The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(5)

The guy made the wrong choice. Instead of diving over the table he tried to shimmy around it. That was a serious mistake for someone with his build. Reacher’s goading had clouded his thinking. He wasn’t focused on the win. He was picturing the pummelling he could dish out. Which gave Reacher time to scoop up the metal plate from the desk. Grip it securely with one edge against his palms. And drive it up into the guy’s onrushing neck like a reversed guillotine blade, crushing his larynx and windpipe. Then Reacher shoved him square in the face and the guy fell back in the direction he came from and landed, choking and spluttering, in the corner.

‘Normally I wouldn’t have done that,’ Reacher said, settling back in his chair. ‘Not right off the bat. I’d have given him a chance to walk away. But then I remembered he was the one who took the kid’s guitar, so I figured all bets were off.’

Lockhart was scrabbling for his phone. ‘We should call 911. Quick.’

‘Your friend will be fine,’ Reacher said. ‘Or maybe he won’t. But in the meantime, while he’s dealing with his breathing issues, let’s get back to the band’s contract. You promised to pay how much?’

‘I promised nothing.’

Reacher ran his finger along the edge of the plate. ‘I think you did.’

Lockhart lunged sideways, going for his drawer. Reacher tracked his movement and tossed the plate, spinning it like a frisbee. It caught Lockhart on the bridge of his nose, shattering the bone and rocking him back in his chair.

‘I’m beginning to think this toy is dangerous.’ Reacher picked up the plate and dropped it on the floor. ‘You shouldn’t play with it any more. Now. The contract. Give me a number.’

‘Two hundred dollars.’

‘Two hundred dollars was the original figure. But since it was agreed, you’ve revealed an interest in human fingers. Tell me, how many are there on a guitar player’s left hand, for example?’

‘Five.’ Lockhart’s voice was muffled thanks to his restricted airway.

‘Technically there are four. The other digit is a thumb. But I’ll take your answer. So two hundred dollars multiplied by five is …?’

‘A thousand.’

‘Very good. That’s our new figure. We take cash.’

‘Forget it.’

‘There’s plenty of cash here. If counting is too difficult for you, maybe I should just take all of it?’

‘All right.’ Lockhart almost squealed. He selected two stacks of bills and slid them across the desk.

‘Good. Now let’s add your late payment fee. That’s an additional five hundred.’

Lockhart glowered, and handed over another stack.

‘We’re almost done now. Next up is the equipment replacement surcharge. A round one thousand.’

‘What the—’

‘For the kid’s guitar. Your buddy tossed it down some stairs. Get the money back from him if you want, but there’s no way it’s coming out of my client’s pocket.’

Lockhart’s eyes were flickering back and forth across his dwindling heap of cash. Reacher could almost see his brain working as he calculated how much he had left, and whether his chances of keeping any would improve if he cooperated. ‘OK. Another thousand. But not one cent more. And tell those kids if they ever come back, I’ll break more than their fingers. And even if they don’t come here, they’ll never play in this town again.’

Reacher shook his head. ‘We were doing so well, and you had to ruin it. You didn’t let me finish. We’d covered the payments. But we hadn’t gotten around to the incentives. This is important, so listen carefully. Every band member I represent has me on speed dial. If anything happens to any of them, I’ll come back here. I’ll break your arms. I’ll break your legs. And I’ll hang your underwear from the ceiling of the bar. While you’re still wearing it. Are we clear?’

Lockhart nodded.

‘Good. Now, incentive number two: other bands. Even if I don’t represent them, I’m extending an umbrella agreement. As a courtesy. Think of it as my contribution to the arts. What it means is that if I hear about you ripping off another band, I’ll come back. I’ll take all your money. And I’ll hang your underwear from the ceiling of the bar, same way as before. Are we clear on that, too?’

Lockhart nodded.

‘Excellent. And in case you were wondering, I’ll be carrying out random spot checks to test for compliance. Now, when is the next band playing here?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘OK. I hope they’re as good as tonight’s. But even if they’re not, remember. They get paid.’





TWO





Rusty Rutherford was not normally the type of guy who dawdled in his local coffee shop. He used to go to the same one every day. Always on his way to work. And purely for the caffeine. He didn’t go in search of conversation. He wasn’t interested in finding new company. His routine was always the same. He stood quietly in line and used the time to contemplate whatever problems were in store for him that day. He placed his order. Collected his drink as soon as it was ready. And left. The process was transactional, not social. Even after the week he spent isolated in his apartment it proved a difficult habit to break.