Читаем No Plan B полностью

Reacher ended the call and handed the phone back to Maurice.

Maurice said, “What now? Should I stay? Or go?”

“That’s up to you. Are you only interested in Minerva? Or do you have time for an exposé on dirty cops?”

—

One police car arrived, seven minutes later. A Dodge Charger. Brand-new. Unmarked. It had a dome light flashing on the dash and it was moving fast. It slid to a stop at the side of the black van that had its nose embedded in Hix’s gate. The driver’s door opened. An officer jumped out. He was pushing sixty. His uniform was crisp. It was neatly pressed, but it was tight around his gut. He drew his gun and hurried toward the house.

The cop skirted the building and stepped onto the back porch. He glanced at the two burned corpses. Emerson’s was still smoldering. Then he jumped down, hurried across the grass, and hauled himself up onto the stage. Hix was starting to regain consciousness. The cop slapped Hix’s face. Over and over. A flurry of short, sharp blows. He said, “Bruno, what the hell happened? Who called 911?”

Hix didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“Who are these dead guys? How come you’re all strung up like this? Where the hell are your clothes?”

Hix managed to blink.

“Are there any more of them? Any who are alive?”

Hix grunted.

The cop lowered his voice. “Bruno, what did you tell them?”

Hix tried to shrug. He failed.

“Focus. Come on. Concentrate. This is important. What do they know?”

Hix shook his head.

“Do they know anything?”

Hix’s voice came out harsh, but quiet. “They know everything.”

The cop stepped back. He sighed. “Thanks for being honest, my friend. We had quite the run. I’m sorry it couldn’t go on longer. But all good things come to an end.” He slipped his gun into its holster. Took a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. Pulled them on. Leaned down and lifted the cuff of his pants. Unsnapped the strap on his ankle holster. Slid out a small silver revolver, straightened up, and held it to Hix’s temple. “I’ll make this quick.”

“Stop.” Reacher stood and stepped out from behind the bar. He was holding the SIG. It was leveled on the cop’s center mass.

The cop raised his hands and stepped back.

“Throw the gun off the stage.”

The cop did as he was told.

“Now the other one.”

The cop tossed his official piece.

Maurice emerged from the other side of the bar. He was holding out his phone. He crept forward until he was close enough to read the cop’s name badge. “Chief Moseley, congratulations. What a performance. When you’re in jail and I’ve won the Pulitzer, I’m going to post it online. It’s a master class in self-incrimination. I might have to pixelate parts of Mr. Hix, though. I don’t want to turn it into a comedy number.”

—

The smartly dressed kid at the Riverside Lodge was so happy to get his hands on the key to his VW, he told Reacher he could have as many rooms in the north wing of the hotel as he liked, for as long as he liked. Reacher said he’d take four, for one night. And that this time he only needed one key for his room.

Maurice had stayed at Hix’s to wait for the FBI, then he was planning a trip to D.C. Hannah and Begovic stayed at the hotel. Reacher took Jed on a quick trip into town in Sam Roth’s truck. They made two stops. The first was at a drugstore. Reacher went in alone. The second was at the burger place in the old gas station. Jed asked for a double with nothing green, just like Reacher, and he had finished before they got back to the Lodge’s parking lot.

—

The following morning Reacher took Jed for another drive. They collected the bike Jed had been using from its hiding place and brought it to the Lodge. The messenger from Jackson was waiting in the parking lot when they got back. Jed climbed out. The messenger lifted the bike down from the truck’s load bed and started to inspect every inch.

The guy said, “This is a disaster. You’ve scratched the paint. Crushed the saddle. Deformed the forks. Buckled the rims. It’s worthless now. It’s ruined. You little asshole.”

Jed said, “I did my best to look after it. I’m sorry if there’s any damage.”

“What use is sorry?” The messenger shoved Jed in the chest. “You miserable piece of—”

Reacher got out of the truck.

The messenger grabbed the handlebars and scurried across to a station wagon that was parked by the porte cochere. “Hey, buddy, just a misunderstanding. Thanks for returning it. Guess I’ll be leaving now.” He fed the bike in through the tailgate and hurried around to the driver’s seat. He started the engine and lurched backward, then changed direction and sped away toward the exit.

—

Reacher and Jed stood together until the car disappeared from sight. Then Reacher handed Jed a small paper bag from the drugstore. Jed opened it. He pulled out a folding toothbrush.

Reacher said, “For next time you take the Greyhound. Fits better in your pocket than the regular kind.”

Jed said, “Thank you.”

“Good luck with your dad. I hope you guys work it out.”

“We’re going to Colorado. Hannah said we can stay in Sam’s house until Dad gets a job.”