One Shot

Blood on his face.

Now he had a broken nose.

Put the ringleader down.

Reacher stepped in and kicked him in the groin, but left-footed. Right-footed, he would have popped bits of the guy’s pelvis out through his nose. Your big soft heart, an old army instructor had said. One day it’ll get you killed.

But not today, Reacher thought. Not here. The big guy went down. He fell on his knees and pitched forward on his face.

Then it got real easy.

The next two guys came in together shoulder-to-shoulder, and Reacher dropped the first with a head butt and the second with an elbow to the jaw. They both went straight down and lay still. Then it was over, because the last two guys ran. The last two guys always do. The girl called Sandy ran after them. Not fast. The tight spandex and the high-heeled boots impeded her. But Reacher let her go. He turned back and kicked her three downed brothers onto their sides. Checked they were still breathing. Checked their hip pockets. Found their wallets. Checked their licenses. Then he dropped them and straightened up and turned around because he heard a car pull up behind him at the curb.

It was a taxi. It was a taxi with Helen Rodin getting out of it.

She threw a bill at the driver and he took off fast, gazing straight ahead, deliberately not looking left or right. Helen Rodin stood still on the sidewalk and stared. Reacher was ten feet away from her, with three neon shadows and three inert forms on the ground behind him.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked.

"You tell me," he said. "You live here. You know these damn people."

"What does that mean? What the hell happened?"

"Let’s walk," he said.

They walked south, fast, and turned a corner and went east. Then south again. Then they slowed a little.

"You’ve got blood on your shirt," Helen Rodin said.

"But not mine," Reacher said.

"What happened back there?"

"I was in the bar watching the game. Minding my own business. Then some underage red-haired bimbo started coming on to me. I wasn’t playing and she got it to where she found a reason to slap me. Then five guys jumped up. She said they were her brothers. We took it outside."

"Five guys?"

"Two ran away."

"After you beat up the first three?"

"I defended myself. That’s all. Minimum force."

"She slapped you?"

"Right in the face."

"What had you said to her?"

"Doesn’t matter what I said to her. It was a setup. So I’m asking you, is that how people get their kicks around here? Picking on strangers in bars?"

"I need a drink," Helen Rodin said. "I came to meet you for a drink."

Reacher stopped walking. "So let’s go back there."

"We can’t go back there. They probably called the cops. You left three men on the sidewalk."

He looked back over his shoulder.

"So let’s try my hotel," he said. "There’s a lobby. There might be a bar."

They walked together in silence, through dark quiet streets, four blocks south. They stayed east of the plaza and passed by the courthouse. Reacher glanced at it.

"How was dinner?" he asked.

"My father was fishing. He still thinks you’re my witness."

"Did you tell him?"

"I can’t tell him. Your information is classified. Thank God."

"So you let him stew."

"He’s not stewing. He’s totally confident."

"He should be."

"So are you leaving tomorrow?"

"You bet I am. This place is weird."

"Some girl comes on to you, why does that have to be a big conspiracy?"

Reacher said nothing.

"It’s not unheard-of," she said. "Well, is it? A bar, the new guy in town all alone, why shouldn’t some girl be interested? You’re not exactly repulsive, you know."

Reacher just walked.

"What did you say to her to get slapped?"

"I wasn’t showing any interest, she kept on coming on, I asked her if she was a hooker. Something like that."

"A hooker? That’ll get you slapped in Indiana. And her brothers would hate it."

"It was a setup, Helen. Let’s be realistic. It’s nice of you to say it, but I’m not the sort of guy that women chase after. I know that, OK? So it was a setup."

"No woman ever chased you before?"

"She smiled in triumph. Like she had found an opening and delivered me. Like she had succeeded at something."

Helen Rodin said nothing.

"And those guys weren’t her brothers," Reacher said. "They were all more or less the same age, and when I checked their licenses they all had different last names."

"Oh."

"So it was all staged. Which is weird. There are only two reasons for doing something like that. Fun, or money. A guy in a bar might have a few bucks, but that’s not enough. So they staged it for fun. Which is weird. Doubly weird, because why pick on me? They must have known they were going to get their butts kicked."

"There were five of them. Five guys never think one guy could kick their butts. Especially not in Indiana."

"Or maybe I was the only stranger in the bar."

She looked ahead, down the street. "You’re at the Metropole Palace?"

He nodded. "Me and not too many other people."

"But I called and they said you weren’t registered. I called all the hotels, looking for you this afternoon."

"I use aliases in hotels."

"Why on earth?"

"Just a bad habit. Like I told you. It’s automatic now."

They went up the front steps together and in through the heavy brass door. It wasn’t late, but the place was quiet. The lobby was deserted. There was a bar in a side room. It was empty, except for a lone barman leaning back against the register.

"Beer," Helen Rodin said.

"Two," Reacher said.

They took a table near a curtained window and the guy brought two beers in bottles, two napkins, two chilled glasses, and a bowl of mixed nuts. Reacher signed the check and added his room number.

Helen Rodin smiled. "So who does the Metropole think you are?"

"Jimmy Reese," Reacher said.

"Who’s he?"

"Wait," Reacher said.

A flash of surprise in her eyes. He didn’t know why.

I’m pleased to meet you, Jimmy Reese.

"The girl was looking for me personally," he said. "She wasn’t looking for some random lone stranger. She was looking for Jack Reacher specifically."

"She was?"

He nodded. "She asked my name. I said Jimmy Reese. It knocked her off balance for a second. She was definitely surprised. Like, You’re not Jimmy Reese, you’re Jack Reacher, someone just told me. She paused, and then she recovered."

"The first letters are the same. Jimmy Reese, Jack Reacher. People sometimes do that."

"She was fast," he said. "She wasn’t as dumb as she looked. Someone pointed her at me, and she wasn’t going to be deflected. Jack Reacher was supposed to get worked over tonight, and she was going to make sure it happened."

"So who were they?"

"Who knows my name?"

"The police department. You were just there."

Reacher said nothing.

"What?" Helen said. "Were they cops? Protecting their case?"

"I’m not here to attack their case."

"But they don’t know that. They think that’s exactly why you’re here."