Page 33 of Exit Strategy
The guy shrugged. ‘It came that way.’
Reacher tried a conspiratorial tone. ‘That’s not true, is it?’
The guy turned his head away.
Reacher said, ‘Let me ask you something. Are you a fan of rules?’
‘Not in general. No.’
‘That’s a shame. Rules bring order. I’ll give you an example. If someone pulls a knife on me, I break their arm. I recently shared that with someone you might know.’
The guy shook his head. ‘Never heard it.’
‘Here’s another. This one’s new. I just made it up. If someone tries to kneecap me with a power tool, I break their legs. What do you think of that?’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘Maybe. I like rules, and a lot of people do think that’s crazy.’
Reacher darted forward and drove his right fist into the guy’s gut. He doubled over, wheezing and gasping for air. Reacher pulled back and brought up his left fist in a tight, fast arc. It caught the guy below the chin and lifted him right off his feet. He fell back and slammed into the ground. He was winded. He had double vision.Three of his teeth were broken. He began swallowing blood. But he was still conscious. For another second. Then Reacher crashed his heel down onto the guy’s leg, just above his knee. The bone shattered but there was no other sound. The guy had passed out before he could even scream. Reacher stomped on the guy’s other leg in the same relative position. He moved over and stomped on both the tall guy’s legs. Then he took the drill and the toolbox and threw them in the dumpster at the rear of the building. He picked up the tall guy and dropped him into the wheelchair. He loaded the short guy in on top. Looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was. So he stepped through the gap in the fence and looped around to the coffee shop’s front entrance.
Reacher walked in, crossed to their table, and took a seat next to Gilmour. Kevin the barista was back at his post. There were no customers. Reacher stared at him. He looked away. He glanced back after a few seconds and saw that Reacher was still there, still staring. He shuffled on the spot for a moment, then slunk out from behind the counter and made his way to Reacher’s side.
Reacher said, ‘How did you know I had an argument?’
‘What?’
‘You said I argued with some guys yesterday. How did you know?’
‘I heard about it, I guess. Customers talk in the line. All the time.’
‘Someone told you. Not a customer.’
Kevin didn’t reply.
Reacher said, ‘The same person told you to send me out back.’
Kevin looked down at his feet. He said, ‘Don’t hurt me. Please.’
Reacher said, ‘I’m not going to. Here’s the deal. Call this guy back. Tell him his handymen need a ride to the hospital. Stat. And he owes the coffee shop for a new fence.’
TWENTY-ONE
Gilmour spent the next two hours focused on Patten’s phone. His eyes were locked on the screen. He clicked and scrolled, over and over, in a constant, unwavering rhythm, like a human metronome.
Reacher drank coffee. He skimmed through the rest of the paper. He scanned the coffee shop, assessing the other customers. He watched the entrance, alert for killers or con artists or their marks. The whole time Gilmour clicked and scrolled. Clicked and scrolled. Only his eyes and fingers moved. It was as if they had been grafted onto a statue. Reacher refilled his mug for a second time. A third. He was about to fetch his fourth refill when Gilmour flung Patten’s phone onto the table. He raised his arms above his head. His eyes narrowed. The tendons in his neck bulged through his skin and he looked like he was struggling for breath.
Reacher was worried that Gilmour was having some kind of a fit. He leaned forward and said, ‘You okay?’
Gilmour said, ‘I need a moment.’ He managed to gulp down a lungful of air, then retrieved Patten’s phone. ‘It’s okay. I’m all right. But this is it. I’ve found the connection.’
Gilmour slid the phone across so Reacher could see it. The screen showed an entry from Patten’s Contacts app. The name was Dr Alyssa Martin, and on the next line, it listed her employment asOwner: Holistic Wellbeing Solutions – Complete Counseling and Psychotherapy Services.
Reacher pushed the phone back. He said, ‘This Dr Martin. She’s the connection?’
Gilmour was scowling. ‘She has to be.’
‘Why?’
