Page 19 of Exit Strategy
‘You better.’
She started to back away into her apartment but Gilmour called after her. He said, ‘What did they look like, these guys?’
The woman shrugged. ‘They were tall. They had on black suits. White shirts. No ties. Kind of unshaven. Menacing somehow. The sort of people you’d cross the street to avoid. I suggest you get better friends.’ She glared at Reacher. ‘Starting now.’
‘What time did they show up?’
The woman narrowed her eyes for a second. ‘A little after three in the afternoon, maybe. Definitely before three-thirty, ’cause that’s when my Pilates class starts. Online.’
‘All right. Well, thanks again, Gretchen. Leave it with me. I’ll handle it.’
Gilmour waited for the woman to retreat into her apartment then finished unlocking his door. He flicked on the light and stepped inside. Reacher followed him into a corridor. There were two doors on the right, both closed, and a rectangular kitchen/living room straight ahead. The room was practically empty. There was a darker patch on the floor where a rectangular area rug had been, and scuffs on the hardwood where a couch and an armchair had sat on either side of it. There was no TV. The bookshelves were bare. On the kitchen side there was no oven. No stovetop. No microwave. No fridge. The only piece of furniture was a folding chair in front of a window,and there was a distinct chill in the air. Reacher figured the heat was turned off.
Reacher didn’t speak but Gilmour could tell what he was thinking. He looked down at the floor and said, ‘I had to sell a few things. A while back.’ He stepped into the center of the space and spread his arms out wide. ‘Why gambling is a crap idea: exhibit A.’
Reacher didn’t reply.
Gilmour dropped his backpack then sank down and sat cross-legged on the floor. ‘Sounds like you were right. Some goons were here looking for me. But we missed them. I guess the pair that found me reported in, jogged the main guy’s memory, and he stood them down. So. What now?’
Reacher said, ‘We need to figure out what connects you with this guy. How he identified you. Start with the gambling debt. How did he find out about it? The specifics. Who you owed. How much.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Think. Did you tell anyone?’
‘No. Absolutely not. Why would I? It was embarrassing.’
‘You said you went to a support group. What about someone there?’
‘It wasn’t that kind of group. It was about being an addict. Not about being in debt.’
‘You saw a hypnotist?’
‘Again, that was about addiction. It was supposed to reprogram my brain. Break the habit. Make gambling feel unpleasant.’
‘What about friends? Maybe you were at a bar. Had a couple too many. Let something slip.’
‘I don’t have any friends. And I don’t go to bars anymore. I have no time. And no money. Because I spent it all playing cards. I can’t see how anyone could have found out.’
‘What if they didn’t have to find out, because they knew all along?’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Whoever you owed the money to. He knew.’
‘Right. But he wouldn’t pay himself. That makes no sense.’
‘What if he approached it like a bank does? He figured you were a deadbeat. You couldn’t pay even if he set his heavies on you. So he sold the debt to someone else for cents on the dollar. He gets something, which is better than nothing. And whoever bought it gets leverage. It’s a win-win, for everyone but you.’
‘I guess. I hadn’t thought of that. But … shit. You know what that would mean? I’m going through hell to get rid of the debt, I got my coworker killed, and whoever bought it didn’t even pay full price. I hate this guy.’
‘Then let’s even the score. Come on. Get up.’
‘Why?’
‘We need to talk to whoever you owed the money to. Find out if we’re right.’
‘Now?’
