The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(34)

‘Then how come none of those cigarette butts have lipstick on them?’

Holly bit her lower lip for a moment. ‘Because of when I smoke them. I come home from work and take off my makeup and put on my pyjamas and my robe and I come out for one ciggie right before bed. It relaxes me. Helps me get off to sleep.’

‘I don’t believe you. I think they’re your boyfriend’s. I think he sits out here in the fresh air, smoking, while you’re working your tail off at the diner to pay for his habit.’

‘No. He doesn’t.’ She shook her head. ‘I told you. I don’t have a—’

The door slid open and a man stepped out and shoved Holly aside. He was around six feet two, skinny, with pallid skin speckled with uneven patches of ginger stubble. He had greasy hair tied up in a ponytail which dangled between his shoulder blades. He was wearing lounge pants, baggy and shapeless and covered with cartoon superheroes, and a T-shirt that once might have been white.

‘Stop asking questions.’ The guy stumbled forward. His eyes were barely open as they struggled to adjust to the sunlight. He took another step, picked up one of the metal chairs, and brandished it as if he was trying to tame a lion. ‘Shut your mouth. And leave.’

‘What’s your name?’ Reacher said.

The guy didn’t respond.

‘It’s a simple question. Most people get to grips with their name long before they start kindergarten. Some even learn to write it down. But if you need more time, Holly and I could go inside. She could get me a cup of coffee. We could chat.’

‘My name’s Bob.’

‘Good,’ Reacher said. ‘I’ll assume you’re lying, but Bob’s as good a name as any so we’ll go with it. Now, Bob. Do you want to do this out here? I was thinking we could go upstairs. See if any more wardrobe doors have been left open.’

The guy glared at Holly.

‘Although it does look like you could use some sunlight so I’ll do you a deal. Answer one question, truthfully, and I won’t insert any part of that chair into any part of your body.’

The guy didn’t reply.

‘The last time you got arrested,’ Reacher said. ‘When was that?’

No reply.

‘It’s not hard,’ Reacher said. ‘Start with the day of the week. There are only seven to pick from.’

No reply.

‘Are your arms getting tired yet?’ Reacher said. ‘Feel free to put that thing down any time.’

The chair was not a great choice of weapon. It was too light to use as a club, especially against someone Reacher’s size. And it was too unwieldy to stab with. The guy’s best option was to throw it, preferably making it spin, and try to exploit Reacher’s natural instinct to bat it away. His arms might be out of position, just for a moment. His attention might waver, very slightly. The guy might get one chance to land a blow. If he was fast enough.

The guy didn’t throw the chair. He took half a step and jabbed at Reacher’s body with it. He took another half step and jabbed at Reacher’s body again. Then he raised the chair higher and lunged for Reacher’s face. Reacher grabbed the closest leg with his left hand and forced the chair out to the side. The guy clung on. He was pulling as hard as he could, desperate to retrieve it. It was his lance. His shield. His property, and he wasn’t about to give it up. He was heaving with both hands. Which left his head and body completely exposed. Reacher could have kept the tug of war going all afternoon but he had a rule when it came to fights. Finish them. And finish them fast. So he launched a huge scything roundhouse punch with his right hand. His fist hit the side of the guy’s head like a sledgehammer. His feet left the ground and he flew sideways, landing crumpled in the dirt where the grass should have been and sending up a thin plume of dust.

Holly ran to him, crouched down, and felt his neck for a pulse. ‘Is he OK?’ she said. ‘Is he alive?’

‘Probably.’ Reacher replaced the chair next to the table. ‘Physically, anyway. Now go inside. Get dressed. Grab your purse.’

‘Why? Where are you taking me?’

‘Nowhere. You’re going on your own. You need to stay away from the house for a couple of hours. The police will be here soon. After that you can come back. Or not. It’s up to you.’

It took Holly ten minutes to prepare herself to face the world. Reacher used the time to carry the inert guy on to the patio and tie him to the chair he’d just been brandishing. She appeared in the kitchen in a pink flowery sundress, white sneakers, and a denim baseball cap. She glared at Reacher then turned away without saying a word. He looped around the side of the garage and watched her drive away in an old silver Mazda roadster with its roof up. Then he returned to the kitchen and helped himself to the coffee that was left in the pot. He waited another ten minutes in case she doubled back. Then he made his way back to Marty’s car and told Rutherford to drive to the police station.

‘It’s time to level with me, Rusty,’ Reacher said as they took the first right-angle bend. ‘What are you not telling me?’

‘Nothing.’ Rutherford glanced across at Reacher. ‘I mean, like what?’

‘The guys who are after you. We need to figure out what they want. They don’t want to kill you – not yet, anyway – or they would have done it already. They don’t want retribution or they would have sent a couple of low-rent clowns like the ones from last night. Their operation is too sophisticated for that. And too expensive. So they must want something. Something valuable.’