Ли Чайлд - No Middle Name

Reacher said, ‘How could I tell?’

‘Better than Blondie live on stage at CBGB, I mean.’

‘A lot better. No real comparison.’

‘You like Blondie, right?’

‘Best ever. Well, top five. Or ten.’

‘Shut up.’ She started the engine again and put the air on max. She slid down in her seat and lifted her shirt tails so the vents blew straight up against her skin.

Reacher said, ‘I saw someone.’

‘When?’

‘Just now.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Peering into this car.’

‘Who?’

‘Some guy.’

‘For real? That’s kind of creepy.’

Reacher said, ‘I know. And I’m real sorry, but I have to go find Jill Hemingway. I should tell her first. She needs some favours.’

‘Tell her what?’

‘What I saw.’

‘What did you see?’

‘Something she should know about.’

‘Was it one of Croselli’s guys?’

‘No.’

‘So how is it important?’

‘She might be able to use it.’

‘Where is she?’

‘I have no idea. Let me out in Washington Square and I’ll walk. I bet she’s north of Houston.’

‘You would be going right back in there, where we got chased out before.’

‘Let’s call that phase our reconnaissance.’

‘What would you do this time?’

‘Fastest way to find Hemingway is to look for Croselli.’

‘I’m not going to let you.’

‘How could you stop me?’

‘I would tell you not to. I’m your girlfriend. At least until midnight.’

‘Is this what they teach you at Sarah Lawrence?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Works for me,’ Reacher said. ‘We’ll just hang out, see if she comes by.’

‘Really?’

‘I mean it.’

‘Why?’

‘Laws of physics. A random encounter doesn’t get more likely just because both parties are moving.’

‘OK, where?’

‘Let’s say the corner of Bleecker and Broadway. That might make the encounter less random.’

‘That’s way down there.’

‘It’s a block from Houston. We can break out south if we need to.’

‘We?’

‘Was it you who wanted me to stick close by?’

‘This is a whole different type of crazy.’

Reacher nodded.

‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I really do. It’s your choice. You can let me out in Washington Square. That would be fine. Don’t think I’ll ever forget you.’

‘Really?’

‘If I’m done before midnight, I’ll come say goodbye.’

‘I mean, really, you won’t forget me? That’s very sweet.’

‘Also very true. As long as I live.’

Chrissie said, ‘Tell me more about the guy you saw.’

Reacher said, ‘I think it was the Son of Sam.’

‘You are crazy.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘And you just sat there?’

‘Seemed like the best thing to do.’

‘How close did he get?’

‘About twenty feet. He had a good look, and he walked away.’

‘The Son of Sam was twenty feet from me?’

‘He didn’t see you. I think that’s why he walked away.’

She glanced all around in the dark and put the car in gear. She said, ‘The Son of Sam is an NYPD case, not the FBI.’

Reacher said, ‘Whoever passes on a tip gets a brownie point. I imagine that’s how it works.’

‘What’s the tip?’

‘The way he moved.’

There were more sirens behind them. First Avenue, Second Avenue, uptown, downtown, crosstown, there were plenty of cops on the streets. The mood was changing. Reacher could taste it on the air.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Chrissie said. ‘For the experience. These are the big things we’ll always remember.’

They used 34th Street again, back towards the centre of the island, back towards the heart of darkness. The city was still pitch black, still dead, like a giant creature fallen on its back. There were broken windows. There were people roaming in groups, carrying stuff. There were police cars and fire trucks speeding through the streets, all lit up and whooping and barking, but their lights didn’t make much impression on the blackness, and their sirens didn’t seem to worry the roaming people. They merely scuttled into doorways as the cars and trucks passed. The people reminded Reacher of tiny night-time organisms working on a corpse, penetrating its skin, exploring it, disassembling it, feeding off it, recovering its nutrients, recycling its components, like a dead whale feeds a million sea creatures on the ocean bed.

They turned south on Fifth Avenue at the Empire State Building and drove slowly in the middle lane, passing knots of people in the roadway, two of which were carrying a rolled-up carpet, three of which were loading the trunk of a big battered car with something in boxes. They veered left on to Broadway at 23rd Street, past the ghostly Flatiron Building, and they continued south, around Union Square, across 14th Street, into enemy territory, and onward. The mayhem got a little worse the further south they went. Broadway looked narrow, like a dark trench through a dark landscape, and there were busted windows, and people everywhere, moving in groups, fast and furtive and silent, barely visible at all, except for the glow of cigarettes. They passed 4th Street, and 3rd, where they had been before, and Chrissie started to slow the car, and Reacher said, ‘Change of plan. I think Sixth Avenue and Bleecker might be better.’

Chrissie said, ‘Why?’

‘What is Croselli worried about right now?’

‘Getting his stuff ripped off. Like anyone. If he has stuff.’

‘I think he does. I mean, how does he earn money between Houston and 14th? Maybe protection rackets and hookers and so on, but dope for sure. He must have a stash somewhere. But where? Not an ancestral home in Little Italy, because that’s way south of Houston.’

‘You know the geography pretty well.’

‘I’ve studied it from afar. And he walked west from Waverly. After the slapping incident. Towards Sixth Avenue. Obviously he was heading back to make his phone calls. About me. So his HQ must be west of Waverly.’

‘You think Hemingway knows where it is?’

‘I’m sure she does. And I’m sure she’s watching it, right now. I’m assuming no one gave her an actual role tonight, because she’s suspended. So she’s still freelancing. I bet she’s hoping some bunch of guys busts down Croselli’s door, so she can get a record of what’s inside. Maybe she’ll even get Croselli defending it, which would be pretty much a slam dunk, wouldn’t it? Doesn’t matter what kind of deal he made. Some things can’t be ignored.’

‘It will be more than just Croselli defending it. He’s got twelve guys.’

‘Ten now,’ Reacher said. ‘Two of them are in the hospital. Or trying to get there. But we’ll keep out of their way. It’s Hemingway we want.’

‘Hard to find one woman in the dark.’

‘All we can do is try.’

So they rolled onward, towards Houston Street, past a big stereo store with two busted windows and not much left inside, and they made the right and crept west, past the dark wasteland streets of Soho coming in from the left, Mercer, and Greene, and Wooster, and West Broadway, and Thompson, and Sullivan, and MacDougal. Then they turned right on Sixth, and headed north a block to where Bleecker and Downing and Minetta all met in an untidy little six-way split. Retail was downmarket and scruffy in that location, some of it too scruffy even for looters, some of it already busted wide open and stripped. Looking north, Sixth was the same long black hole it had been before, with the same slim upright rectangle of night sky at the end of it.

Chrissie said, ‘Should I park here?’

Reacher said, ‘Let’s cruise a few blocks.’