Make Me (13 page)

The guy said, “We’re waiting here.”

“Downstairs,” Reacher said again. “With two ways of getting there. The other is headfirst over the rail. Your choice. Either method works for me.”

Below them the one-eyed guy was staring upward. Their suitcases had been moved nearer their car. They were side by side on the blacktop, next to the tailgate door. The guy with the big hands and the dirty clothes made a face, part shrug, part sneer, part nod, and he said, “OK, you got five more minutes.”

“Ten more,” Reacher said. “I think that’s what we’ll take. OK with you? And don’t come up the stairs again.”

The guy got a look in his eye, like some kind of mute challenge.

Reacher said, “What do you do for a living?”

The guy said, “Hog farmer.”

“Always?”

“Man and boy.”

“Same place?”

“Near enough.”

“No military service?”

“No.”

“I thought not,” Reacher said. “You let us take the high ground. Which was dumb. Because thirty guys don’t mean squat if they have to come up a staircase two by two. You know we’re armed. We could pick you off like squirrels. From inside a cinder block building. Which you can’t hurt unless you’re packing grenade launchers, which I don’t think you are. So don’t come up the stairs again. Especially not in the lead.”

The guy said nothing in reply to that, and Reacher stepped back and closed the door on him. Chang said, “If our aim is to get out of here alive, I don’t think you should be antagonizing them.”

“I don’t agree,” Reacher said. “Because as soon as we’re gone, they’re going to be asking themselves a question. Are we coming back? It’s going to be the subject of a big debate. If we’d gone all meek and mild, they’d have known we were faking. Better to let them believe their stonewalling worked.”

“It did. Like you said, we don’t know anything.”

“We know something. I said we don’t know enough.”

“What do we know?”

“We know the clerk just called in a situation report. He told his boss we’d be gone by eleven o’clock, but that wasn’t good enough for the guy. The compromise wasn’t acceptable. He wanted us gone right now. Hence the ten guys with the new message. Which was a message we didn’t get last night. Last night we were welcomed with open arms. So what changed?”

Chang said, “The woman in white.”

“Exactly. The same guy who wants us gone right now didn’t want the boat rocked while she was on the premises. But now she’s gone, so it’s back to business as usual.”

“Who was she? And where did she go?”

“We don’t know. We don’t know about the man in the suit, either. Except they were important somehow. As in, everyone had to be on best behavior when they were around. I saw the clerk tidying up before the car came for the man in the suit. He lined up all the chairs. Before the guy got a look at the place in daylight.”

“They weren’t investors. Not the kind that actually go inspect an investment, anyway. They didn’t have the vibe. I spent a lot of time with investors.”

“So what were they?”

“I have no idea. Someone’s important guests, or someone’s best customers. Or something. How are we supposed to know? Maybe they’re fugitives from justice. Maybe this is an underground railroad. But a niche market. Club class only. Peace and quiet and a good night’s sleep guaranteed, and all road transfers by Cadillac. For white-collar criminals.”

“Would the woman dress up for that?”

“Probably not.”

Reacher said, “I agree it has a railroad feel. They get off the train, they spend the night in the motel, they move on the next morning by car. It feels very transient. It feels kind of one-way, too. Like this is a stop on a longer journey.”

“From where to where?”

Reacher didn’t answer.

Chang said, “So what now?”

“We’ll head west and figure that out when your phone starts working.”

—

After ten minutes
exactly they opened the door and stepped out to the walkway. The thirty guys were still there below them, still corralled together in small independent groups, twos and threes and fours, collectively surrounding the little green Ford in a rough and distant semicircle. The nearest was the hog farmer, about ten feet from the car. Next to him was the queasy Moynahan. Both of them looked tense and impatient. Reacher put his hand in his pocket, his palm and three fingers lightly on the Smith, and he started down the stairs, with Chang right behind him. They got to the bottom and she blipped the remote and the car unlocked with a ragged thump that sounded very loud in the silence.

Reacher stepped around the hood and looked at the hog farmer and said, “We’ll go as soon as you put our bags in the trunk.”

The hog farmer said, “Put them yourself.”

Reacher leaned back against the Ford, with his hands in his pockets, and his ankles crossed. Just a guy, waiting. All the time in the world. He said, “Apparently you felt comfortable packing them up and hauling them here. So I’m guessing you don’t have a constitutional objection to touching our stuff. Or an allergy. Or any other kind of disqualifying impediment. So now’s the time to finish the job. Put them in the car, and we’ll get going. That’s what you want, right?”

The guy said nothing.

Reacher waited. The silence got worse. He could hear wheat stirring in the wind, a hundred yards away. No one moved. Then a guy looked at the next guy, who looked back, and pretty soon everyone was looking at everyone else, short jagged stares, a furious silent argument about trading dignity for results.
Put them in the car, and we’ll get going. That’s what you want, right?

Put them yourself.

Eventually a guy behind the hog farmer broke ranks, and stepped forward. A pragmatist, clearly. He walked to the car and lifted the hatchback and put the bags inside, one by one, first Keever’s, then Chang’s.

He closed the hatch and stepped back.

“Thank you,” Reacher said. “I hope you all have a great day.”

He opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. Beside him Chang slid behind the wheel. They closed their doors as one and Chang fired up the engine. She backed out of her slot, and turned the wheel, and took off forward, out into the plaza, and then north past the diner and the store, to the old wagon train trail, where she turned left and headed west, with the road running straight on ahead of her, forever, until it disappeared in the golden haze on the horizon, at that point as narrow as a needle.

She said, “Are we coming back?”

Reacher took his hand off his gun, for the first time since leaving the motel room.

He said, “I expect we’ll have to come back.”

Chapter
22

They drove three hours, and
then stopped for gas and food. Still no cell signal. They figured they might not find one until they were all the way over near the I-25 corridor, deep into Colorado. Another four hours, maybe. In which case they might as well head straight for Colorado Springs, which was where the Ford had been rented, and where planes to LA took off on a regular basis. They agreed LA was next. The telephone was a wonderful invention, but sometimes inadequate. Which meant airport security was in their future, so they stripped the Smiths and dumped their constituent parts in separate trash cans all around the rest stop. Easy come, easy go.

Then Reacher drove the next spell, unlicensed and illegal, but in two hours they saw only two vehicles, neither of which was a cop car. Then Chang took over again, and they drove on, until the golden horizon darkened to gray, which meant civilization was on its way. They talked about what to do with Keever’s valise. Reacher, unsentimental about possessions, was in favor of trashing it. But Chang saw it as a talisman. Like a beacon of hope. She wanted to keep it with them. In the end they compromised. They stopped at a FedEx in a strip mall on the edge of Colorado Springs, and shipped the valise back to the yellow house on the dead-end street, in the faded development north of Oklahoma City. Chang filled out the form with the address, and then after a long hesitation she checked the box for
no signature required
.

—

That afternoon eight
men met at the counter inside the Mother’s Rest dry goods store. The store owner was already there, with his two shirts and his unkempt hair, and the first to join him was the spare-parts guy from the irrigation store, who was followed by the Cadillac driver, and the one-eyed clerk from the motel, and the hog farmer, and the counterman from the diner, and the Moynahan who had gotten kicked in the balls and had his gun taken.

The eighth man at the meeting came in five minutes later. He was a solid guy, red in the face, fresh from a shower, wearing ironed blue jeans and a dress shirt. He was older than Moynahan and the spare-parts guy and the Cadillac driver, and younger than the motel clerk and the store owner, and about the same age as the hog farmer and the counterman. He had blow-dried hair like a news anchor on TV. The other seven guys stiffened and straightened as he walked in, and fell silent, and waited for him to speak first.

He got straight to the point.

He said, “Are they coming back?”

No one answered. Seven blank looks.

The eighth guy said, “Give me both sides of the argument.”

There was some silence and squirming and shuffling, and then the spare-parts guy said, “They won’t come back because we did our jobs. They got nothing here. No evidence, no witnesses. Why would they come back to a dry hole?”

The Cadillac driver said, “They will come back because this was Keever’s last known location. They’ll come back as many times as it takes. Where else can they start over, when they’re getting nowhere?”

The eighth guy said, “Are we sure they got nothing here?”

The counterman said, “No one talked to them. Not a word.”

The store owner said, “They only used the pay phone once. They tried three numbers, and got no reply from any of them, and then they went away again. That’s not what people do, with red-hot information.”

“So the consensus is they learned nothing?”

“The what?”

“What you all think.”

The Cadillac driver said, “What we all think is they learned less than nothing. They finished up in my store, chasing some non-existent guy named Maloney. They were nowhere. But they’ll still come back. They know Keever was here.”

“So they did learn something.”

The store went quiet.

The one-eyed guy said, “We agreed. It was supposed to look like he wandered off somewhere. We were never going to deny he was here.”

The eighth man said, “What was their attitude as they left?”

The hog farmer said, “The guy was throwing his weight around. Some kind of consolation, I figured. Making himself feel better. Playing the tough guy because he knew he was beat. I think the gal was kind of embarrassed by it.”

“Are they coming back?”

“I vote no.”

“Who votes yes?”

Only the Cadillac driver raised his hand.

The eighth man said, “A six-to-one majority. Which is a fair assessment. I think you’re calling it about right. And I’m proud of you all. They came, they learned nothing except what we could afford for them to know, and they went away again. With only a slight chance they’ll be back.”

The squirming and shuffling turned a little more upbeat. Chests stuck out, and mouths turned down, in self-deprecating aw-shucks grins.

The eighth man said, “But the world turns on slight chances.”

The grins turned to solemn nods, seven serious men agreeing gravely with a pearl of wisdom.

The eighth man asked, “Where did they go?”

Seven shrugs, and seven blank looks.

The eighth man said, “It doesn’t really matter. Unless they’re headed for Los Angeles. The journalist is our only point of vulnerability. That’s the only way they can pick the lock, according to what we learned from Keever.”

“A million to one,” Moynahan said. “How could they even know what they’re looking for? How would Westwood even know what he’s got?”

“The world turns on million-to-one chances.”

“We’re supposed to be completely invisible,” the motel clerk said. “Aren’t we? Isn’t that what we pay for?”

“You don’t pay for it. I pay for it.”

The store went quiet again, until the spare-parts guy picked it up. He said, “OK, isn’t that what you pay for?”

“Yes, it is. And more. I pay for assistance as and when I need it. Like the Triple-A. All part of the service.”

The hog farmer said, “Going outside of us is a big step.”

“Yes, it is,” the eighth man said again. “There are considerable negatives. But positives, too. We should discuss them.”

Moynahan said, “What kind of assistance?”

“There’s a menu. I get what I pay for. From a little to a lot.”

The store owner said, “I think we should start with surveillance. At least. If they get near Westwood at the newspaper, then we need to know right away. So we’re prepared for what comes next. If the million-to-one goes against us.”

The other six watched the eighth man’s face, waiting for a shoot-down, and when none came they started nodding in agreement, wisely and judiciously.

The eighth man said, “We should take a vote. All in favor of surveillance?”

Moynahan asked, “Is that the low end of the menu?”

The eighth man nodded. “Phones, internet, and physical eyes-on.”

“How high does the menu go?”

“All the way to what they call a permanent solution.”

“We can do that part ourselves.”

“How’s your brother?”

“I mean, next time we’ll be ready.”

“You changing your mind? Now you think there’s a next time?”

Silence in the store.

The eighth man said, “Who votes for surveillance?”

Seven hands went up.

“I’m glad you agree,” the eighth man said. “Because I already made the call. The surveillance started an hour ago. They sent a man named Hackett. One of their best, they said. Qualified in a number of different areas.”

Chapter
23

The car rental company ran
a shuttle bus from the returns compound to the passenger terminals, which was convenient, but slow. It added another half hour to an already long day. Reacher and Chang got to the ticket counter in the early evening. There was one LA flight still to go, but it was sold out. No seats at all, and a long queue for standby. Two equipment failures earlier in the day had caused chaos.