No Plan B (Jack Reacher, #27)(28)

The first guy said, “Relax. Sit down. He’s here in Roth’s place.”

The new guy stayed on his feet. “The hell he is. That wasn’t the deal.”

Reacher said, “The deal’s changed. You want the rota rewritten?”

“You know we do.”

“Mr. Roth is no longer convinced that altering the rota is necessary. It’s up to you to change my mind.”

“Are you nuts?” the new guy said.

“I wouldn’t say so. Mildly eccentric, maybe. But who am I to judge?” Reacher patted the concrete on his other side. “Sit.”

“If you’re not nuts then Roth must be.” The new guy sat. “If what we have gets out, he’s finished. His career’s over. He knows that.”

“What you have is bogus.”

“So what? It’s credible. There’s no way he doesn’t get investigated off the back of it. And it doesn’t matter what they find. Something. Nothing. Whatever. Shit sticks. His career will be down the toilet.”

“Maybe he doesn’t care about that. Maybe he’s ready for a new challenge.”

“He cares.”

“Does he?”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?”

“Anyway,” the first guy joined in. “We have insurance. In case he’s too stupid to cooperate.”

Reacher said, “The threat you made against his ex-wife?”

The first guy nodded. “Accidents happen. Houses catch on fire. So do electric cars. With their owners inside sometimes.”

Reacher said, “I’m not a fan of assholes who threaten innocent people. I should break your legs for that.”

The guy puffed himself up. “Or we could break yours.”

Reacher said, “Could you?”



* * *



—

A witness would have said the guy fell off the bench. Just flopped sideways, hit the ground, and lay there motionless, legs bent, arms by his sides. Like when he was sitting, only rotated through ninety degrees. They would have said Reacher didn’t move. Or that if he did it was only due to some kind of twitch. Nothing deliberate. Just a momentary spasm in his left arm.

Reacher turned to the new guy. “The negotiating phase is over. You’re not getting the rota changed. You’re not going to release the dirt you made up on Roth. And you’re not going to lay a finger on Hannah Hampton. Are you clear about that?”

The vein on the guy’s forehead started throbbing again. “I don’t know what your plans are, buddy, but you better cancel them. You better leave town. And fast.”

“I was already planning to leave town. But I know someone who lives here. Who works in the police department. We were both in the service. If any lies come out about Roth, he’ll tell me. If anything happens to Ms. Hampton, he’ll tell me. I’ll come back. I’ll find you. And you will have the worst day of your life.”



* * *



—

A witness would have said a very strange thing happened next. The new guy fell off the bench as well. He also flopped sideways and wound up inert on the ground, like a mirror image of his buddy. And again they would have said Reacher didn’t move. Not deliberately. Although he did seem to have another spasm.

In his right arm this time.





Chapter 18


Jed Starmer stood at the edge of the sidewalk and pulled a handful of change out of his pocket. He had three quarters plus a bunch of smaller coins. They added up to more than two dollars. But Jed didn’t care about the total. What counted was that he could make a call. He could get himself out of the mess he had landed in. Or at least try.

Jed figured there would be some payphones at the Greyhound station so he turned and started to make his way back there. He moved quickly at first, then slowed down and started to look around. He had been so focused on chasing the cab that the guy who had stolen his backpack had taken, he hadn’t paid any attention to his surroundings. The street he was on was long and flat. The Greyhound station was far ahead, on the right. Closer, opposite him on his left, there was a weird-looking building. It was pale yellow with smooth, rounded walls. It was tall. It had no windows and its top was cut off at a steep angle. The high side was nearest him and the roof fell away sharply toward the back. It made him think of a cake, or a hat a bishop might wear in a sci-fi movie.

Around the base of the building there was a ring of sculptures. They were made of steel, all curved interlocking shapes, gleaming in the sunshine like flames. Or scimitar blades. They reminded Jed of a place back in L.A. Some kind of a fancy concert hall. He’d never been inside it but the exterior fascinated him. It was made of shiny metal, too, and the whole surface was twisted and warped like it was melting. Like a localized apocalypse was taking place. Or a scene from a fever dream. Or a sign he was going crazy. He had always found it a little menacing. Like so much in his hometown.

If L.A. still was his hometown.

A set of steps ran up to a concourse that separated the round building from a similar, shorter, wider one. Jed climbed up. He paused at the top then walked around to the far side. There was a low wall, presumably to stop pedestrians from falling down onto the street below. Jed perched on the edge. He lined up his coins on the rough concrete surface. Then he took away all of them except the quarters. Three metal circles. Dull with age. Scuffed from use. Innocuous, everyday items. But with the power to shape his future.