Ли Чайлд - The Sentinel

The fire door opened after three minutes and a man stepped out. He was dressed in a pale grey suit with a white shirt and a flowery tie. His hair was neatly parted. And he was enormous. Six two and at least four hundred pounds. The perils of being surrounded by free food all day, every day, Reacher thought. The guy stood still for a moment, head tipped slightly to one side. Assessing the situation.

The guy came to a conclusion and started towards the outhouse. He was light on his feet. He moved fast. Reacher updated his appraisal. The guy was not a slob, after all. Maybe a former wrestler. Or a lineman. Not that his background was going to make any difference. Not unless he had a heart attack before giving Reacher what he wanted.

‘I’m sorry, folks,’ the guy said. ‘You can’t park there. I’m going to have to ask you to move.’

‘That’s not right, is it, Mr Budnick?’ Reacher said. ‘We can park here. Clearly. Because we have. And you don’t have to ask us to move. You want to.’

‘Who the hell are you?’ Budnick said. ‘And how do you know my name?’

‘I know a lot about you,’ Reacher said. ‘I know you own this restaurant. And I know that owning a restaurant isn’t enough for you, because you do a little business on the side. So I’m here to make you an offer. Something very simple. We both get what we want. We go our separate ways. Sound good?’

‘Firstly, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I run my diner. That’s it. Period, full stop. I have nothing else going on the side. And second, even if I did, what have you got that I could possibly want?’

‘Nothing. I’m not selling. I’m buying. Or more accurately, bartering, as no money is going to change hands. You’re going to give me something. And I’m going to do something for you in return.’

‘You’re very sure of yourself.’

Reacher said nothing.

‘All right,’ Budnick said. ‘I’ll bite. What do you want?’

‘A piece of information.’

‘Such as?’

‘Some electronic equipment was brought here. Now it’s gone. The problem is, it belongs to us. And we want it back. So you’re going to tell me who you sold it to.’

Budnick didn’t reply.

‘And in return I won’t break your legs,’ Reacher said.

‘Screw you.’ Budnick took a step back, pulled a phone out of his jacket pocket, and started poking at its screen.

Reacher took it from him and tossed it to Sands.

‘You obviously weren’t dialling 911 since we’re talking about stolen goods,’ Reacher said. ‘Which means you were calling whoever you pay for protection. To do what? Send over three or four guys? Now, normally I’d be in favour of that. I’ve spent a lot of today sitting on my ass, waiting and talking. A little light exercise would be welcome. But unfortunately I’m short of time. Which means that either you tell me what I want to know, or I take my frustration out on you.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Budnick raised his chin. ‘Come on then. Try it. See how it works out for you.’

A wrestler, Reacher thought. Or a lineman. Which meant he’d probably try some kind of grappling manoeuvre. Or he’d charge, hoping to knock Reacher down. He’d have to do something like that. There was very little chance of his landing a punch. Or a kick. Reacher was confident about that. Budnick was three inches shorter, to start with. And Reacher had abnormally long arms. The simplest thing would be to wait for Budnick to make his move then punch him in the face the moment he was in range. But not too hard. Reacher didn’t want to knock him out. Not until he’d given up a name.

Budnick shuffled to the side, moving clockwise, closer to the outhouse. Trying to get a straight shot towards the parking lot. Meaning he was going to charge. Not grapple. He was a big guy. Hauling a body that size around would take a lot of energy. Reacher changed his plan. He had space to his left and right. He could dodge out of Budnick’s way. Run the guy around. Wear him out. Let him defeat himself.

Budnick moved another six inches. Braced himself for launch. Then Sands stepped up. She drove the side of her foot hard into his knee and he went down sideways like a felled tree, squealing, then rolled on to his back and clutched his injured leg.

‘What?’ Sands turned to Reacher. ‘Why should I let you boys have all the fun?’

Budnick scrabbled into a sitting position, his hurt leg still bent.

‘That kick?’ Sands stepped in front of him. ‘Half power. The next kick? Full power. And forget your legs. I’m going right for your balls. And I never miss.’

Budnick whimpered and tried to scramble away backwards.

‘Unless you give us the name,’ Sands said. ‘Who you sold the electronics to. Right now.’

‘I can’t,’ Budnick said. ‘I didn’t sell it.’

‘Go ahead,’ Reacher said. ‘Kick him.’

‘No,’ Budnick said. ‘Please. You don’t understand. I don’t sell the stuff. It’s not my operation. I just rent out the space where it gets stored.’

‘Who do you rent it to?’ Reacher said.

‘The guy I pay for protection.’

‘OK. What’s his name? Where do we find him?’

‘No. Please. I can’t. Look, the guy doesn’t even pay me. He regards it as a favour. A courtesy.’

Reacher and Sands looked at each other.

‘It’s true.’ Budnick held up his hands. ‘I swear. Look, this is the hospitality business. I knew protection would be a thing. I even put it in the budget. Under a fake heading, obviously. I had cash set aside, ready to go. The guy showed up the night I reopened. Like clockwork. Told me how much I had to pay. It was a lot, but what could I do? I agreed. Then he told me about this other thing, with the electronics. A sideline of his. It had been going on for years, apparently. The guy I bought the place from must have forgotten to mention it. The asshole. Anyway, the protection guy said he was happy with the arrangement. He suggested I might like to keep it going. For the sake of my health. What was I going to say? I’m not stupid.’

‘Maybe you are stupid,’ Reacher said. ‘Maybe you’re not. But here’s the thing. Who told you what, and when? What you get paid for, and what you give away? I don’t care. I only want to hear two things from you. The name of this guy. And where we can find him.’

‘I can’t tell you. He’ll kill me.’

‘And if you don’t tell me, my friend is going to kick a field goal with your testicles. I can’t imagine that would feel good. So you’re going to have to do all kinds of thinking. About your priorities. About current certainties versus future possibilities. And you’re going to have to do it fast, because I’m running out of patience.’

Budnick was silent for a minute, then he struggled to his feet. ‘You mentioned priorities. Well, what are yours? Getting your stuff back? Or getting the guy who’s got it? Because the way I see it, for your stuff to end up here, it must have gotten thrown in the trash at some point. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe someone did it to mess with you. But however it got there, it wasn’t my guy’s fault. So what if I could help you get your stuff back, but without involving him?’

Reacher took a moment to think. A protection racket suggested organized crime. Organized crime suggested prostitution. Drugs. Gambling. Loan sharking. All things he had no time for. All things, in an ideal world, he would tear down. But he wasn’t living in an ideal world. And he wasn’t dealing in the hypothetical. He had more tangible concerns. The identity of the spy who was trying to steal a copy of The Sentinel, for one thing. And Rutherford’s safety, for another.

Priorities, indeed.

‘All right,’ Reacher said. ‘Suppose I forget about your guy. Suppose I only care about getting my stuff back. How could that happen?’