Page 12 of Exit Strategy
The guy snarled and spat back, ‘Go to hell.’ He raised the spinning chain above his head, dodged around the tip of the pipe, and rushed forward. Reacher took two long strides to his left, lowered the pipe, and swung it hard against the back of the guy’s knees. His legs folded and he pitched forward onto the ground. He rolled and pushed up into a crouch, blood spurting from his nose, legs tense, ready to spring forward, but Reacher was already swinging the pipe back the opposite way. It caught the guy square in the temple and he toppled over onto his side, eyes rolled back, motionless.
Reacher glanced across the other three to make sure they were still down then started toward the pair of taxis. The driver of the closer one started his engine, dropped the transmission into reverse, pulled back onto the street, and raced away into the distance. The second driver struggled to work his key. The engine turned over but didn’t start. He tried again. It still wouldn’t catch. He tried a third time, but while the ancient motor was still resisting, Reacher smashed the end of the pipe through the driver’s window. The guy jumped in his seat, let go of the key, and scrabbled for something fixed to the side of the transmission tunnel. A Glock 17. It looked old and scuffed. He raised it and tried to bring it to bear through the shattered glass, but Reacher leaned forward and tore it out of his hand.
Reacher said, ‘Get out.’
The guy whimpered and clung to the steering wheel with both hands.
Reacher stuck the gun into his waistband, heaved the door open, grabbed the guy by the front of his shirt, and pulled him out of the cab. He said, ‘Go. Run back to your boss. Tell him what happened here. And tell him I have a one-strike policy. He’s had his. He sends anyone else after me, I come for him.’
The guy started moving backward then when he was ten feet away from Reacher he spun around and scampered down the street. Reacher smashed the cab’s remaining windows and its windshield, put a dent in each of its body panels, then crossed to the edge of the sidewalk. He unloaded the gun and dropped it and its shells into a storm drain. Then he heard a voice from behind him. It was the guy who had left the note. He was standing over the first man Reacher had dealt with, and he said, ‘Looks like you were wrong about one thing.’
Reacher said, ‘What?’
‘This one isn’t going to the hospital. He’s going to the morgue.’
Reacher shrugged.
The guy said, ‘Are you okay with that?’
‘I’m not delighted. I’m not upset, either.’
‘You killed him. You don’t feel bad about it?’
‘I don’t feel anything about it. He brought it on himself. He chose to come here. He was ready to hurt me. Maybe kill me. Presumably for some kind of a reward. Bad choices have consequences.’
The guy was silent for a moment, then he nodded. ‘What was their beef with you?’
‘I ran into some of their buddies at the coffee shop right before you showed up. I guess I hurt their feelings.’
‘I guess you did.’ The guy scooped up Reacher’s flashlight, then moved forward and held out his hand. ‘I’m Nathan Gilmour.’
‘Reacher.’
They shook, then Reacher took the flashlight and slipped it back into his pocket.
Gilmour said, ‘You knew about the 66th MIB. How come?’
‘I’ve been to Wiesbaden. More than once.’
‘Army?’
‘Military Police. I served thirteen years. Now I’m retired.’
‘Wow. I didn’t see that coming.’
Reacher didn’t reply.
Gilmour said, ‘Do you want a hand cleaning this mess up? I know a couple of people. I could make a call.’
‘No need. Whoever sent these idiots will handle the clean-up. They won’t want the police sniffing around, asking questions. And they won’t want their rivals to know their goons got their asses handed to them.’
‘I guess you’re right. So we probably shouldn’t overstay our welcome. We don’t need any more company.’ He looked around for a moment. ‘Do you have a car?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want a ride somewhere?’
Reacher paused for a moment, then said, ‘Thanks. You can take me to the Greyhound station.’
