on board to mediate, because I'm going to need all the goddamned help I can get.'
'You do realize, our accusing Colm will only be truly credible if you explain what you actually are … which means you're going to have to tell Keefe that you once tried to kill him,' Lisa said plainly.
'Oh yes,' he said, a baleful look in his eye. 'That's going to be the fun part.'
His eyes brightened. 'But … I'm hoping that the quality of information I can offer, in addition to ratting out Colm, might go a little way to mitigating his ire.'
'And you accept that we're probably talking witness protection,' Lisa said glumly.
'Yup,' he said, a pained expression on his face. 'But then I guess a life is better than no life. Which is how I'd wind up in the end.'
He swung her round to face him. His eyes staring intently into hers, his breath warm on her cheek.
'And … I can't expect you to run with me Lise. And I sure as hell don't want to run from you,' he added, his voice husky with emotion. 'So what choice do I have?'
Lisa could feel tears returning to her eyes, to the point where her vision was starting to blur a little.
Jackson's mouth pressed against her. His lips were warm and soft. Comforting even.
She threw her arms around his neck and clutched him tightly.
She then burst into loud, pealing laughter. 'What is it with us and restrooms?' she asked.
'Well, we'd probably best get out of this one. The cowface waitress stared daggers at me when I came in here looking for you,' Jackson chuckled.
Lisa took a deep breath. 'Just … just one thing Jackson. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Because I can cope alone you know. You don't have to stay with me for the sake of it.'
A strange growling noise erupted from Jackson's throat, and he held her even tighter than before, so tight, she realized she'd have bruises on her arms and neck, imprinted by his fingers. He kissed her with a burning savagery, which clean took her breath away.
'I don't want you to cope alone,' he said, through gritted teeth. 'I'm fucking crazy about you Lise. I want to be with you. Look after you. How could you possibly think I'd want anything else?'

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The Real Deal