Twenty minutes later she had put on her headphones and was gently swaying her head to some classical music. She jerked upright when the hand fell upon her shoulder and Charlie’s voice filtered down to her. He wore the hat she had bought him. His smile was big and genuine, but there was nervousness evident in his body language, the twitching of his eyes. LuAnn took off the headphones.
“Good gosh,” he whispered. “If I hadn’t recognized Lisa I would’ve passed right by you. What the hell happened?”
“A long story.” She gripped his wrist tightly and let out a barely audible sigh. “Does this mean you’re finally gonna tell me your real name, Charlie?”
A light rain had started to fall on the city shortly after the 747 had lifted off. Walking slowly down the street in midtown Manhattan with the aid of a cane, the man in the black trench coat and waterproof hat seemed not to notice the inclement weather. Jackson’s appearance had changed drastically since his last encounter with LuAnn. He had aged at least forty years. Heavy pouches hung under his eyes, a fringe of brittle white hair circled the back of his bald head, which was mottled all over with age spots. The nose was long and saggy, the chin and neck equally so. His gait, slow and measured, matched the feebleness of his character. He often aged himself at night, as though when darkness came he felt compelled to shrink down, to draw nearer to old age, to death. He looked up into the cloudy sky. The plane would be over Nova Scotia about now as it traveled along its convex path to Europe.
And she had not gone alone; Charlie had gone off with her. Jackson had stayed behind after dropping off LuAnn and watched Charlie board the aircraft, not knowing his employer was only a few feet away. That arrangement might work out all right after all, Jackson thought. He had doubts about LuAnn, serious doubts. She had withheld information from him, usually an unpardonable sin. He had managed to avoid a serious problem by eliminating Romanello, and he had to concede that the difficulty had been partially his in the making. He had, after all, hired Romanello to kill his chosen one if she had failed to accept his offer. However, he had never before had a winner on the run from the police. He would do what he always did when confronted with a possible disaster: He would sit back and observe. If things continued to run smoothly he would do nothing. At the slightest sign of trouble, however, he would take immediate and forceful action. So having capable Charlie along with her might prove to be a good thing. LuAnn was different from the others, that was certain.
Jackson pulled his collar up and slowly ambled down a side street. New York City in the darkness and rain held no terror for him. He was heavily armed and expertly skilled in innumerable ways of killing anything that breathed. Anyone targeting the “old man” as easy pickings would painfully realize the mistake. Jackson had no desire to kill. It was sometimes necessary, but he took no pleasure in it. Only the attainment of money, power, or ideally both, would suffice as justification in his mind. He had far better things to do with his time.
Jackson turned his face once again to the sky. The light rain fell on the latex folds of his “face.” He licked at them; they were cool to the touch, felt good against his real skin. Godspeed to you both, he said under his breath and then smiled.
And God help you if you ever betray me.
He continued down the street, thinking intently and whistling while he did so. It was now time to plan for next month’s winner.
PART TWO
Ten Years Later
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The small private jet landed at the airstrip at Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport and taxied to a halt. It was nearly ten o’clock at night and the airport had pretty much shut down for the day. The Gulfstream V was the day’s last incoming flight in fact. The limousine was waiting on the tarmac. Three people quickly exited the plane and climbed into the limo, which immediately drove off and a few minutes later was heading south on Route 29.