Reacher said nothing. The guy was a stringy individual, maybe sixty years old. He had caved-in cheeks covered in white stubble, and thin gray hair, unwashed and too long, and tufts in his ears, and fur on his neck. He was wearing two shirts, one on top of the other. He said, “So run along now. This is private property.”

Reacher said, “You got health insurance?”

Chang put her hand on his arm. The first time she had touched him, he thought, apropos of nothing.

The guy said, “You threatening me?”

Reacher said, “Pretty much.”

“This is a free country. I can choose who I sell to. The law says so.”

“What’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

“Is it Maloney?”

“No.”

“Can you give me change for a dollar?”

“Why?”

“I want to use your pay phone.”

“It isn’t working today.”

“You got your own phone in back?”

The guy said, “You can’t use it. You’re not welcome here.”

“OK,” Reacher said, “I get the message.” He checked the tags on the items in front of him. A dollar for the socks, a dollar for the undershorts, a dollar for the T-shirt, nineteen ninety-nine for the pants, and seventeen ninety-nine for the shirt. Subtotal, forty dollars and ninety-eight cents, plus probably seven percent sales tax. Total damage, forty-three dollars and eighty-five cents. He peeled off two twenties and a five and butted them together. He creased them lengthwise to correct their curl. He placed them on the counter.

He said, “Two choices, pal. Call the cops and tell them commerce has broken out in town. Or take my money. Keep the change, if you like. Maybe put it toward a shave and a haircut.”

The guy didn’t answer.

Reacher rolled his purchases together and jammed them under his arm. He followed Chang out the store and stopped in the vestibule to check the pay phone. No dial tone. Just breathy silence, like a direct connection to outer space, or the blood pulsing in his head.

Chang said, “Coincidence?”

Reacher said, “I doubt it. The guy probably disconnected the wires. They want us isolated.”

“Who did you want to call?”

“Westwood, in LA. I had a thought. And then another thought. But first I think we better check the motel.”

“The motel guy won’t let us use his phone.”

“No,” Reacher said. “I think we can pretty much guarantee that.”

They approached the motel’s horseshoe from the south, so the first thing they saw was the wing with the office in it. There were three things on the sidewalk under its window. The first was the plastic lawn chair, unoccupied, but still in its overnight position.

The second thing was Keever’s battered valise, last seen in room 215, now repacked and waiting, all bulging and forlorn.

The third thing was Chang’s own suitcase, zipped up, its handle raised, also repacked and waiting.

Chapter 21

Chang stopped walking, like a reflex, and Reacher stopped alongside her. He said, “No room at the inn.”

She said, “Their next move.”

They walked on, getting closer, changing the geometry, seeing deeper inside the horseshoe, seeing groups of men, just standing around and waiting, filling the empty parking slots, kicking the curbs, standing in the traffic lanes. Maybe thirty guys in total, including whichever Moynahan it was who had gotten kicked in the nuts. He looked a little pale, but no smaller than before. His hapless relative wasn’t there. Probably still in bed, dosed up on painkillers.

Reacher said, “We’ll go straight to my room.”

Chang said, “Are you nuts? We’ll be lucky to get as far as the car.”

“I bought new clothes. I need to change.”

“Bring them with you. You can change later.”

“It was already a concession not to change in the store. I don’t like carrying stuff around.”

“We can’t fight thirty people.”

They moved on, and stopped twenty feet from the staircase they needed. There were three guys near it. All of them were looking toward the office, where the one-eyed guy was coming out, and hustling across, waving and gesturing. When he arrived he said, “Mr. Keever’s booking has come to an end. As has his associate’s, therefore. And I’m afraid they can’t be renewed. At this time of year I take empty rooms out of circulation for a day or two, for necessary maintenance. Ready for the harvest.”