Ли Чайлд - No Middle Name

‘Means to an end.’

‘Tell me what you meant about the guy with the Bulldog.’

‘Can you use it?’

‘Depends what it is.’

‘It was dark,’ Reacher said. ‘Obviously.’

‘But?’

‘He was in his mid-twenties, I would say, medium height, heavy in the chest and shoulders, quite pale, with wavy hair that wouldn’t lie down.’

‘Carrying a .44 Bulldog?’

‘Most Bulldogs are .44s. But I don’t have X-ray vision.’

‘How far away was he?’

‘Twenty feet, at one point.’

‘How long were you eyeballing him?’

‘Twenty seconds, maybe.’

‘Twenty seconds at twenty feet,’ Hemingway said. ‘In a blackout? That’s a tough sell. I bet there have been a thousand reports tonight. People freak out in the dark.’

‘He was a trained man,’ Reacher said.

‘Trained how?’

‘The way he moved through the available cover. He’s ex-military. He’s had infantry training.’

‘So have lots of guys. You ever heard of Vietnam?’

‘He’s too young. This guy was of age six or seven years ago. The draft was winding down. You had to be pretty unlucky. And I don’t think he was ever in combat. I’ve seen lots of people back from Vietnam. They’re different. This guy was all theory and training. Second nature, for sure, pretty slick, but he had never lived or died by it. I can guarantee that. And I don’t think he was a Marine. They’re different too. I think he was army. And I think he’s been in Korea. It was like a fingerprint. I think he did basic, and infantry, with the urban specialization, and I think he served in Seoul. Like a particular combination. That’s how he looked. I see it all the time. You ever been there? Seoul teaches you to move a certain way. But he’s been out at least two years, because of the hair, and he’s had time to get a bit heavy. I think he volunteered at eighteen or nineteen, and I think he served a three-year hitch. That was my impression, anyway.’

‘That’s one hell of a detailed impression.’

‘You could offer it as a filter. They could see if any persons of interest match up.’

‘It was twenty seconds in the pitch dark.’

‘What else have they got?’

‘Maybe I could.’

‘Suppose it worked? Suppose they get the guy? Would that be good for you?’

‘Of course it would.’

‘So what’s the downside?’

‘Sounding desperate and pathetic.’

‘Your call.’

‘You should try it,’ Chrissie said. ‘Someone needs to catch the guy.’

Hemingway said nothing.

They waited, all crammed together in the doorway opposite Croselli’s place, with absolutely nothing happening. They heard sirens, and snatches of conversation from people passing by on Bleecker. Like headline news. It was now only ninety degrees. The lights had gone out at Shea in the bottom of the sixth, with the Mets trailing the Cubs by two to one. Subway riders had spent scary hours trapped underground, but were slowly making their way back to the surface. Cars were using chains and ropes to tear the shutters off stores. Even Brooks Brothers on Madison had been looted. Crown Heights and Bushwick were on fire. Cops had been hurt and arrests had been made.

Then the last of the passers-by moved on and Carmine went quiet again and the clock in Reacher’s head ticked around towards midnight. He said to Chrissie, ‘I’ll walk you back to your car. Your friends will be waiting.’

She said, ‘Are you staying here?’

‘Might as well. I already missed my bus.’

‘Do you think the roads are open?’

‘Wide open. They want people to leave.’

‘Why?’

‘Fewer mouths to feed here.’

‘Makes sense,’ Chrissie said. They walked together to the corner, and around it, where the Chevette waited undisturbed. The two guys were still laid out in the roadway, under the box. Like a cartoon accident. They were still breathing.

Reacher said, ‘Want me to ride with you?’

‘No,’ Chrissie said. ‘We go back alone. That’s part of the deal.’

‘You know how to go?’

‘Up on Sixth and across on 4th. And then it’s right there.’

‘Roger that.’

‘Take care, OK?’

‘I will,’ Reacher said. ‘You too. I’ll never forget you.’

‘You will.’

‘Check back next year, see if I have.’

‘OK. Let’s see who remembers. Same night, same place. Deal?’

‘I’ll be there,’ Reacher said.

She got into the car, and she eased away from the tangle of limbs behind her, and she made the left on Sixth, and she waved through her open window. And then she was gone.

Hemingway said, ‘I’m going to put it in the system. Your impression, I mean. That’s the smart play here. They’ll ignore it of course, but it will be in the record. I can say told you so, afterwards. If you’re right. That’s always worth a point or two. Sometimes more. Being right afterwards can be a wonderful thing.’

‘It’s a filter,’ Reacher said. ‘That’s all. It’s about efficiency.’

‘But I still need Croselli.’

‘The Son of Sam wouldn’t get you out of jail?’

‘I need Croselli.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he burns me up.’

‘You ever read a book called Moby Dick ?’

‘OK, I get it. And I admit it. Croselli is my great white whale. I’m obsessed. But what can I do about it? What could anyone, with a whale pressing on her head?’

‘Is that how you feel? Like you have a whale pressing on your head?’

‘That’s exactly how I feel.’

‘Then let’s trade,’ Reacher said.

‘What for what?’

‘I need a ride out of town.’

‘When?’

‘As soon as possible. I’m sure my brother is worrying about me. Which I’m sure is hard on the old guy. I need to put him out of his misery.’

‘I’m not a taxi dispatcher.’

‘You have a car.’

‘I’m not a chauffeur, either.’

‘You could lend it to me.’

‘How would I get it back?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you even have a licence?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘No deal,’ she said.

‘OK,’ Reacher said.

‘What were you going to do for me?’

‘Suppose an unknown suspect broke into Croselli’s place, and you got a look inside. Then the unknown suspect fled, but you were too busy securing the scene to chase him.’

‘I’ve been waiting two hours for that to happen. But it hasn’t.’

‘I could do it.’

‘You’re sixteen years old.’

‘How is that relevant?’

‘Entrapment is bad enough. Entrapment with minors is probably worse.’

‘Who would ever know, apart from you and me?’

‘I have no way of getting you a ride out of town.’

Reacher paused a beat, and said, ‘Maybe we should refine the plan.’

‘What plan?’ Hemingway said. ‘We don’t have a plan.’

‘Probably better if it’s not you who makes the discovery. It could look like a personal vendetta. It could give Croselli’s lawyers something to work with. Probably better if it’s not even the FBI at all. Better if it’s the NYPD. Don’t you think? An independent agency, with no axe to grind. If they discover a dope dealer and his stash in their city, then it’s out there. It can’t be denied. It is what it is. Your people will have to hush up their deal, and they’ll have to admit you were right all along, and you can turn your review procedure into a medal ceremony.’

‘The NYPD is busy tonight.’

‘They have a narcotics division, surely. Make the call ahead of time. Get a sense of how long they’re going to be, and we’ll try to time it exactly right. I’ll bust in, you hang back and keep an eye on things for a minute until the cops show up, and then we’ll both slip away, and you can drive me north. Meanwhile the NYPD will be building your case for you, and by the time you’re back in town your bosses will be rolling out the red carpet.’