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

Chapter List
- 3
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- 5
CHAPTER FOUR – Boogie Wonderland
Lisa slept for a few brief hours. When she woke up, she felt drained, aching all over, her right temple throbbing.
By the time she had blinked her eyes open, a whole bunch of confusing sensations were clawing at her insides, as though a swarm of butterflies was dizzying round and round her belly.
What had happened? What had she done? And then she remembered.
JACKSON.
Oh please God, no, she whimpered.
She buried her face in her pillow.
Suddenly the crunching throb of pain which was shooting through her head, sourced it seemed from the dried-out wound on her temple, was nothing compared to her antics – was there really any other word for it? – with THAT man.
She shuddered at the thought, even though she was mindful, startlingly so, that her horror, her shame, was also mingled with a faint swishing swirl of excitement. Her lips still felt tingly, as if swollen from his kisses. She caressed them with her finger, thrilling momentarily.
A burst of anger, of self-disgust ripped through her. She had behaved abominably. She hated herself. She threw her head into her hands and groaned loudly.
But … at least she'd recorded it all.
She dove under her pillows, searching for the Dictaphone. There it was.
She grabbed it, hit the REWIND button and waited, waited for the audio cassette - recording Jackson's true identity, revealing his involvement in the plot to kill Keefe, his following her - to spool back to the beginning.
Everyone would know, would have to acknowledge, that Jackson Rippner was a reality, not a demon of her own imagining.
She hit PLAY.
First, a hushing and a sighing. The unmistakable sound of kissing. A little muffled perhaps by the pillow, but distinct enough. More distinct still was her breathing, short, gasping breathes, and … Lisa blushed hotly … soft moans of excitement. Just listening to this again, she could feel her heart racing, her insides clenching.
Oh God, she thought. I was really into this. And so was Jackson too, by the sound of it.
Come on girl, she thought. Get talking.
She seemed to take a deep breath, and then she spoke, asking Jackson to stop.
He didn't seem to listen. Or maybe he didn't want to.
She spoke again. She could hear a shrill, panicked tone to her voice. She sounded scared.
And then he did stop. Very abruptly. And actually seemed rather nice about it, all considered.
She chewed her lip thoughtfully.
Now for the big stuff. The slap. And the argument.
It was all there. Every word of it, even though Jackson occasionally sounded a little distant. Unsurprisingly so, as he had moved away from the bed, and stood against the wall, opposite her. She looked up at the blank space where he had been, half-expecting to see him re-materialize, his blue eyes flashing angrily at her.
'You are so screwed Jackson Rippner,' she shouted to the void before her.
Oh hell. What am I doing? She thought, her head throbbing painfully. I'm talking to an empty room.
Then came the nasty bit.
Jackson's voice.
'… But I would want to fuck your head up good and proper. Thing is. I don't need to Lise. You're fucked up enough as it is.'
She flinched. He'd almost spat those words out. She could feel the visceral fury in his voice.
He'd left shortly afterwards.
Silence was soon punctuated by sniffing, then the faint strains of sobbing. Sobbing that got louder and louder. Harder and harder. As though her heart would break.
No wonder her eyes ached and her throat was sore.
She listened in horror. How long had she cried for? This was endless. Embarrassing.
And still she went on.
Lisa rolled her eyes, levered her aching body off the bed, and headed for the bathroom.
XXXXXXXXXX
The first thing she saw was the bloody heap of clothing she had left on the floor.
Had all that happened too? And how had it become so very secondary to what had happened later, in her bedroom? Being attacked by three youths, witnessing the deaths of two of them and being rescued by a cold-blooded killer could hardly be seen as less mentally bruising than her encounter with Jackson.
But somehow it was. Or at least it felt that way.
She'd have to give Miriam a call. There was something definitely unhinged happening inside of her.
Lisa ran a deep, hot bath and flung the clothes into the water, dousing them with a litre of fabric detergent. It was excessive, she knew, but there were three large brown stains. Not to mention the dusting of blood on her couch covers downstairs.
Maybe she should burn them. Have done with it. After all, her visit to Dana's might be linked to a subsequent police investigation, which, for the moment, she wanted to avoid. And somehow, she couldn't imagine Jackson being wholly forthcoming about his involvement in what had happened.
She splashed water on her face, grabbing a hand-towel to quickly dry off.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
There was the cut she'd received from her attackers in the parking lot. She traced her finger along the crusted red line. It didn't hurt too much, and Jackson had done a good job of cleaning it up. A band-aid and she'd be fine. Her hand ran down her cheek, to her neck, to the medley of small blue bruises which had erupted on her throat, and … .
Lisa could hardly believe it. She had a hickey.
So much for her grand destruction of Jackson Rippner's character. If she was to show off what he had done to her, it would look like she had been an active participant. That she had even enjoyed it.
But you did, chirruped a small voice inside her head.
Lisa leaned her head heavily against the mirror, her breath steaming up the glass.
She really HAD to see Miriam. Her brain had gone to pieces.
XXXXXXXXX
Lisa hurriedly dressed for work. She had lots to do today. Even more than usual.
Today was the day she would finally expose Jackson Rippner.
Except she didn't feel much like celebrating.
Even after two Tylenol and copious glasses of water, she still had a dull pain dinning at her temples.
Now that her Toyota was no more, she'd have to order a cab to get to work. She'd rent a car later and tell her Dad that the Toyota had been involved in an accident. A mysterious hit-and-run in a parking lot.
Well. It was almost true.
She was about to dial her local Cab firm when the phone rang.
It was Cynthia.
XXXXXXXXX
'Lisa! At last. You're here,' Cynthia squealed, dashing up to her the moment she set foot inside the lobby of the Lux Atlantic hotel.
Lisa could barely believe her eyes. She had never seen the hotel so busy. Not at this hour. The lobby was beset by a whirl of frantic activity as a host of bad-tempered, scowling guests lugging suitcases, bemused-looking conference delegates and a host of harassed cleaning staff bearing buckets and mops were whizzing endlessly from reception, to the elevators, to the conference suites, to the staff quarters. A number of burly, uniformed fire officers were milling around the hotel's main entrance. Lisa had to jostle past them to get inside.
XXXXXXXXX
Cynthia hastily ushered Lisa into her office.
'I'm so, so, so glad to see you,' she gabbled.
'Good, Cynthia. Now just tell me what's happened, from start to finish,' Lisa said, placing a calming hand on Cynthia's shoulder, which she noticed was slightly damp. In fact there was a faintly musty air about Cynthia in general, and her hair was lank and lifeless, as though she had been caught short in a sudden shower without an umbrella.
Cynthia relayed the whole story, wringing her hands in anguish throughout.
Just after 6.45am, a fire alarm had sounded on the twenty-first and twenty-second floors. Cynthia, who had just come on duty, immediately instigated an evacuation of the hotel, and summoned the fire department. However, disaster then struck when the heat-sensitive water sprinklers on the 21st and 22nd floors, suddenly burst into life, soaking the guests who had been ordered to gather in the corridors, ready to leave.
Needless to say, they were furious. Mostly everyone had demanded a refund, plus many more were wanting compensation.
'Still, there was some good news,' Cynthia said in her typically buoyant tones. 'The fire department gave us an all-clear – which is when I rang you.'
'So what triggered the sprinklers?' Lisa asked, puzzled.
Cynthia shrugged. 'We don't know. Particularly the sprinklers in the conference suite.'
'The conference suite?' Lisa asked, aghast.
Cynthia sighed. 'It was really, really bad timing. I'd only just authorized the guests who were wet-through in the lobby to use the facilities in the conference suite when, somehow, those sprinklers too were activated …. It was kind of scary actually,' Cynthia breathed, her eyes agog. 'Not as scary as the missile attack, but very creepy. Kind of like the guests were being followed.'
'I don't understand how this could have possibly happened, I really don't,' Lisa said. 'Is Eric in?'
'He was here within minutes.'
'Did … did he suspect foul play?
'If he did, he didn't say so.'
Then why did he come in so quickly? Lisa thought. She smoothed her hands through her hair. She had to think straight. Devise an action plan. Why today, of all days?
'OK Cynthia, 'Lisa said, instantly suppressing any panic or fluster which might overtake her with a deep breath. 'First things first. We ensure these guests are as comfortable as possible, which I'm sure you're on to already. As for compensation. I'm thinking refunds for those who ask, dry cleaning costs and three nights' complimentary stay, at any time of their choosing. Got that?'
Cynthia nodded.
'Good. OK. Call in everyone. Call round the agencies. Call staff on leave. Anyone you can get hold of. We need as many hands as we can get to sort this one out.'
'I'll get onto it straightaway.'
'I take it the clean-up op's underway? Actually don't worry about that. I'll speak to housekeeping. And I'd better get the guests up to speed too – that's as soon as I've had a coffee and made a couple of calls.' Lisa smiled reassuringly at Cynthia, who was biting her lip nervously. 'We can sort this out Cynthia. Everything's going to be fine. I promise. And you've done a brilliant job, you really have,' Lisa added generously.
Cynthia was about to leave Lisa's office when she remembered something else.
'I almost forgot. There was a call, just minutes ago, from a Mr Talbot Haynes. He's working with the Keefe for America campaign. Said he'd love you to give him a call sometime today … I left the number on your desk.'
Lisa picked up the note. 'Thanks. I'll call later.'
Cynthia lingered. 'Maybe they want to offer you a job?'
Lisa laughed. 'You really think so? I very much doubt it.'
'Oh I don't know. There's something kind of cool in the idea of the woman who saved the lives of Keefe and his kids, becoming his campaign manager,' Cynthia said, a sly glint in her eye.
'That's very sweet of you Cynthia, but I suspect they just want to stage an event here.' Lisa was copying Talbot Haynes's number into her cell phone. 'But that's not for us to worry about right now.'
Cynthia hastened away, returning moments later with a hot steaming cup of coffee, which Lisa welcomed.
She was already on the phone to Andy in Maintenance.
He couldn't tell her how this incident had happened. At first they'd thought it was a problem connected somehow to the reconstruction work on the 40th floor – still ongoing since the missile strike on Keefe's suite. But now it was looking like a glitch in the system. They just hadn't figured it out yet.
'These things can happen Lisa,' Andy said, sounding exhausted.
The good news was the guest bedrooms were completely unaffected. The carpets and the furnishings in the corridors were saturated, but a team of workers were already on to it with an army of driers. Guests could return to their rooms in approximately fifteen minutes.
That's one less headache, Lisa thought.
Now she had to call Eric.
Eric couldn't talk long, but said he had first feared this was a prelude to an 'action' of some sort.
'So you thought this was malicious?' Lisa asked directly.
'I didn't know what to think Miss Lisa. It seemed kind of sinister at first. But … the folks at Maintenance assure me that there can be overrides in the system. So I guess it was just one of those things. It's all so darned technical these days Miss Lisa. All these computers,' grumbled Eric.
Lisa smiled indulgently.
'One last thing Eric,' she said, trying to maintain a supportive, jocular tone to her voice. 'Did you get my message about the security footage?'
'Sure did Miss Lisa.'
Lisa grimaced at his tone.
'I was hoping to speak with the Police later. About a related matter,' she said. 'I rather hoped you'd come with me.'
There was a long pause. 'You couldn't pick a worse day Miss Lisa.'
'Probably not.'
'But, I tell you what, my son-in-law's a cop. He's gonna be off-duty this afternoon. Why don't I call him in to talk with you?'
Lisa eyed her purse which contained the Dictaphone. Replaying it to just one police officer – and a friendly one at that – would be a lot less embarrassing.
'I really appreciate that Eric,' Lisa said warmly.
XXXXXXXXX
It was the most hectic morning in Lisa's working life.
She had addressed the distinctly damp and discontented guests in the conference suite - a hairy moment, demanding Lisa employ every iota of her diplomatic people-pleasing skills. She had escorted them back to their rooms and then spent the remainder of the morning servicing multiple complaints, organizing cleaning schedules, free breakfasts, staff rotas, staff disputes – most particularly, an ugly row which had broken out between Maintenance and the tech guys who serviced the computer support system.
Lunch was a late bite in her office with Cynthia. Only now did Cynthia notice the large pink band-aid streaked across Lisa's right temple.
'I walked into a door,' Lisa said mutely. She didn't dare look Cynthia in the eyes, but something in Cynthia's silent response told Lisa that her sharp-eyed friend wasn't buying any of it. Lisa was mighty relieved that she'd wound a cream silk scarf around her throat, concealing the bruises … not to mention the hickey. She could come clean, tell the whole story, once Jackson's identity had been verified.
Eric soon arrived with his son-in-law, Officer Kirk Novelli – a stocky chap with leathery tanned skin, twinkling brown eyes and a New York accent. Lisa recalled that Novelli had met Eric's daughter Suzette on vacation. And it had been love at first sight.
He smiled pleasantly, shaking Lisa's hand, then Cynthia's, with friendly gusto.
'Eric tells me you've got some problems Ma'am,' he said, coming straight to the point.
Lisa explained, glad that Cynthia had stayed in the room with her. Eric stood against the door, arms folded, a worried look on his face.
'OK, I'll come clean with you, Miss Lisa,' Novelli said, settling himself onto a chair at Lisa's request. 'I checked out a few little details before I came here today' – he nodded in Eric's direction. 'I'd heard about the case already.'
'The Keefe case,' Lisa said.
'Sure. The Keefe case,' Novelli agreed. 'But you know Ma'am, it's a tough one. This John Doyle character … .'
'Jackson Rippner,' Lisa interjected.
Novelli jutted his lower lip out and nodded slowly. 'As you say Ma'am, but I've no records on file for a Mr Rippner, which ain't giving me much to work with. So I looked instead at this John Doyle.' He shook his head. 'No photo ID, no address. Nothing.'
Lisa furrowed her brow in consternation. 'Doyle was registered as living in Connecticut.'
Novelli shook his head. 'No Ma'am. We've no record of current domicile.'
'Are you sure?'
Novelli shrugged.
'What other information was attached to this file?' Lisa asked.
Novelli pursed his lips regretfully. 'Sorry Ma'am. I'm not authorized to share that information with you.'
Eric coughed, drawing his son-in-law's attention. Novelli looked back at Lisa. 'In truth Ma'am. There's nothing to tell you. The file's empty. Border Patrol picked up those two Russkie guys we reckon fired off that Javelin. But we got nothing out of them.'
'Don't you consider that strange?' Lisa asked.
Yet again Novelli shrugged. 'It's not my place to wonder Ma'am.'
Lisa frowned. 'Well I beg your pardon Officer Novelli, but I've something that might just change your mind.'
She grabbed her purse from her desk and pulled out the Dictaphone. She placed it carefully on the desk. She cleared her throat nervously, her eyes scanning her attentive, albeit bemused audience.
'Last night, Jackson Rippner visited my home. And … I recorded our conversation,' Lisa said, barely able to suppress the note of triumphalism which crept into her voice.
Cynthia looked stunned. 'Is that legal Lisa?' she asked hurriedly, casting a suspicious sidelong glance at Officer Novelli.
Novelli brushed aside Cynthia's comment.
'OK Ma'am. Play us what you got,' he said.
Lisa checked to see the cassette was rewound to the start. Her hands felt clammy, so much so she could hardly hold the Dictaphone.
She wondered if she should fast-forward just a tiny bit. Skip over the first couple of minutes. But that could get complicated. She'd better just suck it up, as Jackson had once told her.
The cassette clicked forwards, devoid of sound for the first few seconds. She closed her eyes in fearful anticipation of the soft sighs and moans she had heard, in agonizing clarity, only this morning.
But none came.
She regarded the Dictaphone curiously. Then with increasing anxiety. Had she dropped it? Was it broken?
She was painfully aware of rising impatience from Officer Novelli, even Eric. She didn't dare look at Cynthia, seated quietly on the couch, head bowed.
'It … it worked this morning,' Lisa said, her voice shaking. 'I promise.'
There was a loud click. 'Ah! Here we go,' she said, smiling broadly.
But all they could hear was a loud rhythmic disco-beat, accompanied by a jubilant brass section, which then raced and whirled into a familiar disco dance tune …
'Dance …. Boogie Wonderland …., Dance …. Boogie Wonderland ….'
What the …. ? What had happened? Where the hell was Jackson?
The track continued.
'Midnight creeps so slowly into hearts, Of men who need more than they get ….'
Lisa couldn't believe what she was hearing.
'This isn't what I recorded,' she said breathlessly, desperately trying to make herself heard over the music. 'You've got to believe me.'
Eric shook his head sadly, slowly.
'Miss Reisert. Lisa,' he said softly. 'Are you sure you brought the correct audio cassette?'
Lisa nodded vehemently. 'I never once took it out of the machine.'
'Might it be on the other side?' Novelli asked, gesturing to her to flip it over.
'I rewound it.' She didn't dare look at Cynthia.
Novelli shrugged. 'Well I'm sorry Ma'am. All I can hear is disco music. You must have been whispering real quiet.'
Lisa wiped away the tears trickling down her face with her sleeve. She hadn't even noticed she was crying.
Cynthia stepped forwards with a scrunched-up tissue. Her eyes glistening sympathetically.
Lisa took the tissue. She tried to smile. 'There's been a mistake. I … I must have mislaid it.'
She then noted that Novelli's foot was tapping in time to the music.
'Dance … Boogie Wonderland ..., Dance …. Boogie Wonderland,' …. came the chorus.
Cheerfully mocking. Horribly catchy.
Even Eric was twitching a little.
Lisa clutched the tissue tightly into a little ball in the palm of her hand.
He'd really got her this time, she thought.
Damn you Jackson Rippner, she mouthed silently. Damn you.
XXXXXXXXX
Novelli and Eric quickly left Lisa to some 'peace and quiet' – although on Novelli's insistence, not until Boogie Wonderland was actually finished.
'You must think I've gone insane,' Lisa said frankly to Cynthia.
'Not at all,' Cynthia replied dolefully. 'You've been having a really, really tough time. And we all respect that.'
Lisa smiled wanly.
She ejected the cassette. It was the same brand as her own. There was nothing written on the label to indicate that this was a joke of any kind.
Just a ruse to embarrass her. To destroy her credibility for good.
A chilling thought flashed through her mind.
If Jackson had switched it, WHEN had he done so? But of course, it had to be today. This morning. He must have come to the hotel and pulled off some kind of jiggery-pokery … she had no idea how or what … to orchestrate their little disaster. And whilst, she, and everyone else for that matter, was running around like a blue-assed fly, he'd snuck in to her office.
Easy as you like.
His audacity was breath taking, Lisa thought. Somehow she had to put a stop to these nasty little mind-games, which had been plaguing her since … since when? Two, three days ago?
'Lisa. Are you alright?' Cynthia asked, a soft look of enquiry on her face. 'Can I get you anything?'
'Yes, yes you can,' Lisa replied, snapping back into reality. Something had occurred to her. Jackson had told her just last night that he followed her in Miami in 'his free time.' Therefore, he had been doing something else.
And she suddenly knew what it was. Jackson had attended the conference.
'Yes Cynthia. Can you get hold of a copy of the delegate list for the Global Finance conference?'
Cynthia looked puzzled.
'I'll explain later,' Lisa said.
'OK … the thing is, the programs got wet through this morning, you know, when the sprinklers went off … but, don't worry, I'll go hunt one down for you,' Cynthia said brightly, quitting Lisa's office.
Lisa was relieved to be alone. To give full vent to her frustration. She thumped her desk so hard the Dictaphone jumped.
There was something else really bothering her. Something almost too horrible, too humiliating to contemplate.
Jackson must have known all along.
He must have found the Dictaphone BEFORE she came into the bedroom to get it. That explained why he was lying on the bed, his head on the very same pillow which concealed the Dictaphone.
'You bastard,' Lisa said, clenching her fists tightly.
He knew she'd make a play for it. Heck, he probably knew she'd make a play for HIM.
A means to an end.
He'd played her to perfection.
XXXXXXXXX
Lisa's tirade of thoughts was interrupted by the loud ring of the telephone.
Even before she answered, she knew it was Jackson. Ready to gloat.
'I said I'd call,' he said.
Lisa was shaking with a quiet seething fury at his smug, self-satisfied tones. 'I'm not interested in anything you have to say Jackson Rippner. You can go to hell for all I care.'
'Well that's not very nice now, is it Lise?' he said softly. '… I take it you're not a great fan of Earth, Wind and Fire then? And such a classic track too … .'
'So go on Jackson. Blind me with your brilliance. You know you want to. How did you do it?'
Jackson laughed mirthlessly. 'You know what Lisa. You grossly underestimate the nature of my business, don't you? It's kind of insulting actually.'
'A bit of an over-elaborate distraction just to steal a measly little cassette, don't you think?'
'You know Lise, you really need to beef up your computer security. You're making it far too easy … You're lucky it was me. I've done you a favor,' Jackson said.
Lisa could feel him grinning. Mocking her.
'I hate you,' she said gutturally.
'Oh. That's a shame. I don't hate you,' Jackson said coolly. 'Still. If you want to say it to my face, you're very welcome. I'm in room 3113 … and yes, that is next door to Mr Buckley. Or at least it was. He checked out two hours ago.'
Lisa fidgeted aimlessly with a pen on her desk. She caught a glance of her reflection, reflected in a smoked glass vase, bursting with fresh flowers, which someone – she hoped NOT Jackson – had kindly left on her desk this morning.
The last thing she should do was see Jackson. She should just forget about this whole business; put it behind her.
Particularly after last night. Particularly after …. Her hand went to her throat, caressing where he had left his mark on her.
'Lise? Are you still there?' Jackson asked.
But he really wanted to see her, she realized. She could hear the tense eagerness in his voice. And this thought somehow made her smile.
'Have you still got the recording?' she asked.
Jackson hesitated. 'Why? Do you want to listen to it?'
Lisa sighed heavily.
Jackson continued. 'Well, just in case you haven't yet heard it, which I very much doubt, it starts well, very well, but ends tragically. It's kind of heartbreaking actually… .'
Lisa slammed the phone down, grabbed hold of the Dictaphone, and shot out of her office.
Cynthia was trotting rapidly towards her, brandishing the delegate list.
Lisa dashed it from her hands without saying a word and ran to the elevator, clutching it to her chest. She stabbed ferociously at the Call Button.
That was it. She'd had enough. She was going to tell him straight that this 'thing', this game, or whatever it was that was going on between them, had to stop here and now.
XXXXXXXXX
Jackson opened the door to Room 3113 with a melodramatic flourish, instantly standing aside to let her in, a broad grin on his face.
He was smartly dressed in a pristinely tailored black suit, although he wore his shirt open at the neck. Lisa immediately noticed he had slightly dark circles around his eyes as though he was suffering a little from lack of sleep.
Just like her.
Lisa stormed into the room. He slammed the door behind her, brushing the list away.
'How lovely to see you Lise. Can I get you a drink?' he asked, in teasing tones.
She thrust the conference delegate list into his face.
'You've been here, all this time, haven't you?'
Jackson studiously ignored her, while he delved into the mini-bar, extricating a bottle of champagne and two bottles of sparkling mineral water.
'In this room? No.' He held the champagne in one hand, and the water in the other. 'Bubbly either way. What's it to be Lise?'
'From you? Nothing,' Lisa replied in acid tones.
Jackson frowned, though his eyes were twinkling in amusement. He returned the bottles to the mini-bar. 'OK then. What about an Orangina?' he asked, wielding a small, rotund bottle of orangeade and a plastic beaker.
Lisa brushed this aside. 'So how come you're in this room now? Have you murdered the former occupant? Can I expect to find a corpse drowned in the bath or stuffed into a wardrobe?'
Jackson laughed. 'You really have a very vivid imagination Lise.' He studied the Orangina mournfully, and then flipped off the lid with a can-opener. 'I simply needed some rest. Too many late nights aren't good for you, you know.'
'So whose room is this?'
Jackson raised his eyebrows, in mock incredulity. 'You're the hotel manager and you don't even know who's staying in your own hotel? … It's a conference room.'
'So you admit you were at the Global Finance conference,' Lisa said.
'I've never denied it,' Jackson replied, his clear blue eyes fixed on her face, which was puckered with irritation. 'But then, you never asked me.'
Lisa sighed. She quickly scanned the delegate list in her hand.
'Well I don't expect you to call yourself Jackson Rippner,' she said.
Jackson leaned against a long sideboard unit, parked against almost the entire length of one wall, and watched Lisa intently, occasionally sipping at the Orangina.
'Nor do I expect you to be so dumb as to register as John Doyle.'
'Maybe I'm not on the list, Lisa?' Jackson said flatly.
'Come to think of it. Why were you at the conference at all? Was it just an excuse to … to taunt me? To make spooky phone calls?'
Jackson laughed, a hard, grating laugh. 'Not everything is about YOU, Lisa. I have other reasons for living, don't you know that?'
'Oh yes, Killing innocent people … ,' Lisa replied tartly.
Jackson was blank-faced in response.
'Which means … but of course!' Lisa exclaimed, stepping closer towards Jackson. 'Someone at the conference is a potential target.'
Jackson drained the rest of the Orangina. 'You don't know what you're talking about Lise.'
But Lisa was back to rifling through the list. 'Who could it be …?'
Jackson tugged the list from her hands, placing it on the sideboard. 'You're wasting your time.'
'What about Ira Gershon?' Lisa mused. 'From what I've heard, he's a whopping big cheese in the world of corporate finance.'
Jackson shook his head disparagingly. 'Give it up Lise.'
'So that's how you knew Mr Buckley? Through the conference,' Lisa asked. 'Or is he an old acquaintance?'
Jackson snorted in derision. 'Hardly.'
'Why then did you use his room to call me?'
'I didn't have a room of my own,' Jackson explained.
'Were you … were you a guest at his little party? With the hookers?'
Jackson sneered furiously. 'No. Absolutely not.'
Lisa couldn't help but admit to herself that his adamancy on this point came as something of a relief. But then if he wasn't with Buckley, how did he get to use his phone?
She paced the room, deep in thought, her every move trailed by Jackson's intense gaze. Then it came to her in a flash.
'But you did pay one of the girls to let you into the room, to use the phone, didn't you?'
'If there's one thing in life you can sure of,' Jackson said. 'It's that whores like money.'
'But why go to such lengths?' Lisa remonstrated. 'Why not just use a payphone?'
'The idea of your steaming up to Mr Buckley's room in a tizzy, demanding answers, was just too irresistible,' Jackson explained nonchalantly.
'What had he done to you?'
Jackson shrugged apathetically. 'Nothing. The guy's a prize dick. I thought he deserved it. Anyway. Can we change the subject Lise? This one's getting kind of stale. Let's talk instead about … our little mixtape.'
Lisa flamed red with anger then slammed the Dictaphone down onto the sideboard next to Jackson. 'Take it,' she hissed.
'Oh good. You brought it,' Jackson said lightly.
'I've no interest in your stupid little stunts. They're not funny or clever. Just pathetic,' Lisa said.
He tried to catch Lisa's eye, but she swiftly averted his gaze. He grabbed her arm, holding her still before him, forcing her to make eye contact.
'Well you should take an interest Lise. It's your responsibility. Have you any idea how easy it was to hack into your computer systems and wreak so much havoc? It's very dangerous you know.'
'But if you wanted the cassette so badly, why not just put a gun to my head?'
'I was … trying something out. You might even thank me for it one of these days.'
His tone puzzled Lisa. Why would she want to do that?
'Anyway.' Jackson continued blithely. 'You saw for yourself the outstanding success of my little foray into the world of computer hacking.' He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'Not bad for a beginner.'
'It's nothing to be proud of,' sniffed Lisa.
'Oh but it is. You see I've been honing my skills. Getting up to date. Not only did I manage to breach your fire security systems, but I even sparked something of a slanging match amongst your staff … it took just a few inflammatory little emails.'
Lisa stepped closer towards him. 'Have you any idea about the trouble you've caused?'
Jackson smirked. 'Well. It was a means to an end Lise. I got the tape. And I've got you here too.'
Their eyes locked momentarily. Lisa could feel her cheeks burning with indignation.
'But if last night, you knew, all along, what I … that I ….'
'That you what, Lise?' Jackson said smoothly, keeping his eyes firmly trained on Lisa's face.
Unable to sustain eye contact, Lisa broke their mutual gaze, heaving a sigh of exasperation.
'I want that recording,' she said bitterly. 'Not to use against you, I promise … but to destroy it.'
Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. 'Well you can't have it Lise. I've gotten kind of attached to it. I want it as a keepsake.'
'What for?' Lisa scoffed.
'To remember you by,' Jackson said, his voice unexpectedly soft.
Lisa was initially disarmed by his sudden change in tone, but soon recovered.
'I don't need you, I don't want you to remember me Jackson. I want to forget we ever met,' she said, curling her lip in spite.
Jackson sighed dramatically. 'So much negativity Lise … it's bad for your soul, do you know that?'
'At least I have a soul,' Lisa retorted angrily.
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The Real Deal