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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
CHAPTER SEVEN – Stakeout
Lisa checked the address she had been given by Tim for Beauchamps. Sure enough. This was it. Hanover Street in New York's Financial District.
But Beauchamps itself was nothing like she'd expected. The office, if that's what it could be termed, was accessed by a narrow door with a tinted brown glass window. 'Beauchamps Finance Fund Management' was embossed in modest-sized gold lettering at the top of the door, although on closer inspection, Lisa noted this was little more than a slightly peeling stencil. She peered through the glass. All she could see was a staircase which led directly up from the door.
She stepped back, craning her neck upwards to see where the staircase led to. Judging by the extent of the larger scale offices occupied by a neighboring business, Beauchamps seemed to occupy just one very small room, directly at the head of the stairs. A closed gray Venetian blind hung loosely in a single-framed window.
When Tim had said Beauchamps only had a 'presence' in New York, he'd really meant it. This was little more than a mail drop.
Lisa moved closer to the door, effectively pinned against it, aiming to avoid the constant stream of smartly-dressed workers, faces sharp and focused, their hair blown askew by a strong Autumnal breeze, who swept past her.
What was she to do? Lisa thought grimly. She couldn't stand here all day, and her unanswered ringing of the doorbell indicated that Beauchamps was currently closed for business.
Lisa spotted a café diagonally opposite, at the junction of Hanover Street and Stone Street. She started to cross the road, but was forced to swerve when a courier bike came revving towards her, with a fiercely growling engine and no intention it seemed of slowing. Relieved to arrive at the café in one piece, Lisa tripped inside, immediately heartened by the warm smell of freshly ground coffee which assailed her nostrils.
The café was packed with a gaggle of suits, barking their orders for breakfast, whilst three harried staff chased from one end of a serving counter to the next, taking orders, preparing food, and accepting payment, with barely a pause for breath.
Lisa squeezed past a table, where what looked like an array of open broadsheet newspapers were seated, to gain access to a small round table, tucked tightly next to the doorway. A sour-faced, pretty young woman with slightly pinched features and dark, windswept hair occupied the seat with the finest view of the road beyond and, in particular, the entrance to Beauchamps. But Lisa had high hopes that she would have to leave for work sooner rather than later. Even so, she seemed to spend an inordinately long time supping her cappuccino, as she gazed mournfully at the passers-by.
Lisa ordered a large latte and a bacon roll with lashings of HP sauce, as a bit of a special treat after braving the overcrowded and sweaty subway from 50th Street on Broadway in Midtown all the way to Wall Street.
Gradually the café crowd thinned, and yet still the young woman sharing her table hadn't budged. Instead she ordered a second cappuccino and continued to stare out of the window.
Lisa suppressed the urge to sigh in irritation. Her presence at this table had become a little spurious, now that the surrounding seats were clearing fast. But unfortunately this table had the best view of Beauchamps. Even so, for the sake of form, she smiled weakly at the young woman, who responded with a pithy, disinterested glance, and moved away, settling herself at the neighboring table.
She ordered another latte and casually picked up a copy of The New York Times which had been discarded by a former customer, and browsed, unusually for her, the political news and more particularly, any World News. She told herself that she was cramming ahead of her meeting with Keefe later that day. Best not to come across as a complete Dumbo, even though she was far from certain if she even wanted to work with the Keefe campaign.
All the while her eyes kept flicking to the window, hoping someone might arrive at Beauchamps.
She glanced back to the paper, her eyes drawn to an opinion piece about the growing debacle in Mogando. It truly sounded dreadful. Gut-churning. Terrifying. How unbearable life must be for the people living there. And the random violence was still mounting.
She hoped Jackson had got away in time – even though, she had no doubt that Jackson had played some part in the awful events which had unfurled in the last fortnight. He might even be largely to blame, a catalyst, if her suppositions were correct.
Her attention was distracted by a sudden movement from the table next to her. The young woman's cell phone had vibrated. She scrabbled to extract it from her purse, and then answered in a surprisingly cool, poised voice. She appeared to be arranging a later meeting with a friend, and judging from her sudden burst of light, pealing laughter, she was even flirting a little.
Lisa couldn't help but note that when the young woman laughed her entire face lit up, seemingly transformed with a bright, vivacious beauty. She also noticed, now that her attention was firmly drawn, that she had a slim, willowy figure, snugly-fitted into a smart black suit, and was wearing a delicate gold filigree necklace, at the heart of which was a gleaming white jewel. If that was indeed a diamond, as Lisa strongly suspected it was, then it was highly unlikely that this was the type of lady who ever had to suffer the early morning crush on the subway.
Lisa's attention was snapped away from the young woman by a tall man with gray hair and a matching mackintosh, heading up Hanover Street, who seemed to be slowing, most deliberately, outside Beauchamps. He stopped and pulled a key from his pocket. He opened the door and disappeared inside.
Lisa wondered if she should drain her cappuccino and leg it over to Beauchamps directly, and ask this guy if he recognized Jackson from the security camera photo she was carrying.
But then she noticed that the young woman was also staring intently at the door, a cross expression on her face. She told her friend on the cell phone that she'd call back later.
So she was watching Beauchamps too! Lisa immediately decided it was best to not demonstrate an over-eager interest in what was happening on Hanover Street. After all, she knew nothing about this young woman, who she worked for, what she was doing.
Lisa resumed her perusal of The New York Times, although her eyes skated and blurred over the words before her. She surreptitiously stole glances out of the window – still no sign of the gray-haired gentleman – and then at her fellow observer.
Suddenly, the young woman stood up, deposited money on the table, checked her watch, and moved outside, where she stood stock still, under the café's crimson awning.
Her eyes were fixed firmly on the door to Beauchamps, occasionally shifting right then left, up and down Hanover Street, with a cursory glance towards Stone Street.
She checked her watch again.
Seized with a strange, unbidden impulse, Lisa summoned her check, readying to leave as soon as possible. Just in case. She had an inkling … she didn't know why, or where from.
And she was right.
Minutes later, a lean, dark-suited man was sauntering down Hanover Street. He stopped outside Beauchamps, fished for a key in his pocket and let himself in.
Even at this distance, Lisa had instantly recognized Jackson. She struggled to quell the nervous excitement which had suddenly gripped her, qualified by a cool, tingling fear.
This was what she had wanted. Yet still she wondered what precisely she should do. Should she simply sit this out, keep a low profile, then follow him? See what he was up to, where he was headed? Or should she just confront him, show him that she had the smarts to track him down? She wanted to show him that he wasn't as darned clever as he liked to think he was.
Stoked by the latter option, Lisa rushed out of the café and was about to speed across the street, when she noticed that the willowy young woman had beat her to Beauchamps's doorway, and was already determinedly pressing the doorbell, over and over again.
Eventually, Jackson returned to street level and opened the door. An unmistakable shading of surprise skimmed across his features.
The young woman tipped forwards, almost pushing him over. He steadied himself and allowed the young woman to wrap herself tightly around him. He returned her embrace with one arm, the other resting against the door-frame. He then levered her backwards onto the street, briskly closing the door behind him.
Lisa could hardly believe the transformation in the rather stiff young woman she had first encountered in the café. She was fizzing with childlike glee, jumping up and down in excitement, constantly touching him and ruffling his hair, which he instantly patted down again, although Lisa could see he was grinning.
A strange sinking feeling seemed to overwhelm her. One which seemed to grow when the young woman, alive with smiles, flung her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his lips. She was a tall woman, virtually matching Jackson in height. His arms slipped around her slender waist, and their faces now melded into a long kiss.
Lisa leaned heavily against the café window, and was then shocked by an elderly gentleman who banged on the glass from inside the café. She stumbled to her feet, apologizing, hoping she hadn't caught Jackson's attention.
But no. They were still kissing. Then they quickly pulled apart, as if they were recalling an appointment.
They hastened away, although Lisa was sure Jackson had paused, momentarily, his steel blue eyes vivid even from this distance, scanning the street; almost as though he was sniffing the air.
Lisa slunk back into the shadows.
Moments later, Jackson and the young woman hailed a cab.
Lisa darted out from the protective shadow cast by the café awning, and followed suit, feeling ridiculous and clichéd when she asked the driver to follow the cab in front. She wondered if she should try to weave an explanatory story of some kind; perhaps her husband was having an affair with another woman, and she wanted to see where they were going for their secret trysts?
But in the end she couldn't be bothered. What did it matter what the cab driver thought anyway? He seemed lost in his own world, grooving away to what sounded like Middle Eastern jazz, as he manoeuvred his way through the traffic.
Lisa was feeling rattled. A deep sense of angry unease about this whole scenario was rapidly overtaking her. Something wasn't quite right. What exactly was Beauchamps? And then there was this girl – she probably merited the term Lisa thought, as she was some years younger than herself – who was clearly very attached to Jackson. His wife? No. That seemed unlikely. Why would she be waiting in a sidewalk café, ready to pounce?
A bit like herself, really, Lisa thought with a soft sigh.
The cab was scooting towards Manhattan's Midtown at a fairly rapid rate, cruising alongside the East River where the traffic seemed a little less congested compared to downtown. It now occurred to Lisa that Jackson and his pretty little friend might even be heading out of New York, which could prove problematic, seeing as Lisa was due to meet Keefe and his team later that afternoon.
However, Jackson's cab, which was three cars in front, soon veered leftwards and before long, came to a halt on 53rd Street. Lisa asked her driver to drop her off a short distance behind. She waited to see the direction Jackson and the girl were headed before following.
They turned right.
Lisa sprinted after them, also turning right, onto Lexington Avenue.
But where had they gone?
Crestfallen, Lisa gazed about herself, her eyes sweeping north and south, striving to pick out Jackson's lean form, amidst the tumult of workers and shoppers who thronged the sidewalks.
She glanced upwards at a large modern office block with a wide concrete forecourt, built to resemble a semi-ampitheatre. A knot of people, chiefly garbed in the professional suited uniform of an urban office workforce, were streaming through the doors, but Jackson and his willowy friend weren't among them.
Except … except, yes, they were … .
Lisa's insides jolted at the sight of Jackson, standing a little to the left of the cluster of people heading in and out of this office block. He was talking on his cell phone, a broad, beaming grin on his face. His eyes flicked upwards, towards a higher window. Lisa looked in turn, but from her distance and angle, the sun was flashing white against the glass, so she could not see who or what Jackson was looking at.
Lisa suddenly felt a little exposed. She had not made any effort to conceal herself, but realized she probably should, as the willowy young woman was standing a few paces apart from Jackson, preoccupied with lighting a cigarette while nonchalantly looking about. Her eyes drifted alarmingly across Lisa, who instinctively ducked down, hoping to avoid any further, prolonged scrutiny.
Lisa hastened to a low stone bench, positioned against a concrete wall, next to a newsstand.
The willowy girl returned her full attention to Jackson who was still talking on his cell. She slipped her arms around his chest and pulled herself close, her head almost resting on his shoulder.
With one slick movement, Jackson, who had just completed his call, shrugged her away. He threw her a cold, hard look which Lisa knew all too well – so well, she almost applauded.
He was busy dialing another number on his cell phone and extended his arm towards her, batting away her cigarette smoke, warning her to leave him alone. The willowy girl shuffled sheepishly away, her face disconsolate.
Lisa almost felt a surge of pity for her. She seemed so young, craving his attention.
She must be in love, Lisa thought, and she doesn't know if he loves her in return.
But he had been happy to kiss her, Lisa acknowledged. In the street. For all the world to see. So they were clearly intimate. Probably even lovers.
Lisa was suddenly aware that Jackson was surveying the surrounding area, while talking on his cell phone. She could feel his chill blue eyes, inspecting the crowds, and for one brief, heart-stopping moment, she felt certain his eyes had picked her out with laser-like precision, despite the melee of people constantly milling in front of her, browsing the newsstand.
To her relief, his gaze passed her by.
He was on the move again. He flipped shut his cell phone and tugged firmly at his companion's sleeve. She flung her cigarette butt to the floor and stabbed it dead with her heel. They headed quickly into the office building.
Lisa waited just a few moments before following. Lisa could see them, through the tinted glass doors, waiting with a bunch of other people, for the elevators. But how would she know which floor was their destination? She could hardly get in the elevator with them.
Her only option was to wait for them to descend again. She had spotted a Starbucks across the road, which might do well for yet another stakeout.
Lisa grimaced at the incongruity of her situation. This was supposed to be a vacation. And instead of enjoying the delights of New York City, here she was, chasing after a man who'd once tried to kill her.
The elevator doors snapped open and Jackson disappeared inside.
Lisa entered the building, homing in on a vast placard affixed to the wall which detailed all the companies resident in this particular office block. Maybe there was a Beauchamps subsidiary here? She studied all the names.
Really she should write them down. Then, with a bit of research, she could try to work out which company Jackson was visiting. There had to be a reason Jackson had darted inside straight after talking to somebody in the building. A friend? An associate?
However, she didn't fancy drawing too much attention to herself – particularly in front of a rather surly-looking security guard hovering close by.
XXXXXXXXXX
A full hour had passed and still no sign of Jackson. From her stakeout post in Starbucks, Lisa had kept her eyes firmly fixed on the office opposite, with only a brief interruption, to order a fresh latte, changing to a sparkling water at the last moment - her nerves were jangling badly enough already.
She wondered if she should call Charley. Tell her she had arrived safely in New York and hoped to see her later. As she was rooting in her purse for her cell phone, she alighted on a business card. From Officer Kirk Novelli.
He had visited her just before she set off for New York, presenting her with a form to fill in, to make an official declaration that her car had been stolen. He had been good-humored and kind – kind enough to make no mention of their last embarrassing meeting when she had played him Boogie Wonderland rather than Jackson's admission of culpability in the attempted Keefe assassination. He warned her that the police were unlikely to find her car, as auto theft was epidemic in Miami. Lisa, of course, had absolutely no doubt whatsoever that they would struggle to find her Toyota – Jackson had put paid to that when he'd ignited that almighty inferno in the parking lot.
Novelli had wished her the best for her trip to New York, his home turf. Just before he'd left, he'd pressed his card into her hand. He jabbed his finger at the card.
'That there's my cell number, if you need to talk, if you need anything. You hear me?'
'Sure. Thanks,' Lisa had said, a little uneasy at his manner. She had then congratulated him and Suzette on the wonderful news that their baby girl had finally been released from hospital. They had decided to call her Mimi. Lisa promised to visit as soon as she returned from New York.
Lisa slotted Novelli's card safely into her wallet. She tried calling Charley, but there was no reply, so she grabbed a handful of Starbucks napkins and headed out.
XXXXXXXXXX
Back in the foyer of the office building, Lisa set to copying the names of all the businesses onto a napkin as quickly as possible.
What am I doing? She suddenly thought. This is ridiculous. The logical, quickest way to record these names was to take a photo of the placard using her cell phone. It might look a bit odd while she was doing it, but if she was quick … .
She realized that she had to photo the placard in parts, to at least ensure the names were legible. She had only made it to the 5th floor when the elevator to her right dinged open, and a huddle of workers spilled out.
Lisa froze. She could distinctly hear Jackson's voice in the midst of the sudden commotion, although she couldn't quite make out what he was saying.
Panic-stricken, Lisa stooped behind the stragglers emerging from the lift, watching Jackson move towards the exit. His young female companion was still alongside. She burst into high, fluting laughter at something Jackson had said. They had now been joined by another man, taller, heavier than Jackson, with neat, cropped hair, but his face was hidden from view. He was laughing too, a deep, raucous laugh.
Her cell phone was still in photo-mode. She instinctively clicked the 'select' button on her phone, and was about to take another snap, for good measure, when her cell phone suddenly sprang into life. She dashed it to her ear.
'Lisa!' Talbot exclaimed with what seemed to Lisa to be undue exuberance. 'It's Talbot. Talbot Haynes.'
'Hi there Talbot,' Lisa said a little wearily. 'Look, I'm a bit … .'
'Bit of bad news I'm afraid,' Talbot said, disregarding her dismissive tone. 'Charles is stuck in Washington – some kind of emergency discussions over this horrible Mogando business.'
Just the word 'Mogando' sent a shiver of apprehension down Lisa's spine.
'So … he won't make it to New York till tomorrow, even Sunday,' Talbot said.
'I see.'
'Look, you can stay on at the hotel till he arrives … we have a deal with Starwood.'
'Thanks. But I'm hoping to stay with a friend over the weekend. Just call me when Keefe gets up to town,' Lisa said hurriedly, hoping to get him off the phone. Jackson and his companions were at the main entrance.
'That's real good of you Lisa. He's gotta be here Sunday. He's speaking at a memorial service for Senator Oakley at St Patrick's … good friend of the family, and a loyal supporter … .'
Now at closer quarters, she could see Jackson's face in more detail, even if he was in profile, and she was only able to sneak a covert glance. He had a distinct tan, which afforded him a brighter, more enervated countenance. His eyes blazed bluer than ever in contrast.
Lisa found it difficult to tear her eyes away.
Her attention was suddenly drawn to the cell phone in her hand, which had almost fallen from her grasp. She could hear a distant cheeping noise which sounded like 'Pizza, Pizza.' She realized it was Talbot, calling her name.
'Talbot?'
'Hey there! Lisa! Did you go out of range for a minute there?'
'Must have,' she muttered.
Jackson had now left the building but the gathering of people who had descended in the elevator were directly behind him, obscuring Lisa's view.
'Talbot?' she cried. 'This is really not a good time. Can we speak later?'
'Sure thing Lisa. But I didn't know if you caught what I said about Colm Buchanan.'
'Who?' Lisa asked as she moved swiftly towards the exit and out of the building. Where had they got to? They must have sprinted across the forecourt, because they certainly weren't in sight.
'Colm Buchanan,' Talbot reiterated. 'He's a major campaign supporter. Founded America First.'
Lisa could scarcely hear him. Her greatest focus was on the whereabouts of Jackson and his friends.
'Right,' Lisa said breathlessly as she jogged across the forecourt, then looked left and right on Lexington. Still no sign.
'So would you like to meet up with him?' Talbot asked.
'Sure. Look Talbot. Like I said. Something's come up. Can we speak later? Please?' Lisa could barely suppress the rising panic in her voice.
All her good work undone. He'd gone. Vanished into thin air.
'OK Lisa. I'll call you tomorrow. Have a nice day,' Talbot said cheerfully.
Thank God for that, Lisa thought, stuffing her cell phone into her purse.
But it was too late. She'd missed him. Perhaps there'd been a car or a cab waiting outside for them?
XXXXXXXXXX
After such a disastrous end to her day of super-sleuthing, Lisa decided to call it quits and head back to her hotel.
It was a swift cab ride to The Sheraton Manhattan, situated just a short trip from Times Square. Lisa couldn't face the subway and walking was too long-winded, when all she wanted to do was collapse onto the expansive king-size bed in her hotel room, and stare up at the ceiling.
Lisa's hotel room was cool and welcoming; a pleasant surprise as yesterday the room had been too hot, forcing her to crank up the air-conditioning, the downside being the loud rumbling noise which erupted from the unit and persisted throughout the night, hindering her chances of sleep.
Lisa lay on her bed, teary and tired. She'd tried to play Jackson at his own game, and failed. Miserably. And now, she'd have to start over. But at least she had a second venue to watch and explore.
Either that, or she needed the intervention of a fateful meeting, to get her back on track.
She switched on the TV, briskly hopping through the channels with the remote control. She chanced upon The Black Swan, her favorite old-time swashbuckling movie, starring Maureen O'Hara as the feisty, vivacious redhead and Tyrone Power as the dastardly but irresistible pirate. She'd loved this movie as a kid, watching it over and over with her Mom. Sadly the film was close to finishing. Tears rolled slowly down her cheek as the lovers embraced, a setting sun serving as a suitably romantic backdrop. Why wasn't real life like that?
Lisa brusquely wiped away her tears. What the hell was wrong with her? There was no point in moping about.
She'd call Charley again. Hopefully they could hook up, grab a bite to eat, a few drinks. More than anything, Lisa felt a driving need to talk to someone, a genuinely friendly face. And Charley was blessed with an acerbic sense of humor and a lighthearted approach to life which, right now, was just what she needed.
XXXXXXXXXX
Fortunately Charley was free for dinner that evening. They met in a busy café-bar off Bleeker Street where Charley promised Lisa they made a mean Seabreeze. Charley could only stay for an hour, hour and a half tops, as she had a party later on which she wasn't too keen on attending, but felt she had to.
'One of those boring corporate events. A potential sponsor,' she said sniffily. 'You can come if you like,' she added breezily.
'It's sweet of you to invite me, but I'll pass,' Lisa said, smiling broadly.
They browsed the menu. Lisa had decided on a chicken and spinach couscous salad, but Charley was typically indecisive, which made Lisa smile affectionately.
Lisa had known Charley since they had roomed together at college. Charley had always been giddy, flamboyant and fun to be around. She had strong, angular features, framed by thick blonde hair, cut into a sharply stylish bob – a look she had never deviated from in all the years Lisa had known her.
She had always been an aspiring artist, despite majoring in English Literature, with a bold, fertile imagination. But it had been a long haul. Only now was Charley's work gaining true appreciation. She had contributed to well-reviewed major exhibitions featuring up and coming artists. But tomorrow night was devoted solely to her work.
'I can't wait for you to see my new apartment,' Charley said eagerly. She indicated to the waitress to hold for just a few minutes longer while she decided on her order. 'It's a horrible thing to say, but if it hadn't been for my aunt popping off when she did, I could never have afforded my own space. Let alone in Manhattan.'
'I can't wait to get out the hotel. I keep judging it as a hotelier – and it keeps falling short. Hardly relaxing,' Lisa said wearily. 'I really appreciate your letting me stay,' she added warmly.
Charley squeezed her hand. 'You can stay as long as you like.'
Charley finally chose her dish, and ordered yet another round of Seabreezes.
'You look bushed,' she said to Lisa.
'Do I?' Lisa asked. She giggled nervously. 'I had a bad night. The aircon was too damned noisy.'
'More than that,' Charley said. 'What's up?'
Four Seabreezes a piece later, the food was consumed and the coffees ordered, and Lisa had told Charley just about everything there was to know about what had happened with Jackson, including the more embarrassing details of their close encounters in Miami. It was a relief to finally talk about it.
'Do you find it terribly shocking?' Lisa asked. 'I mean … it's kind of … screwed-up, don't you think?'
Charley leaned closer across the table, her eyes a little bleary from the alcohol they had been knocking back at a fairly rapid rate.
'I think you've blown your fucking mind sweetheart,' she said tenderly. 'This Jackson guy must be one helluva kisser.'
Lisa could feel herself blush hotly. Her palms suddenly felt greasy with sweat.
'That's not what I'm doing Charley,' she said primly. 'I want to treat him to a bit of his own medicine.'
Charley smiled.
'You've got to believe me,' Lisa persisted, in plaintive tones. 'This man has done all he can to ruin my life.'
'And he's attractive you say,' Charley said. Her voice was low, almost menacing. Lisa suddenly recalled that Charley was a bit of a man-eater at college. Maybe she was weighing up Jackson's potential as a challenging future conquest.
'Sure, he's attractive. But just think of what he's put me through in the last six months. Doesn't it all seem really sinister to you? Suspicious?'
'Oh, sure it does,' Charley asserted, gulping back her Seabreeze in readiness for her coffee.
Lisa still had half a glass of Seabreeze which she pensively swirled around the glass.
She was playing down her feelings, however complex and confusing, and Charley knew it. Jackson scarcely left her thoughts these days. Her therapist Miriam would have a field day.
'What I wanted to say,' Charley said, leaning in even closer than before, 'this is the first guy you've had any real ... you know … contact with since …. .'
Lisa smiled wanly.
Charley shrugged. 'Well. That's a big deal if you ask me.'
'But it's not my big deal,' Lisa said. 'He lives in another world. One I certainly don't want to be part of. He's devoted his life to killing innocent men, women and children. Like the Keefes.'
'But he failed.'
'Sure he failed, but he didn't plan to. And just think – how many times he hasn't failed? How many orphans, how many grieving wives and mothers are there, because of what he does?'
Lisa downed her Seabreeze in one single swoop. 'You know what. I pity that poor girl who was hanging off him today. I bet she knows nothing about him.'
'And you say he works for this English company – Beauchamps?'
'Looks that way.'
Charley stirred a lump of brown sugar into her coffee. 'That's a shame,' she said. 'It if it had been De Bowens you'd be able to get the low-down tomorrow night at the art show. De Bowens are the main sponsor.'
'Really?'
'Yeah. De Bowens are into art big time – sponsor loads of events. Support lots of decent young artists,' Charley said. She drained her coffee. 'I sort of know the boss's daughter, Alex De Bowen. She's a regular. Loves the art-scene vibe. And she's a buyer too. Even bought my Manhattan Jungle collage last February for a pretty tidy sum.'
'Where's it hanging?' Lisa asked.
'Oh god knows. Probably her old man's place. He recently bought a swish pad on Fifth Avenue, thought to have cost a cool 38 million dollars,' Charley confided, her eyes wide.
'Weren't they one of the only banks who vowed to stay put downtown after 9/11?' Lisa asked curiously.
'Yeah. So they said. They've kept something going on … but it hasn't stopped them building a grand new HQ on Madison Avenue. Cost an arm and a leg I hear.'
Charley glanced furtively at her watch. 'Shit, man. I've got to run.' She jumped up and reached for her purse.
'It's on me,' Lisa said hastily. 'I … I really appreciated our chat. You've no idea how much.'
Charley grinned. 'Well. I'm a bit short so this once, hey?' She pulled on a thick black angora jacket and snapped shut her vivid orange leather purse. 'I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. And don't forget you need a posh frock for my do … I want us to rock the room!'
Lisa laughed, successfully concealing her disappointment that her friend was having to rush off. 'I'll see what I can do,' she said softly, signaling for the bill.
Charley was all set to leave, but at the last moment recalled something else.
'You need a house-key – I'll probably be stuck at the gallery all day,' she said. 'Oh, and if I don't get to see you before the show, you'll need an invitation to get in.'
Charley slapped a key and an invite on the table in front of Lisa and ran off, waving frantically as she left.
Lisa delved into her purse for the money to pay the bill, and in the process grabbed her cell phone.
She ought to quickly call her Dad. Tell him she was safe and well. He'd be worried sick about her by now.
It then occurred to her that she could have shown Charley a photo of Jackson. Not only did she have the screenshot of Jackson from her hotel, but in all likelihood there was also a photo of him on her cell phone from earlier today.
She skipped through the phone menu, opening her library of photos. Most had been taken in Miami of course, but there were a few rather blurry shots of the placard from Lexington Avenue, and one final shot, side-on and half-cast in shadow, of Jackson and the willowy girl about to exit the office building. Their friend, however, was almost completely hidden by the group of people pushing to get outside.
Lisa now saw that Jackson had something tucked under his arm, that she hadn't noticed him carrying before. She scrutinized the photo on the tiny screen even more attentively. It was a folder with a logo. She squinted, desperate to make out the wording, which was a little blurred. She could make out a big B, but it was in the wrong place to spell Beauchamps. The word – or was it two? - was surrounded by an elaborate circular loop.
Her eyes flicked to the crisp white invitation Charley had left on the table, drawn to the sponsor's logo.
There it was.
De Bowens, with a long tailing loop extending the final S, which then encircled the company's name.
Which meant that Jackson, for some reason, was holding a De Bowens folder. Could he possibly be working for both companies? Beauchamps and De Bowens? Was there a connection between Beauchamps and De Bowens?
And if he did work for De Bowens too, was there a possibility he would attend Charley's art show?
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The Real Deal