10:30 AM

Sunday, December 24, 2006

"Shit, Sheila," Jackson swore into the phone. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"Well, I don't know," she sighed irritably. "I just assumed that you would want me to. Why else would I ride that night?"

"Just in case," he snapped. "You were supposed to wait for my order."

"Oh, you mean like Isaac did?" Sheila spat. "And looked what happened to him, the 'good dog' got himself run over."

Jackson ran a hand through his hair and peeked his head into Lisa's room. The bathroom door was still shut, the sprinkling of the shower water still evident. Even so, he lowered his voice. "But--"

"Jesus, Jack, get over it. Now you'll have the bitch with you forever. If she leaves, she's screwed. So this is a pretty sweet deal for you, don't you think?"

He hung up on her and slid back to his desk and laptop, re-reading the email she had sent him.

Jack-

I went in to the cops today and testified against the Reisert bitch. Here's what I said, since I know you'll freak out if I don't tell you:

"I was riding the red-eye flight and was sitting kind of across from the two—Lisa Reisert and Jackson Rippner. I heard their names as they talked. I'm incredibly nosey, I'm sorry, but I guess for once it came in handy! The Mr. Rippner fellow was quite sweet, helped me with my bags and everything, more than once. I could see that Ms. Reisert was a shifty character to begin with, kept glaring at me whenever I would ask him for help. But she would never make eye contact.

The first threat she made to him was that she would kill him if he didn't kill Keefe for her. She kept making calls back to her contact in Miami—Joe, or something—pretending that she was terribly upset because her seatmate was harassing her, which wasn't true, it was actually the reverse—but once, when Jackson went off to the bathroom, she was talking to her father and reconfirmed their plans. Then, later, she followed him into the bathroom and—do I have to go into detail here? Fine. It sounded like they were—well—you know. I believe she was desperate and trying to regain his trust for him to help her, but obviously he didn't. When they got off the plane, supposedly Mr. Rippner hadn't been of much help, because she shoved a pen into his neck. I ran to help but she, unfortunately, got away."

How's that, Jackie boy? I quite like it. I play you as the hero. The Reiserts are as good as dead.

-Sheila

"But I don't want them dead," he grumbled into his palms. "This wasn't supposed to work out this way. Goddamn, Sheila, why don't you ever listen for once?"

"Who's Sheila?"

Jackson closed his eyes briefly in frustration and self-humiliation then slowly turned in his chair to face Lisa in the doorway.

Her head was cocked curiously in his direction, her wet hair falling casually across her eyes. She stared at him until he answered.

"A friend," he briefed cautiously.

"Something tells me that you're not telling the full truth," Lisa continued, stepping closer. "And something else tells me that Sheila knows something I don't, something I should."

"Remember the discussion we had, where I told you that you were being framed for the Keefe assassination?"
"Yes…"

"And do you remember, on the plane, the woman I helped with her bags, the obnoxious blonde one?"

"What about her?" Jackson noticed Lisa's words getting shorter and shorter.

"She kind of accidentally-on-purpose framed your dad, too."

Lisa lunged for him. As she tackled him to the ground, his laptop fell along with him—but luckily it didn't shatter as it clattered to the floor. I'll take care of that later—once I get her off of me.

She was slamming her fists into every uncovered part of his body but he felt nothing.

"You—bastard—how—could—you—do—that—to—me!"

"Lisa!" he yelled, shoving at her elbows to push her off. She didn't budge. "I didn't have anything to do with-"

"You're the manager! Of course--had something to do with it!"

She continued to wail at him. Jackson felt the skin on his lip break and a streak of blood begin to trickle down his chin. That was it. With all his might, he slapped Lisa hard in the face. She reeled backwards and stared at him, clutching her cheek.

"You--"

"Self defense, Leese." He got up and stalked to the kitchen, grabbing an ice pack for his mouth. Surprisingly, it felt like one of his teeth was loose. "Like I said. I had nothing to do with it."

"What are they doing to him?" she hissed at him, following him into the room. "Make them let him go!"

"I can't do that, Leese," he laughed. "I'm an assassin, not an attorney. Best we can hope for is that he finds a damn good lawyer and gets himself out of there. Sheila had him nailed as an accomplice."

"Sheila?" Lisa shot back at him, her voice dripping with sticky-sweet sarcasm. "Sheila was the one to spout lies to the detective? Her name is Sheila?"

"No, her name is Alfred," Jackson rolled his eyes. "Yes. Her name is Sheila."

"And she works for you." Lisa delivered a sour punch with every move her mouth made.

"That's right," he paused and continued. "But listen. She was a device planted on the plane in case you decided to get cute. Which, might I remind you, you did. She saw the pen in my neck, decided that you'd probably won. Since I never called her because I was too busy taking care of business back at your dad's house, she assumed it was okay for her to act as a false witness. If you'd have just let things be…"

"If I had just let things be, Jack, I'd be in the same predicament," Lisa snapped. "Only I would be in jail as well."

"But your dad wouldn't," he pointed out coyly. She glared at him. "Either way, Lisa, I was going to steal you. But if you had just complied and done what I'd told you to on that plane, your dad would be free because Sheila wouldn't have gone to the cops."

Lisa looked at her feet. There was a lapse in dialogue. Jackson picked up his phone and briefly checked his messages.

Lisa's gaze was fixed back on him when he'd finished.

"What?"

She had a solitary tear rolling down her face, tracing the curve of her cheekbone as it splattered across her skin. "I hate to admit that you're right," she whispered.

Jackson bit his lip, hard. "I hate to admit it, too."

"Why-"

"I never had anything against your dad, Leese," he sighed. "Against either of you. That's why you're here with me right now. Because I think it would just kill your dad to see you behind bars, maybe even more than me."

"But he probably thinks I'm dead."

"Tell you what, Lisa," he bargained. "If I can find a way to get ahold of your dad, and you promise not to reveal where you are and who you're with, I'll let you talk to him and tell him you're okay."

She surprised him by rewarding him with a huge hug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."