Jackson cleared his throat and checked his watch for the fourth time in the past ten minutes. He craned his neck as far as he could out the car window without looking conspicuous and, seeing nothing, sank back into the plush leather interior of his silver BMW. Dammit, where was she? He sighed loudly and pulled out his notepad.
Day 52
Lisa Target leaves house approx. eight am
Target attends work
Target arrives home at six pm
Target goes inside
Target
Jackson ran a hand through his hair. She was in her bathroom, he knew that much. In a last clinging effort to be a gentleman he hadn't placed cameras there. He had to have some dignity, after all. She'd been in there, doing God only knows what, for the past hour, almost. He knew girls took a long time getting ready, but Lisa never went anywhere, especially not anywhere that required sixty minutes preparation. Ah...wait...make that sixty-one.
Usually her only ventures were to work, the store, and her father's. Occasionally he'd get caught off guard when she went to the corner café for a drink. One drink. Always the same beverage, and only one. Never enough to get drunk.
"Shy, conservative Lisa Reisert," Jackson mumbled with a smirk as he doodled absently on his notepad.
She didn't have a boyfriend. Or at least if she did, he was incredibly neglectful. Jackson never saw a man around other than her father or the occasional hopeful coworker. They never got anywhere, though, and for some reason this always put a smile on his face.
A smile, a genuine one, not one of the fake, toothy ones he plastered on for his boss and the victims. And it was an odd thing for Rippner, a strange thing indeed, a smile was, for it always ended up looking like he'd just ingested Lysol.
He jumped as he heard the front door slam. Shit. He sat completely upright in his seat and winced as Lisa's eyes shot to him, sitting in his car. Damn. He hadn't had time to slouch down. Jackson plastered a fake smile on his face so as not to require Lisa to alert Poison Control and stepped out of the car.
"Hi," he smiled broadly as he strolled up to her. He noticed her entire body tense and fought back a sigh. What was it with women, always terrified of him? All the good ones, anyway...
"My name's Jackson," he said politely, shaking her hand. He could almost feel Chloe's skin crawl and it kind of hurt. It figured, the only girl he'd liked in five years and she was scared of him.
It seemed as if only whores and Barbie dolls were attracted to him. Sure, he knew he was hot, but still. He wanted more than looks in a girl. Although those were a strong contributing factor.
Chloe had long, flowing black tresses and light skin. As light as his, as a matter of fact. She had huge dark eyes and a petite frame. Jackson thought maybe he was in love with her...or maybe in lust. Love had never really seemed possible for him.
In school he'd often been called gay. He wasn't sure why, it wasn't like he'd ever looked longingly at any classmates with an ounce of testosterone. Of course, he didn't ever date a girl until he was sixteen, so that may have been why, and she didn't go to his school. Of course not. His first girlfriend had actually been a busty assassin at the Organization. Yeah, they all loved Dana.
But back to Chloe. He first saw her, ironically, in the same café he'd met Wendi with an 'I' in. Of course, he wasn't putting on a facade for Chloe, spare the smile. He really did like this girl, with her soft-spoken ways and her sugar packet sculptures. The first time he'd approached her she'd jumped so high the Splenda had flown halfway across the room. Even at twenty-one he was scary.
And here, five years later, he stood causing a repeat performance as he scared the shit out of Lisa Reisert.
"Hi," he said innocently. "I was looking for the Reisert residence?" He chose a business-like air.
"Oh, that's me," she smiled politely. "How can I help you?"
Time to make himself inconspicuous, and someone she wouldn't remember. "Oh, I'm doing a survey," Jackson improvised. "Do you own any pets?"
"I have a cat, Rosalind," Lisa frowned.
"I see...how old is your cat?" Hm. He was pretty good at this. If the murdering-people-for-money thing ever fell through he'd have to consider telemarketing.
"She's four," Lisa answered. "Um, what did you say your name was?"
"Mick," Jackson invented. "Mick Jackson. Thank you for your time, miss. Someone will be approaching you shortly about purchasing our product." He tipped his head politely as she uttered a goodbye and got into his car, still feeling slightly dazed. He pulled down a few streets and then began following Lisa to her mystery destination, slightly elated at his brief discussion with her. Her voice, her eyes...wow.
He scolded himself. Eyes on the prize, Jackson. Finish the job, and then, when its done, you can have your fun.