No Plan B (Jack Reacher, #27)(59)

“No idea.”

“No?”

Reacher punched the guy in the solar plexus. That doubled him over forward. Then Reacher drove his knee up into the guy’s face. That stood him up again, unconscious, with his arms flailing helplessly at his sides. Reacher shoved the guy’s chest and folded him back the other way. He was left with his torso lying on top of the trailer. Reacher grabbed his ankles, lifted, twisted, and dropped him next to his buddy. He threw the branches back in to cover them. Fixed the net in place. Then he picked up the guy’s phone and dialed the number for the hire company.

A woman answered after three rings. “Reed Plant Partners. How can I help you?”

Reacher said, “I’m with the crew doing construction out on US 87. We have one of your trailers. Could you confirm when it’s scheduled for return?”

Computer keys rattled then the woman’s voice came back on the line. “You have it booked through the end of next month.”

“Can we return it early?”

“It’s a fixed-term contract. There are no refunds for early returns.”

“We’re not looking for a refund. We just need it off-site.”

“Understood. You can bring it back whenever you like. You just have to pay until the date you signed up for.”

“Could you send someone to collect it?”

“There’d be an extra charge.”

“That’s fine.”

“I could get someone out on Monday.”

“How about this afternoon?”

“All our guys are busy today.”

“Look, I’m in a bind here. My boss really wants that trailer gone. If there’s any way you could swing it, I’d be grateful.”

The woman didn’t respond.

Reacher said, “If there’s an extra-extra charge, that would be fine, too. As in the kind that doesn’t show up on an invoice.”

The woman was silent for a moment longer, then she said, “It’ll cost you a hundred bucks. Cash. Have it ready.”





Chapter 31


Patience is a virtue, Reacher’s father used to say. If he was right, then the drivers heading away from Winson that afternoon must have been a really despicable bunch.

Hannah’s job had been to block the single lane stretch of road in the construction zone. She had done it well. She had steered hard right onto the shoulder, reversed toward the line of cones, then swung back and forward four times until the truck was pretty much perpendicular. Her positioning was perfect. The truck’s nose was covering three-quarters of the shoulder. She hadn’t left enough space for anyone to squeeze around the rear. And she’d picked the ideal spot. A giant machine for tearing up the pavement was parked on the other side, so there was no future in anyone trying to move the cones.

Hannah had been stationary for two minutes when the next convoy came into view. The pilot led it closer. And closer. And he didn’t slow down. Hannah panicked for a moment. She thought the guy wasn’t going to stop. She had a vision of the vehicles plowing into the side of the truck. One after another. Blow after blow. The truck rolling over. Her getting crushed. Or burned alive. Or both.

The pilot must not have been concentrating. He had driven up and down that stretch of road hundreds of times since the construction project started. He had never come across any kind of obstruction. He had never expected to. So he noticed the truck late. But in time. Just. He threw all his weight on the brake. His wheels locked. His tires slid on the gravel. But he stopped with maybe a yard to spare.

The vehicles behind the pilot all braked, too. None of them collided. A couple honked their horns as if that would help. One driver pulled past the rest and tried to swing around the front of Hannah’s truck. He left the shoulder and started to bump across the rough strip of scrubland at the side of the road. He thought he was home and dry. He flipped Hannah off. Then his wheel hit a rut. His truck shuddered to a stop. It listed down toward one corner. There was only one explanation. Its axle was broken. And given the age and the condition of the vehicle its next stop was most likely going to be the scrap yard.

The driver jumped out and marched up to Hannah’s door. He tugged on the handle. It was locked so he started yelling at the window. Flecks of spittle sprayed all over the glass. Other drivers climbed down and joined him. Ten more of them. That was everyone except the pilot. He stayed in his cab and dialed 911. He figured that was his civic duty. And with that done he felt free to sit back and let the chips fall where they may.

By the time Reacher arrived there were four drivers behind Hannah’s truck. They were trying to shove it out of their way and getting nowhere. There were three drivers on one side, baying and screaming, and four on the other.

“Enough.” Reacher stopped six feet from the rear of the truck. “Be quiet. Get back in your vehicles.”

The guy from the stranded truck said, “No way. This asshole’s blocking the road. My rig’s messed up because of him. He’s got to pay.”

“Really? Because this is my truck. It’s here because I told the driver to block the road. If you have a problem with that, then you have a problem with me.”

Reacher looked at each driver, one at a time. Calmly. Levelly. Right in the eyes. Most of them started to edge away. A couple stayed still. The guy from the stranded truck stepped forward. “You know what? I do have a problem. My vehicle is totaled. If that’s on you then you better put your hand in your pocket.”