The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(4)

‘I doubt the hammer will come into play. And there wouldn’t be a problem if it did. So why don’t I give it a try? What have you got to lose?’

‘I’m not sure I’m—’

‘Thank you.’ The singer cut him off. ‘We appreciate any help you can give us. Just please be careful.’

‘I always am,’ Reacher said. ‘Now, tell me about the guitar. Your good spare. The guy really stole it?’

‘The big guy did,’ the guitarist said. ‘Kind of. He followed me down from the office and snatched it. Then he tossed it down the stairs to the basement and looked at me all weird, like he was daring me to go get it.’

‘You left it there?’

The guitarist looked away.

‘Don’t feel bad. That was the right move.’ Reacher paused. ‘Was it worth much?’

‘A grand, maybe?’ The guitarist shrugged. ‘That’s a lot to me.’

‘And the owner, with the hammer. What’s his name?’

‘Lockhart. Derek Lockhart.’

‘How much did he promise to pay you?’

‘Two hundred dollars.’

‘OK. And aside from Lockhart, the guy who was with him in the office, and the bartender, who else works there?’

‘No one.’

‘There is someone,’ the singer said. ‘A kid who busses tables. He’s out back most of the time, smoking weed.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘No.’

‘Have you seen any weapons on the premises?’

They looked at one another and shook their heads.

‘OK then. Where’s Lockhart’s office?’

‘Second floor,’ the guitarist said. ‘Stairs are past the bathrooms.’

Back inside, a solitary customer was nursing his last bottle of beer. The barman was shoving a threadbare broom across the floor between the tables and the stage. There was no sign of anyone else so Reacher made his way past the bathrooms and crept up the stairs. He saw one door leading off a narrow landing. It was closed. Reacher could hear a voice on the other side. It was male, he was sure of that, but he couldn’t make out any words. They were soft. Rhythmic. Like someone counting. Probably checking the week’s take. So they’d likely be locked in. Reacher took hold of the handle. Turned it. And simultaneously slammed his shoulder into the door. It gave easily, sending fragments of splintered wood spinning into the air.

‘I’m sorry, gentlemen.’ He stepped into the room and pushed the door back into its ruined frame. ‘I didn’t realize that was locked.’

The space was small. More like a closet than an office. Two men were crammed in behind the desk, shoulder to shoulder. The regular-size guy Reacher took to be Lockhart. The other, a slack, flabby giant, would be the bouncer. Both were frozen in their seats. And the surface of the desk was covered with heaps of creased, greasy banknotes.

‘Who the hell are you?’ It took Lockhart a moment to find his voice.

‘My name’s Jack Reacher. I represent the band that played for you tonight. I’m here to talk about their contract.’

‘They don’t have a contract.’

‘They do now.’ Reacher took hold of a bentwood chair which was the only other piece of furniture in the room, tested its strength, and sat down.

‘Time for you to leave,’ Lockhart said.

‘I only just got here.’

‘You can’t be here. Not during the count.’

‘You didn’t think that through all the way, did you?’

Lockhart paused, searching for a trap. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You said I can’t be here. And yet clearly I am. Faulty reasoning on your part.’

‘You can leave.’ Lockhart spoke with exaggerated clarity. ‘Or I can throw you out.’

‘You can throw me out?’ Reacher allowed himself a smile.

Lockhart’s fist clenched on the desk in front of him. ‘I can have you thrown out.’

‘Are you sure? Where are all your guys?’

‘I have all the guys I need, right here.’ Lockhart pointed to his companion.

‘Him? For a start, he’s one guy. Singular. So you’d have to say “the only guy I need”. But that’s not right either, is it? Because he’s obviously not up to the job. I could be asleep and he couldn’t throw me out. I could have died of old age and he still couldn’t do it.’

Reacher was watching the big guy’s eyes throughout the whole exchange. He saw them flicker towards Lockhart. Saw Lockhart respond with the tiniest nod of his head. The big guy rose out of his chair. Reacher knew there was only one possible play that stood any chance of success. The guy could launch himself straight over the desk. If he was quick enough he’d arrive before Reacher was on his feet. But even if Reacher was already standing, the guy would still have his most powerful weapon. His weight. He had at least a hundred pounds on Reacher. Coupled with the speed he’d have gained diving forward, all those pounds would translate into some formidable momentum. There’d be no way for Reacher to counter it. He’d be knocked backwards on to the floor. Pinned down. Jammed in the corner, unable to bring his fists or feet or elbows to bear. And unable to breathe. Then all the guy would have to do would be wait. Physics would finish the fight for him. He could just lie there till Reacher passed out. It would be the easiest victory he ever won.