Worth Dying For_ A Reacher Novel - Lee Child [86]
The guy paused and then turned the wheel harder. He did pretty well. He got the rear bumper hard against the bump-out and he trashed his door mirror good, but he left about an inch between his flank of the car and the back of the building. He checked behind him, checked left, and then looked at Reacher like he was expecting praise.
“Close enough,” Reacher said. “Now shut it down.”
The guy killed the lights and turned off the motor.
Reacher said, “Leave the key.”
The guy said, “I can’t get out. I can’t open my door.”
Reacher said, “Crawl out after me.” He opened his own door and slid out and backed off and stood tall and aimed the gun two-handed.
The guy came out after him, hands and knees, huge and awkward, feet-first, ass high up in the air. He got straight and turned around and said, “Want me to close the door?”
Reacher said, “You’re thinking again, aren’t you, John? You’re thinking it’s dark out here, now the lights are off, and maybe I can’t see too well. You’re figuring maybe this would be a good time. But it isn’t. I can see just fine. An owl has got nothing on me in the eyesight department, John. An owl with night-vision goggles sees worse. Believe it, kid. Just hang in there. You can get through this.”
“I’m not thinking anything,” the guy said.
“So close the door.”
The guy closed the door.
“Now step away from the car.”
The guy stepped away. The car was crammed tight in the back southwest quarter of the shallow bay, occupying a fifteen-by-six footprint within the total thirty-by-twelve space. It would be invisible from the road, either north or south, and no one was going to be in the fields to the east until spring plowing. Safe enough.
Reacher said, “Now move to your right.”
“Where?”
“So when I aim the gun at you I’m aiming parallel with the road.”
The guy moved, two steps, three, and then he stopped and turned and faced front, with his back to the forty empty miles between him and the Cell Block bar.
Reacher asked him, “How close is the nearest house?”
He said, “Miles away.”
“Close enough to hear a gunshot in the night?”
“Maybe.”
“What would they think if they did?”
“Varmint. This is farm country.”
Reacher said, “I’d be happier if you heard the gun go off, John. At least once. I’d be happier if you knew what it was like to have a bullet coming your way. It might help you with all that thinking. It might help you reach sensible conclusions.”
“I won’t try anything.”
“Do I have your word on that?”
“Absolutely.”
“So we’re bonded now, John. I’m trusting you. Am I wise to do that?”
“Absolutely.”
“OK, turn around and walk back to your truck.” Reacher kept ten feet behind the guy all the way, around the back corner of the building, along the face of the south gable wall, across the old lot, back to the two-lane. Reacher said, “Now get in the truck the same way you got out of the car.”
The guy closed the driver’s door and tracked around the hood and opened the passenger door. Reacher watched him all the way. The guy climbed into the passenger seat and lifted his feet one at a time into the driver’s footwell, and then he jacked himself up and over the console between the seats, on the heels of his hands, squirming, scraping, ducking his head. Reacher watched him all the way. When he was settled, Reacher climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. He swapped the gun into his left hand for a second and put his seat belt on. Then he swapped the gun back to his right and said, “I’ve got my seat belt on, John, but you’re not going to put yours on, OK? Just in case you’re getting ideas. Just in case you’re thinking about driving into a telephone pole. See the point? You do that, and I’ll be fine, but you’ll be hurt bad, and then I’ll shoot you anyway. We clear on that?”
The guy said, “Yes.”
“Say it, John.”
“I’m clear on that.”
“How clear?”
“Crystal.”
“And we’re bonded, right? I have your word, don’t I?