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“People do that.”
“Not me.”
“So like I said, what are you ru
“From being like people, I guess.”
“I’m like people. I’ve got a house and a car and a savings plan. I fill out forms.”
“Whatever works for you.”
“Do you think I’m ordinary?”
Reacher nodded. “In that respect.”
“Not everyone can be like you.”
“That’s ass-backward. The fact is, a few of us can’t be like you.”
“You want to be?”
“It’s not about wanting. It just can’t be done.”
“Why not?”
“OK, I’m ru
“From what? Being like me?”
“From being different than I used to be.”
“We’re all different than we used to be.”
“We don’t all have to like it.”
“I don’t like it,” O’Do
Reacher nodded. “You’re doing great, Dave. I mean it. It’s me that I worry about. I’ve been looking at you and Neagley and Karla and feeling like a loser.”
“Really?”
“Look at me.”
“All that we’ve got that you don’t is suitcases.”
“But what have I got that you don’t?”
O’Do
39
The car was a black Lexus sedan, brand new. It sped up and took off again immediately, leaving the two guys alone on the sidewalk maybe thirty yards ahead. They were the bag man and the stash man from the vacant lot behind the wax museum. The pistols were AMT Hardballers, which were stainless-steel copies of Colt Government 1911.45 automatics. The hands holding them were shaking a little and moving up level and rotating through ninety degrees into flat movie-approved bad-boy grips.
O’Do
“They want us?” he said.
“They want me,” Reacher said. He glanced back at what was behind him. He wasn’t very worried about being hit by a badly-held.45 from thirty yards away. He was a big target but statistics were on his side. Handguns were in-room weapons. Under expert control in high-pressure situations the average range for a successful engagement was about eleven feet. But even if Reacher himself wasn’t hit, someone else might be. Or something else. A person a block away, or a low-flying plane, maybe. Collateral damage. The street was thick with potential targets. Men, women, children, plus other folks Reacher wasn’t entirely sure how to categorize.
He turned to face front again. The two guys hadn’t moved far. Not more than a couple of steps. O’Do
“We should take this off the street, Dave,” Reacher said.
O’Do
“Moving left,” Reacher said. He crabbed sideways and risked a glance to his left. The nearest door was a narrow tarot reader’s dive. His mind was working with a kind of icy high-pressure speed. He was moving normally, but the world around him had slowed. The sidewalk had become a four-dimensional diagram. Forward, backward, sideways, time.
“Break back a yard and left, Dave,” he said.
O’Do
“Got a back room?” Reacher asked her.
“Just a toilet,” she said.
“Go in there and lie down on the floor, right now.”
“What’s up?”
“You tell me.”
The woman didn’t move until O’Do
O’Do
“They just bought me these shirts.”
“Is this going to be a problem?”
“Possibly.”
“Plan?”
“You like the Hardballer?”
“Better than nothing.”
“OK, then.” Reacher flipped up the edge of the tablecloth and crouched down and backed under the table on his knees. O’Do
Then they waited.
The guys were at the door within about eight seconds. They paused and peered in through the glass and then they pulled the door and came inside. Paused again, six feet in front of the table, guns pointed straight out with the butts twisted parallel to the floor.
They took a cautious step forward.
Paused again.
O’Do
On three Reacher and O’Do
“Not too much of a problem,” O’Do
“We’ve still got the good stuff,” Reacher said.
O’Do
Karla Dixon was waiting for them in the Chateau Marmont’s lobby.
“Curtis Mauney called,” she said. “He liked that thing you did with Franz’s mail. So he got the Vegas PD to check through the stuff in Sanchez and Orozco’s office. And they found something.”