SquidgeWorld Archive

Coffee, Tea, Or Me?
by Susieq

`A distraction?...' The floored operative, on top of his game, certainly didn't need one right now, he thought; he was the consummate professional at work. The outcome of this job would have far-reaching effects and the very idea made him tingle with self-importance. He'd do what he had to do and move on, as always; he'd be, richer for it, financially speaking, and another step closer to being morally bankrupt.

`Morality,' the amoral Rippner scoffed, catching himself before he smiled. He looked askance at Lisa Reisert, his dull-witted victim. She was still out cold, no thanks to him. `Good,' he thought, `the less she sees, the keener my advantage...'

`Lise, you never saw this coming,' he gloated. `Never in a kazillion years.'

The dominant all-business combine of his mind reprimanded its more preoccupied niches how he should be wholly immersed in the task at hand. Recalcitrant, Jack broke off. Who kidded whom? He squashed the discord that sought to muddle his mind. What use did it serve lulling himself into believing he wanted to ignore what he was letting happen. Arrogance glutted him as it assuaged. He could handle it. He wasn't the average Joe Blow assassin who might have a problem mixing business with some negligible flirting while on the company's dime.

He was the peerless professional, never letting himself forget that. He was sitting next to this tear-stained, pitiful pawn, all the credit owed to his expertise and pluck.

There it was again, her dulcet, indulgent voice, driving him, dividing his mind, wreaking havoc with his concentration. The minute he'd hear a wisp of her words, he was all ears. What made this charming creature so arresting?  He found her attractive, despite her somewhat baby face, and petiteness; he usually preferred taller, more statuesque women. `Pixie' definitely had a certain something, though, and whatever that something was, it had him.

"Sir..."

Jack's seductive eyes, which he wielded deftly like nunchunks, possessed of their unearthly blue hue, snapped open wider. Parted from conscious thought, his hands gripped his armrests; where the skin of his neck met his collar it was warm.

"The captain has requested that seat belts remain fastened until there is less turbulence."
"Any idea when that'll be?" a disgruntled passenger who looked a little green around the gills, so to speak, asked.

"As soon as the captain locates some calmer air," `Pixie' genteelly assured.

Gulping deliberately, and with a nonchalance that had been perfected, Jack craned his head around, his eyes like a predator's, trained on the flight attendant who had made such a substantial impression. She wore no name tag, so he couldn't help wondering what her name was...'Denise, Tamara, Vivian, Felicia, Evelyn...Tasha?'

"Would you like a blanket?"

"Miss, what's the temperature in Miami?"

"I'll check with the captain, and let you know, ma'am."

`Pixie' was gentility and civility wrapped up in one very shapely, bantam package, Jack off-handedly judged. Of all the flight attendants on this bumpy flight, she was the only one who had a personality of any bearing. Her hairdo needed some work, though; whoever had done girlfriend's weave had robbed her blind.

Jack stole a look of disdain at Lisa's self-help book he held in his hands, contemplating what, if any, help this played out hotel manager had gained from reading Dr. Phil's pearls of wisdom. Judging from what he already knew about her, and from personal interaction, Lisa was a sad commentary on the fulfilled working woman. More than likely, she'd be the woman who would get rooked most of her life.

He looked over at her still form, and his feeling sorry for her surprised him. Where had that come from?  Listening, waiting, he anticipated the soft voice say something more, even if it was the mundane litany of her job. He could listen to her for hours, he analyzed, and determined that before Lisa came to, and the mind games continued, he was going to learn `Pixie's' name.

Rippner sat up straighter in this butt-buster, laughingly called a seat. Did he want a pillow? `Better not,' he cautioned, dismissing the chance to get too comfortable, as if that were even possible. The volume of the flight attendant's words marginally increased the nearer she approached who Jackson was for the duration of this roughed up red eye to Miami, 18F. The beating of his heart quickened.

`That's right. You're paid to serve me...and I want your attention.' He reached out, tapping her lightly on the side of her leg as she walked by. `Where do you think you're going?'

"Uh...excuse me, Miss...uh..." He trailed his silken voice off purposely, trusting in the power of his intonation that was sure fire, inducing people to do what he wanted them to do, not batting an eye. He targeted her with a smile that was drenched in charm that should have been registered with the police. `Sultry, dusky Temptress,' fluttered in his mind, and he deepened his smile.

Without giving it a wit of thought, as though obeying some cue she had internalized, the light-skinned, young African-American woman graciously responded, "My name's Janet." She returned Jack's smile as though it were owed him, as though he were a creditor who demanded immediate payment.

That voice of hers being this near gave him goose bumps and he struggled to gain a surer grip of himself. "Mine's Jack. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Janet." Boyish charisma oozed from every pore, and it seemed to splash over everything within hailing range.

"Some flight, huh?"

Sounding amenable, allowing for a large measure of empathy to infiltrate into her tone, Janet replied, "Not one of our better ones I'm sorry to say." Not missing a beat, in the next breath she inquired, "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Calmer air space. That would sure be a crowd pleaser."

Nodding, she supplied, "The captain's working on it."

"I'm sure he is..."

Jack pursed his lips in that surly, profound way he had and just took her and her subservience in. There was nothing more irresistible than a woman who knew how to talk to a man, not coming off as though she were the one who had all the answers, leaving him feeling inadequate, the way many woman had the knack of doing. `Male-driven, fact-based logic and the female-driven emotion-based variety. Lise, you be the judge which one wins out over the long haul...'

"If it wouldn't be too much hassle," he said leadingly, "when my friend wakes she's going to have a winner of a hangover. Could I trouble you or some aspirin?"

Janet glanced at Lisa, in full commiseration. At least she's getting some rest, the attendant thought, having witnessed Lisa bang her head against the overhead compartment when she'd been making her way aft. "I extend my condolences. Suzi mentioned to me that she had a death in the family."

"That she's had," Jack said, sounding the soul of despondency. "Poor thing... It was her grandmother."

With their eyes soulfully linked, sweetly, Janet promptly rejoined, "I'm sorry. I'll get that aspirin for you right away."

`There's no need to rush away quite so fast, Jan, dear. You could spend more time with me. I'd like that, I'd like it very much. What are the other stewardesses for?'

"I'll be right back."

"Thank you. I'd appreciate it," Jack said with an attentive lilt to his beguiling voice, making it clear how immersed he was in letting her know how sincerely he meant it.

Once in a great while, he could manage genuine sincerity when someone or something was actually worth the effort.

Jack opened Lisa's latest self-help bible and began perusing its sweeping contents. Several notations raised his brow a time or two; did people really take most of this psyche-prattle seriously? Ever since the not so tender age of fifteen, Jackson Rippner was a cutter to the chase, and wouldn't have it any other way. You got what you wanted in this ass-backwards world by being ruthless, blitz first, with all the force of a category five hurricane, leaving wreckage behind, and never a trace of yourself. He had no problem sleeping nights--ever. He rarely took sleeping pills and warm milk was for wimps.

He laughed when his eyes skimmed over what they had, seeing there was something Dr. Phil and he agreed on, doubting he'd find much more.  Mollycoddling was, and to quote the good doctor, `just plain dumb.'

"Here you are, sir."

Rippner looked up from the selection that had partially-met with his approval, letting Janet's voice entreat him. "Please, call me Jack."  He coaxed a shy, waking smile out of her; overall, she was hesitant.  "Jack," she pronounced, imagining judgmental eyes focused upon her, their owners disapproving of the overfamiliarity. She prided herself on her professionalism too. "Here're the aspirin." She had placed the crystalline pain-relievers in a plastic cup, which she dutifully handed off to Rippner. "Can I get you anything else?" She spied the half-drunk bottle of water Jack had stuck in the back of the seat ahead of him.

"More water?"

"No. It's fine. Totally unnecessary, but thank you anyway." Out the corner of his eye, he detected some soundless stirring from Lisa and, peeved, he willed his gambit to remain unconscious. He wasn't finished buttering-up the lovely Janet just yet. Chattily, he began, "So...do you enjoy being a flight attendant?"

Janet, blinking, as though dazed by his inquiry, oriented herself to him more. Conformably, her good-nature seeping ineffably through, she remarked, "Generally, I do. It has its moments, but what job doesn't?"  She looked up and away from Jack's solicitous face, only realizing then, like some funky delayed reaction, how incredible and translucent his eyes were, as though if he chose to, he could look into the very depths of her soul. Maybe he was, but she was too harried to give it serious thought; she was working, at the beck and call of her employer's customers. Still and all, the power behind those eyes was exhilarating in a strange, hypnotic way. Giving this man some undivided attention couldn't hurt, could it? She forced herself to relax, glad for the conversation that had become less formal.

`Killer eyes,' she stylized, `wow. No contacts for him. I've never seen eyes more beautiful.' She imagined he got told how gorgeous his eyes were most of the time, and though she whisked her own about the cabin in search of someone who might need her, she wasted no time returning hers to his, seeing that nobody did for the time being. "Jack, would you like a pillow?"

`I'd like you...' he rakishly personalized, his face a study in cool, calculating control.

"No, thank you." Really drawing this last part out, like a baiter, hoping to tempt her, he expressed, "I'm...f-i-n-e."

Janet was unable to resist thinking...'Yes, you are, but this isn't a club, this is work. Mind on the job, even if he's flirting...once we land, we'll see...maybe.' "Well, if you need anything else, Jack, just let me know."

"Oh, I will. I will," he promised, and watched her go down the aisle, enthralled by the gentle, provocative sway of her diminutive hips. He breathed in, finding it hard to, and when he let go his breath, he felt empty. He had to be with her, but how? There was Lisa, The Call, the Keefes, the confirmation clear to the end of this covert operation. Once Lisa called in the switch, he'd call his killer who lurked outside her father's place, and speaking in code in front of Lisa, give him the go-ahead to kill her father anyway.

Wait, a minute Jack thought, applying the breaks to his disappointment over having to put making his moves on Janet on hold. He'd check her out later, high-tech style once this was all over. The airline's data was an open book to him; it would be child's play finding out everything about Janet, just as he'd done with Lisa. That returned the smug smile to his countenance.

Lisa was stirring frequently now, as she was coming out of it. Jack silently re-read the uninspiring portion of text, and giving his hapless victim a fleeting sneer, began reading aloud. He gloated; she had thought to give him and the plot away, but this game was far from over. He'd succeeded in foiling her pitiful endeavor to expose him and the assignation attempt, which had required months to coordinate. With time and the unforeseen on their side, how could they fail? The death of Lisa's grandmother couldn't have been better timed if they'd planned it themselves. Where did this `nice girl' get off thinking she could beat him at his own game?
Delusional she was; he was more than a match for her, and she'd better get that into her stubborn head. She stared at him now, the enormity of her situation read like an appalling tableau etched in her startled face. She was back, and, again, he had his advantage to press.

"I'm challenging you, but first, you've gotta get real," Jack egged. He finished his heavy-handed recitation, staring her down, looking deceptively charitable and goading, "I'm not making this up, Lise, it's right here... Fact--you've been out for half an hour, and Keefe's room still hasn't been changed..."

She gasped, demoralized. At the same time, her mind raced. What had this monster done to the sweet old lady she'd scribbled her message in the book for? She looked to the kindly woman's seat to see the dear fast asleep. Lisa hoped that was all she was, asleep, not dead. Who knew what this psycho was capable of, even at 37,000 feet? She eyed Jack warily as the coldest chill she'd ever felt crept up her spine to paralyze her. She watched, as though this was all playing out in some hideous dream, Rippner snatch the air phone from its mooring and badgered, "Let's do this..."

iIiIiIiI

"What's turned you into such a loner? Was it your parents' divorce?" Rippner was on a roll that was more a tear. Like someone hammered by the sound of his own voice, chock full of himself, he kept going, "No, wait...did someone break your heart?"

When would this damning torture end, Lisa thought in desperation. She had to get away, flee from him and his heartless verbal brutality. Her eyes flitted to him but settled on the passenger sitting across from him, trying her hardest to forget this bully was here. "I have to go to the restroom."

Aloof to the core, Jack studied her for a moment before he reached forward, grabbing the water bottle. "Best I can do."

Was he sick? Why of course he was. What a stupid question. Instead of peeing in that chicken-spit bottle he held up, she'd pee in his swaggering face. "No, you really have to let me go." Level-headed while emphatic, she insisted, "I have to go." She wasn't fooling; if she didn't get away from him soon, she would lose the little bit of sanity she clung to like a leech fused with a heedless bather's inner thigh. She watched this deviant, wanting to punch the smug right out of his high and mighty expression before he said anything. "Okay." Resigned, Rippner rose to his feet, but barred her way. "I trust you."

"And I'll need my purse."

He gave her a, `are you high?' look, because there's no way you're getting your hands anywhere near it.' "Not that much." His facial expression was pure cocksureness. He let her pass, turning on his heels, watching her as though if she made one wrong move, he'd come down on her like the wrath his father once rained on him.

Lisa left him standing there, wishing she were wearing a parachute and moments away from doing her first skydive. The thought stabbed at her then, as though she'd been struck between her shoulder blades. `He would order that hit man to kill Dad as soon as I bailed out...' She cringed as she headed straight for the restroom door and found the tiny crawl space was occupied. She flounced away from the locked door, making hard contact with the opposite wall, a breath away from crying out in anguish.

She had to be strong for everyone counting on her, despite their ignorance of the fact. How was she going to save Keefe and Dad? Lisa drew a dismal blank and when she faced around, Rippner stood there in the aisle like stone to reinforce that there was no way out for her. Either she complied, or bury dear, old Dad.

As though it were coming from faraway, she heard what sounded like a tiny voice ask, "Are you on line?"

Lisa pulled her mind back from where it had run off to and nodded. Answering the cute blonde youngster, she felt as though she were speaking in a vacuum, telling the child that it was all right if she wished to go before her. The little one, eleven going on thirty, diplomatically reminded Lisa that she had been there first...

In Lisa's absence, Jack allowed himself some liberty, deciding to scan his section of the plane for Janet. Unable to locate her, a passing thought furrowed his brow. He hadn't seen her for a while, since she'd asked whether he had wanted peanuts or pretzels. Where the hell was she, avoiding him? Her loss if she had decided he wasn't her type; his taking a `no' for an answer wasn't in his vocabulary when it came to conquests.
He pressed the back of his head into the headrest, irritated, but deadpan to the world. He was about to renew his scanning for his freckle-faced quarry, when the air phone screen delivered the message he'd been champing at the bit for; the phones were working again.

`Where's that bitch? She should've been back by now.'

He got up in a huff, cast sullen eyes to the tail of the plane, stepped into the aisle and stalked his way to the restroom. Before reaching its door, having nearly bumped the young blonde out of his way, Jack spied Janet refilling a coffee carafe. They never give that poor sweet thing a moment's rest, he groused.

But he had his agenda, and, presently, one Lisa Reisert was still holed up in this cubby hole. He was about to knock, ignoring the look of consternation on the child's face, when the door began opening.  Jack stood there, primed for ushering Lisa back to her seat, but on catching sight of what she'd managed to scribble on the mirror, he went livid.
He did a bum's rush on her, his mind screaming obscenities and he voiced his particular favorite under his breath. `I am so going to kick her sorry ass!'

Outside of Lisa's private hell, the little girl had her ear pressed to the restroom door, unable to make out what was going on in there, exactly.

Janet, who had paid a visit to her seat, and, upon seeing that she was missing, had gone looking for her. `There she is.'

Having spotted her, Janet, sounding maternal said, "Rebecca, you just can't run off like that."

"There's a man in there."

Patiently, as she herded the curious child back to her seat, Janet told her that men and women shared toilets on airplanes.

"But there's a lady in there too."

That stopped them both in their tracks, and Janet exclaimed, "Oh." More to herself than to the snoopy young girl she muttered, "One of those flights."

Inside the restroom of assault and battery, Jack ripped Lisa away from the wall he'd just slammed her up against. It had taken every fiber of his self-control not to gag her with his tongue down her throat when he'd been mere inches from her mouth. What he wanted to do with her had nothing to do with his being tender. He wanted to teach her a lesson in the worst way, one she'd never forget, despite what he gathered she'd already been through, judging from her scar he'd discovered.

He wanted, no, needed, to punish her, and punish her badly. Having finished ramming her into the opposite wall, Rippner made sure her back was pinned to its cramped confines, permitting absolutely no leeway.

"I followed you for eight weeks, and not once did I see you order anything but a--"

She blocked out the foul curse he growled inches from her nose, seemingly impervious to his barbaric cruelty. She thought of nothing else but doing whatever she had to do to stop him. Stop him she must! Jack saw, by the vacant look on Lisa's face that he'd reached her threshold. Her protests of his cutting off her wind had barely registered with him. He decided when she'd had enough, not she.  Begrudgingly, he released her, his expression mocking her. He rinsed her sloppy finger-work clean from the mirror, all the while claiming that they were professionals with customers to please because if they didn't, their lives would go to sh--.
Lisa would tolerate no more of his dirty language. She could be a potty mouth too, but hearing Jack be one fiercely angered her, as though he were raping her on a whole other level.

"...Because I'm here to tell you that the phones are working again..." `Oh, fine,' ricocheted in her head. `Damn-it!'

"Do we have a deal this time?" He hovered over her, waiting for her answer and Lisa listlessly nodded. Seeing the vacancy in her eyes pleased him. "Peachy..."

While he scrutinized himself in the mirror, carelessly running his long fingers through his unruly dark hair, she planned his demise, by any means possible...

He patted her cheek like the cad he was, and breathed in all insincerity, "Thanks for the quickee."

Lisa hated Jack, hated him more than the man who had attacked her so many months prior, something she never thought she'd ever be able to do.
"Good." Rippner opened the door, heading out first, and shielded Lisa from any prying eyes that might be taking them in as they emerged from the restroom together. He pushed her, getting her going in the right direction of their seats, preparing to follow, when the senior flight attendant's voice interrupted, calling him to task.

"Excuse me!"

Jack, all docility coupled with cordiality and a faint trace of amusement, pretended to accord her the respect she imagined she deserved. `Lisa better not get cute again and be parking herself in her seat if she knows what's good for her. If she doesn't, I'll haul her flabby ass back in this restroom and kick it black and blue all over again...'

Nonchalantly, Lisa swiped the seventeen-year old's stick pen, which bore teeth marks, with a grotesque eraser topping it; casually, she kept on going to her seat. Her captor had not seen her, she felt safe in assuming, because if he had, his iron grip would've clamped down on her shoulder, letting her know she hadn't gotten away with a thing.  "This isn't a motel," the Senior Flight Attendant, Suzi Kurtz, berated the snarky cretin smirking before her. She had had a feeling about `this one' long before this, despite his façade of impeccable manners. Maybe it had been the way she'd noticed his undressing Janet, her co-worker of six years, with hungry eyes.

Jack noted how sexy Janet looked standing behind, and off to the side, of her scowling superior. `Pixie's' mouth curved upward ever so slightly when he said, "Sure." His saucy wink and winning smile, before turning away to rejoin Lisa, was meant for Jan, certainly not for old sourpuss.
Back at his seat, he told Lisa that they had attracted too much attention, so the call to the Lux Atlantic would have to wait a while. This announcement put her further on edge. Her dad's life hung in the balance, and now that the phones were in working order again, the red light was still in effect.

`...Dad, no matter what happens,' Lisa swore, `I won't let anything happen to you.' Where she'd placed the pen, snug against the outside of her leg, beneath her skirt, she patted, thoroughly unseen by the unsuspecting Rippner.

`He'll never see it coming,' she reiterated to herself, her mind fondling what comforted her. The pen was no longer an instrument to write with, but rather, her secret weapon. Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword, although, a sword would've come in more handy at a time like this, certainly had a point. Lisa smiled tightly. `I'll stop him, or die trying...'

iIiIiIiI

Whether smug old sourpuss had called him trash to his face, or had merely asked if he'd had any, Jack turned on the old charm and had upped his smile a thousand watts. Another time, another place he'd thought and he would've wiped her snotty expression off her long in the tooth face, but being on his best behavior was mandatory. He had a job to complete...

Now, Janet on the other hand, calling him trash, he wouldn't have minded. She'd have said it all high and quirky, the way he was getting used to hearing her sound, and he would've eaten it up...

Jack checked his watch a final time and decided it was now or never. "It's time." He handed Lisa the phone, saw what she did with it and promptly corrected the situation; there would be no smart-alecky repeat performance of what she'd tried to pull during the storm. "Thank you..." He'd be able to hear everything that was said between Lisa and Cynthia. Out the corner of his eye, Jack saw Janet talking to the pesky blonde who'd needed his assistance with her carry-on. He tried catching Janet's eye, but it was no dice. The flight attendant was thoroughly into what looked to be a one-sided conversation with the dizzy flatterer doing most of the talking. `Later...' Jack promised himself.

He heard Cynthia bring up how Keefe's security might raise some objections about the switch. He wondered what Lisa would say, given her present state.

"Just tell them I authorized it," was her comeback, said with irrevocable finality.

He had to admire his dupe's gritty resilience and couldn't suppress the plaudit, `grace under pressure.' He watched her for a few moments, she letting the handset slide from her ear with a most poignant expression of resignation on her face. More than a little impressed, Jack awarded, "Outstanding."
Lisa wasted no time reminding him that he needed to call off his killer, removing her dad from harm's way. `She and that one-track mind of hers,' he thought, wishing that this whole tedious thing was over. Replacing the air phone handset where it belonged, he made a clicking sound with a slant of his head in her direction. "I still need you."

"You promised," Lisa petulantly reminded him, wanting to grab him by his long neck and shake him into submission.

"And I'll keep that promise."

Lisa heard him drone on about how he'd call off his hit-man once he received confirmation that the Keefes had been handled. Her mind raced and hit a brick wall, having heard him pluralize the surname left her numb; she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Woodenly, she asked, "What did you say?"

Rippner cursed himself for having said far too much; it wasn't like him to slip up like that. His look was blank and uncharacteristically uncertain. What he'd blurted, no thanks to her, stunned him and he echoed, "W-what?"

"His family's with him?" In the same breath she answered her own incredible question with a question. "You're going to kill his family too?"

Ripping his eyes from hers, realizing that his blunder somehow warranted a fuller disclosure, Jack retorted like the automaton he was adept at making himself become, "Somebody wants to send a big, brash message that's their business. I do my part and move on." A random pang of conscience drove him to swallow hard and loud, and at that very moment, Janet turned her eyes to him. She was a little startled to see him look as though he had suddenly taken ill. The look in her eyes seemed to convey, `Are you all right?'

Jack gave her a fleeting smile coupled with the brief closing of his eyelids. Soundlessly, he mouthed at her, "I'm fine, thank you."

Lisa nearly choked on the lack of remorse in his pitiless delivery. It was all she could do holding her tongue, not yelling at the top of her lungs that the passenger sitting beside her was a cold-blooded fiend, capable of vileness the like of which she never knew could exist until now. She put shaking hands to her face as the words, "No, no, no," found their increasingly vocal outlet.

Icily, Jack, with a finger pressed to his lips warned, "Lisa, sssshuss..."

More compassion would have come from a robot. Paying not the slightest attention, the stunned hotel manager shook her head even more, wishing for this unimaginable monster's swift death. The pen dug into her leg when she shifted her weight to relieve some of the soreness in her backside that had begun to hurt.

Starbuck's for a latte...he'd make the call confirming that the Keefes had been handled and then he'd be out of her life. Lisa, responding like a drone, heard herself reply, "Anything you say."

Rippner did a slight double-take, mistaking the blasé quality of her tone for a wholehearted admission that she saw reason. "What? No questions?"

She looked away from the window with its hazy view of a Miami Beach at dawn to look Jack in his eyes which were those of the skeptic he was at heart. "What good have they done me so far?"

His face conveyed approval of her having come to terms and accepting what she was powerless to control from the get-go. "Best question you've asked all night."

Lisa steeled herself, her strategy for thwarting this madman ripening in her mind, like plums picked too early, with each gentle dip of the plane in its descent. The airline attendant, the one Lisa knew Jack had eyes for, was advising folks behind them to fasten their seatbelts and keep them fastened until the captain turned off the fasten seatbelts sign. It was amusing in a bizarre sort of way; he was morally bankrupt, so where did he get off palming himself off as someone you'd want to date.
Miami loomed larger and just as Lisa anchored the back of her head into the headrest and watched the plane's wing go through well-timed angular adjustments, seconds before landing, the plane touched down, not as lightly as Lisa would have liked. The aircraft skittered, bumped up again in response to having hit the ground too hard before settling down to the serious business of staying put on the runway where it belonged. Once it did, solidly so, a round of applause erupted, with Rippner clapping right along with everyone else, as though he were normal, validating the captain's ability to land them safely. Jack turned to her, wearing his smug expression like an obnoxious banner. The plane taxied towards its pre-assigned spot at the terminal, and as it did so, Lisa slumped over as though stricken by something mysterious.  Testily, Jack questioned, "What's wrong now?"

Drawing out her voice, making her claim sound as convincing as she could, she answered, "You hit me with your head and slammed me against the wall."

His voice rife with irritation and lacking anything that approached compassion, he stipulated, "Well, suck it up."

`Just you wait, you loser...' Lisa gripped the pen tighter.  His eyes, radiating impatience, narrowed. "Sit up. Sit up, Lisa." While he grew more menacing, she freed the pen, her blow for freedom, from its hiding place. "We're almost there. We've come this far, don't blow it now."
She straightened up, clutching the pen for fear that if it fell from her grasp and he saw it, she would die on the spot. Deliberately, she counted to herself to twenty, and then opened her mouth. "The scar...it happened in a parking lot..." She knew she had his attention; it was unnecessary to check to see if she did. She kept on. "In the middle of the day."  Stiffly, reliving the horror her attacker had wrought in her mind's eye, she said, "He held a knife to my throat the whole time..."
Since Lisa wasn't looking at Jack directly, she missed his mouth opening with the slight dropping of his jaw. She missed what someone else might have mistaken for his having compassion.

"...Since then, there's only one thing I tell myself."

As though he knew her mind so well, he self-assuredly said, "That it was beyond your control."

Lisa rankled but kept her cool while thinking, `No, you insufferable egomaniac...'

"No," she said, expeditiously. "It would never happen again." She looked at him in naked disgust. This was it! Lisa took some deep breaths that to anyone else's eyes would have been undetectable. Wound him, kill him, it made no difference; she had to get away. She clenched the pen and yanked it from its covert with eyes looking almost crazed that were glued to the center of his neck--and she plunged the ball point smack into it with all the fire and fury she had mustered!

She heard Jack gag, battling for breath, as his breaths punctuated the air as wheezing. Out the corner of her eye, she saw the look of startled shock ingrained in his face. In that frenzied moment, she went for his cell phone, and was gone. He tried to stop her, grabbing her by her ankle, trying to trip her up, and he succeeded. She fell hard, momentarily dazed, but her will to flee dominated any deterrent he posed; she kept going, slicing through the melee of passengers who were visually intent on leaving the plane all at once.

The senior flight attendant told her to wait, but Lisa was beyond obeying anyone, or anything aside from obeying the command to make the most important phone call of her life. Once the cabin steward had released the door, her bid for freedom was no longer that. She was free, and it was a fact. No power on Earth could stop her now. She had lives to save!

...Janet had gotten him a doctor; if he got out of this in one piece, he'd make sure to look her up. `No good deed goes unpunished,' he thought whimsically, while his rigorous training canceled out any pain he might have felt. Punishing this woman who had seen to his being hurt was the farthest thing from his mind. He'd make sure he showed her just how much he appreciated her concern. The chronic complainer, who'd been in line earlier, was now barring his escape through the bathroom door, telling him it didn't look that bad. `Like hell,' Jack thought; when he caught up with Lisa, and he was hell-bent on doing just that, he'd put her in a world of hurt in repayment.

Obstinately, Jack wasted no time plucking the makeshift weapon out of his neck, and the thought about cramming it into the whiny physician's neck crossed his mind. Roughly, he muscled past `Dr. Whine' and fleetingly regretted his having to jostle Janet out of his way in the process. Again the thought of his making it up to her in a very different setting, preferably one where wine flowed by candlelight, eased his conscience. Her seeing him as the victim here would work to his advantage.

Distracted, with so many wisps of thoughts tying his mind in knots, Jack was a driven man on the move. He saw the bag that was directly in his path for his storm up the aisle too late to avoid brutally stumbling over it. He crashed to the deck as though he were wearing a suit lined with lead. Hauling himself up, his looks raining daggers at the punky-brewster blonde whose luggage had just laid him out, Jack wished he'd had more time to teach her a lesson too.

Lisa may have won this battle, but ultimately...he'd be winning the war. He'd overtake her in Miami International and haul her hostile ass to Starbuck's for that latte, then afterwards, if he felt like it, he'd teach her where all of her combativeness had gotten her.

iIiIiIiI

He'd made it into the terminal amidst the milling and shifting throng of travelers. The moment he discovered that Lisa had swiped his cell phone, Jack knew in that instant what she'd do with it. He couldn't allow it; she held a lifeline in her hand, the means to wreck the entire operation with one phone call, guiding the Keefes to safety. She had another thing coming as long as he had eyes to search for her with, and legs to run her into the ground with. `Where is she,' he badgered, `Where?'

And then suddenly, looking up and away from his waist, he knew exactly where. She was standing not more than one hundred feet or so off, making believe she was reading whatever it was she held in her hands. Starting in panic when her eyes fell upon him, and it registered with her that he had found her, Lisa shot off like a jackrabbit.

So did Jack. Not since his school days when he was one of the stars on his high school track team did he sprint after Lisa as though he had sprouted wings like Apollo himself. It was do or die, either he catch her, or fail everyone connected with this elaborate undertaking. He'd never failed before and he wasn't about to begin here.

`Faster,' he ordered himself, streaking up the stairs as he knocked angry, confused people out of his way When he reached the top of the landing, thinking he'd lost Lisa, he gulped air, pausing, while out the corner of his eye he saw a blur of hair, light blouse, dark skirt with furiously pumping legs whoosh down the moving walkway to his right.
The quarry spied, he set off again, more determined than ever, dashing with all his might in furious pursuit. Lisa Reisert was fast! His lungs burned, screaming for the vital air he was depriving them, as he angrily realized she was getting away. It was then, as he dodged clumsy bodies in his way, that he recalled what his henchman had told him about her father's wallet lying next to pictures of her graduation and team glory, field hockey to be exact. She had to have been a key player, judging from this latest display of physical fitness.

She didn't know whether Jack was right on her heels, or left in dust. Choosing that he had to be dangerously close, Lisa succumbed to her three-inch heels, tripping, taking a nasty fall. Quick as lightning thoroughly greased, she popped to her feet and raced off, rounding a corner where a tram fortuitously waited. Thanking God loudly in her mind, she threw herself into it and then begged for its doors to close. "Come on, come on, come on..." She shut her eyes, breathing for the whole world to hear, and when she opened them, she saw Jack being shut out, he banging like a wild man on the tram's door that had obeyed her voice.

Not even realizing she was moving for the tram's rearview window, Lisa stood transfixed, mesmerized by the shadowy image of Rippner shrinking as the tram put much blessed distance between them. She'd make that call once clear of the terminal, already deciding that her mode of transportation of choice would be a car, anyone's car, as long as its motor had been left running with its driver absent. Under the circumstances, what other choice did she have?

iIiIiIiI

What was he going to do now? Warn his people of his utter failure to control the situation which had blown up in his face like a powder keg? His knowing the outworking of the plan down to the minutest detail, the guys on the boat were well on their way, if not already in position. He made himself stop fiddling with the what ifs and concentrated on his next move. It came to him like a bolt from the blue.

Maybe her first call would be to her father instead, not to the hotel to avert disaster. As fortune would have it, a bank of phones was a short walk and a left from where he was now. He'd call his killer and order the hit. Rationally, he mediated while he fed a coin into the phone that he'd meet up with Lisa again, at her father's house. The conversation with his man lasted all of one minute. Rapidly on the move again, Jack prepared to leave Miami International. He was about to go through the automatic doors when a sprite-sounding voice prevented him.

"Jack!"

He froze, both pleased and mortified...her wonderful voice his undoing as well as his galvanization. She was carrying her all-weather flight coat, tailor-made for Dallas downpours, a smart looking cap with Fresh Air's insignia delicately stitched into it sat atop her head, and she had her Company-issued rollie in tow. Janet, `she remembered my name,' he basked, was for another time, certainly now wasn't that time.

"You should be with paramedics, rushing you to an emergency room." He saw how prettily her eyes had widened, focused as they were on his throat; he liked how worried she sounded. "Please, come with me, so you can be seen to properly. Security is searching for that woman who did this to you. Tell me she isn't your girlfiend." Janet chuckled, realizing what she'd said. "I meant, girlfriend."

"No, she certainly isn't. She went psycho on me. Who the hell knows why. Maybe her way of showing just how much I ticked her off when I barged into the restroom, not knowing she was in there. She forgot to lock the door."

Janet pressed, "If you haven't done so already, there's still the police report you should file."

With a hand anchored to his neck, Jack croaked, "I'd love to, Janet, but I've got a pressing engagement that won't wait. I'll heed your advice though and seek medical attention as soon as it's humanly possible. I'll get in touch with the police too, I swear."

"But you heard the doctor. You could damage your vocal cords further." She took another step towards him.

"I don't plan on doing much talking, concluding some personal business." Like having his hands wrapped around Lisa's throat, choking the life out of her, adding her to the body count. To get the topic off him, he introduced, "Mind if I call you sometime? For dinner, a movie? Or something..."

Janet brightened, still looking concerned, but deeply flattered. "Not at all."

"There wouldn't be a problem?"

"A problem, like what?"

"Going out with a white guy?"

"You make it sound catching."

"A white guy with spaghetti for vocal cords?" he said, trying to sound lighthearted.

Janet rolled her eyes and gently said, "A white guy who'd better get himself to a doctor before he has permanent laryngitis."

"Seriously, would you have one?"

"Who? A white guy?" They looked at each other, aware of how loaded that had sounded.

"Yeah...like me."

"Yes, I would..." Janet looked as immutable as stone.

"Oh?" Jack said, and despite his mockery of a voice, he sounded dismayed.

Keeping a rigidly straight face, she informed, "If the white guy wasn't you."

Disregarding his acute physical discomfort, Jack gave her a winning smile, pleased through and through. Regardless of his approval, he couldn't afford dragging this out longer than necessary. "Cell phone?"
Janet nodded and promptly supplied, "Six-four-six. Eight-two-five. Seven-six-seven-eight."

The digits were instantly memorized. "Great. I'll call." He began departing. "I assure you, I won't sound like this when we meet again. `Bye, Jan. We'll get together soon, promise."

To his retreating back, the junior flight attendant wished, "Seek medical attention as soon as you can. You have a very nice voice, it would be a shame losing it for good."

Jack turned in the revolving door and waved goodbye before sprinting to the cab stand, two one-hundred dollar bills were tucked inside his fist for the cabbie who could get him to the Reisert's family residence faster than light speed.

The opportunistic cab driver tore away from the curb with a bemused Rippner sitting like a prince in the back seat. It was still very early, and Miami heat was already responsible for many a sweaty brow. It wasn't the humid air that beaded Jack's forehead with perspiration. Thinking about what was to come strained him. It also put into question the reliability of his memory. Not giving it another thought, he removed what he needed from his person and jotted down Janet's number. Better than a database that might not have been updated, he had what he didn't need to hack a system for.

Once the debacle that Lisa had caused with her tenacity had been ironed out, he was due some richly-deserved fun time. He thought of Janet again and kept on thinking.

iIiIiIiI

It had felt so good, so richly, sinfully good pitching Lisa, `the mother of all bitches,' down the sectioned stairs in the renovated hallway. How Jack hoped that her fall backwards had broken her back and she lay paralyzed, helpless, unable to get away this time from what he had in store for her. He retrieved the fallen knife and went to see what his action had cost her. He was just in time to see the intrepid woman with nine lives, though thoroughly dazed, wriggle her way down the length of the rest of the staircase, like a boneless Slinky, the famed child's toy his mother had once bought for him.

For as many times Lisa impressed him; her will was indomitable and for that he had no choice but to admire her. The idea of stealing her tugged at his memory but he was past the point of no return. He already saw her dead, the multiple stab wounds, running rife red with her blood. There was no turning back; she had to die.

He was her showdown, until Jack saw Lisa had his killer's nine millimeter weapon, complete with silencer, in her double-handed grip aimed squarely at him. "Uh...well..." He felt as though a noose were around his neck, savaging his throat that hurt like there was no tomorrow.

The professional Ms. Reisert demanded, "Don't move!"

More than a little stunned, yet all the while unable to wrap his mind around the fact that she had, `You take another step closer, I'll blow you away so fast you'll be yesterday's headline,' boldly standing in her eyes, Jack backed down.

"We'll meet again," he gamely told her, trying for sporty, all the while firmly believing she didn't have the guts to waste him as he minced his way to the destroyed door.

She gave no further warning; she shot him, looking more surprised and wounded than he. He became an instant disbeliever. The bullet in him was the red flag she waved. Enraged to the point of wanting to rent her to pieces, Jack vehemently kicked the gun out of her hands. He wanted her to fight back so when he ripped her up by her scalp, he would feel more alive than he'd ever felt in his tainted life. Male-driven, fact-based logic be damned; he was mainlining emotions and it was pure, it was mythological and made him feel higher than any kite, anywhere, loosed from its fragile string by gale-force winds.

Until he heard the fateful word--"Hey!"

All that was incredible rushed in on him as his unclean, skewed world shattered into a million jagged pieces. Lisa's father had shot him and now he lay next to his killer, whose facial skin was already taking on a distinct light bluish tinge. His failure replete, within himself Jack knew he would live, live to plot and have his revenge on this slip of a mark who should have realized she fell far short of being his equal.
Resigned, defeated, yet still defiant, Rippner watched Lisa. After thanking her father wordlessly with a loving touch traveling down the length of his arm, she stared down at the hired assassin with an odd look of pity and regret, as one would have for a mortally-injured dog that had unwittingly become road kill, playing in her countenance.
Lisa looked away, as though having seen enough, too much, in fact. She walked away, but not out of this man's life, a troubled man who could give Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde a run for his money any day of the week, oh no, not by a long shot. This was far from over. If she thought she was rid of him, he assuaged himself, he'd already won, in the end, where it ultimately counted. She and her pest of a father had hardly seen the last of Jackson Rippner.

He forced himself to concentrate on Janet and how he would see her again, somehow, despite an immediate future that promised to be stifling, at best and impossible, at worst. Even once the police with the ambulance had arrived, he thought of nothing else, vengeance coupled with the sound of an angel's voice, that had its own unique way of urging him to seek help.

Destroying these people's lives, once he regained freedom, was all the help he needed.

end