Lee Child - One Shot

“I would never have thought of emptying that parking meter. Not in a million years. It would never have occurred to me to do that. So I was facing a question. Was Emerson a better investigator than me? Or did he know that quarter was there?”

Nobody spoke.

“Emerson is not better than I was,” Reacher said. “That’s just not possible. That’s what I decided.” Then he turned to the Zec. “The coin was one clue too many. You see that now? It was unnatural. Was it Chenko’s idea?”

The Zec nodded.

“You should have overruled him,” Reacher said. He turned to Emerson. “Or you should have left it there. It wasn’t like you needed it to make the case.”

“This is bullshit,” Emerson said.

Reacher shook his head. “A lot of things clicked into place after that. I read the 911 transcripts and the squad car call log. Right at the start you were awful quick to make up your mind. You had a bunch of incoherent panic calls but within twenty seconds you were on the radio telling your guys that this was a lone nutcase with an automatic rifle. There was no basis for that conclusion. Six shots fired, ragged sequence, it could have been six kids with a handgun each, firing once. But you knew it wasn’t.”

“Bullshit,” Emerson said again.

Reacher shook his head again. “Final proof was when I was negotiating with your boss here. I said he’d have to tell the truth to a detective called Emerson. I could have said the cops generically, or Alex Rodin the DA. But I didn’t. I said your name specifically, and a little light came on in his eyes. He sparred around for a minute more, for form’s sake, but basically he agreed real fast because he figured he’d be OK as long as you were in charge.”

Silence. Then Cash said, “But Oline Archer went to Alex Rodin here. He buried it. That’s what you found out.”

Reacher shook his head again. “We found out that Oline went to the DA’s office . I went there myself, first thing after I got to town. And you know what? Alex here has got himself a couple of real dragon ladies working the door. They know he doesn’t like walk-ins. Dollars to doughnuts they sent Oline on her way. That’s a matter for the police, they’ll have told her. Her co-worker said she was gone most of the afternoon. My guess is the dragon ladies sent her trekking all across town to the station house, where she sat down with Emerson here.”

Silence in the room.

The Zec struggled on the sofa. “Emerson, do something, for Christ’s sake.”

“Nothing he can do,” Reacher said. “I’m not dumb. I think ahead. I’m sure he’s got a Glock under his arm, but he’s got me behind him with a.38 and a knife, and he’s got Cash facing him with a sniper rifle hidden behind the sofa, and what can he do anyway? I guess he could try to kill us all and say there was some kind of a big massacre here, but how would that help him with NBC?”

Emerson stared at him.

“NBC?” Cash repeated.

“I saw Yanni fiddling with her phone earlier. I’m assuming she’s transmitting all of this back to the studios.”

Yanni pulled out her Nokia.

“Open channel,” she said. “Digital audio recording on three separate hard discs, plus two analog tapes as backup. They’ve all been running since well before we got in the Humvee.”

Cash stared at her. “That’s why you asked me that dumb question about the night scope. That’s why you were talking to yourself like a sports announcer.”

“She’s a journalist,” Reacher said. “She’s going to win an Emmy.”

He stepped forward and leaned over the back of Emerson’s chair and slid his hand under his coat. Came back out with a Glock nine. Handed it to Bianca.

“You’ve got arrests to make,” he said.

Then the Zec smiled, and Chenko walked into the room.

Chenko was covered in mud and his right arm was broken, or his shoulder, or his collarbone, or maybe all three. His wrist was jammed into his shirt like a sling. But there was nothing wrong with his left arm. Nothing at all. Reacher turned around to face him and saw the sawn-off rock-steady in his left hand. He thought, irrelevantly: Where did he get that from? His car? Were the cars parked to the east ?

Chenko glanced at Bianca.

“Put the gun down, lady,” he said.

Bianca laid Emerson’s Glock on the floor. No sound as it touched the carpet.

“Thank you,” Chenko said.

Nobody spoke.

“I guess I was out for a little while,” Chenko said. “But I got to tell you, I feel a whole hell of a lot better now.”

“We survive,” the Zec said from across the room. “That’s what we do.”

Reacher didn’t look back at the old man. He looked at Chenko’s gun instead. It had been a Benelli Nova Pump. The stock had been cut off behind the pistol grip. The barrel had been hacked off ahead of the slide. Twelve-gauge. Four-shot magazine. A handsome weapon, butchered.

“Emerson,” the Zec called. “Come over here and untie me.”

Reacher heard Emerson stand up. He didn’t look back at him. Just took a tiny pace forward and sideways, closer to Chenko. He was a foot taller and twice as wide.

“I need a knife here,” Emerson said.

“The soldier’s got a knife,” Chenko said. “I’m damn sure of that, based on what I saw happened to my buddies downstairs.”

Reacher moved a little closer to him. A big guy and a little guy directly face-to-face, separated by about three feet, most of which was occupied by the Benelli. Reacher’s waist was level with Chenko’s chest.

“Knife,” Emerson said.

“Come and get it,” Reacher said.

“Slide it across the floor.”

“No.”

“I’ll shoot,” Chenko said. “Twelve-gauge, in the gut.”

Reacher thought: And then what? A pump-action shotgun ain’t much use to a one-armed man .

“So shoot,” he said.

He felt eyes on him. He knew everyone was looking at him. Staring at him. Silence buzzed in his ears. He was suddenly aware of the smells in the room. Dust in the carpet, worn furniture, fear, tension, damp night air blowing in from the open door downstairs and the busted window upstairs and carrying with it the odor of rich earth and fertilizer and budding new growth.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Shoot.”

Chenko did nothing. Just stood there. Reacher stood there directly in front of him. He knew exactly how the room was laid out. He had arranged it. He pictured it in his mind. Chenko was in the doorway facing the window. Everyone else was facing the other way. Reacher himself right in front of Chenko, face-to-face, close enough to touch. Cash directly behind him all the way in back, behind the sofa, on the windowsill, staring forward. Then the Zec on the sofa, looking the same way. Then Emerson in the middle of the floor, near the Zec, standing up, indecisive, watching. Then Yanni and Franklin and Helen and Rosemary Barr in the armchairs against the side walls, heads turned. Then Donna Bianca and Alex Rodin on their dining chairs, twisted around at the waist, eyes wide.

Reacher knew where everyone was, and he knew what they were looking at.

“Shoot,” he said. “Aim at my belt. That’ll work. Go ahead.”

Chenko did nothing. Just stared up at him. Reacher was so close and so big he was all Chenko could see. It was just the two of them, like they were alone in the room.

“I’ll help you out,” Reacher said. “I’ll count to three. Then you pull the trigger.”

Chenko just stood there.

“You understand?” Reacher said.

No reply.

“One,” Reacher said.

No reaction.

“Two,” Reacher said.

Then he stepped out of the way. Just took a long fast sideways shuffle to his right. Cash fired from behind the sofa at the spot where Reacher’s belt had been a split second before, and Chenko’s chest blew apart.