Blue Moon - Lee Child Page 0,36
eat there. With their wives and so on. Where else would they go?”
Dino didn’t answer.
His guy said, “Why else would they get so angry?”
Still Dino didn’t answer.
Then he said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the restaurant block is worth more than the moneylending. I sincerely hope so. We got lucky, they got resentful. But whatever, four for two is bullshit. We can’t live with that. Put the word out. Level the score by sunset.”
* * *
—
Reacher woke at eight in the morning, warm, relaxed, peaceful, partially entwined with Abby, who slept on undisturbed. She was tiny beside him. She was more than a foot shorter, and less than half his weight. In repose she was soft and boneless. In motion she had been hard and lithe and strong. And certainly experimental. Her performance had been an art. That was for damn sure. He was a lucky man. He breathed deep and gazed up at the unfamiliar ceiling. It had cracks in the plaster, like a river system, painted over many times, like healed scars.
He disentangled himself gently and slid out of bed and padded naked to the bathroom, and then to the kitchen, where he set the coffee going. He went back to the bathroom and took a shower, and then he collected his clothes from all over the living room, and he got dressed. He took a third white china mug from the wall cabinet, and poured his first cup of the day. He sat at a tiny table in the window. The sky was blue and the sun was up. It was a beautiful morning. Faint sounds came in. Traffic and voices. People hustling and bustling, going to work, starting their day.
He got up and got a refill and sat back down again. A minute later Abby came in, naked, yawning, stretching, smiling. She took coffee and padded across the kitchen and sat in his lap. Naked, soft, warm and fragrant. What was a guy to do? A minute later they were back in bed. Even better than the first time. Experimental all around. Twenty whole minutes, soup to nuts. Afterward they fell back, gasping and panting. He thought, not bad for an old guy. She snuggled against his chest, spent, breathing hard. He sensed the physical release in her. Some kind of bone-deep animal satisfaction. But something else also. Something more. She felt safe. She felt safe, and warm, and protected. She was luxuriating in it. She was celebrating the fact she was feeling it.
“Last night,” he said. “In the bar. When I asked you about the guy on the door, you asked me if I was a cop.”
“You are a cop,” she murmured.
“Was a cop,” he said.
“Close enough for a first impression. I’m sure it’s a look you never lose.”
“Did you want me to be a cop? Were you hoping I was?”
“Why would I be?”
“Because of the guy on the door. Maybe you thought I could do something about him.”
“No,” she said. “Hoping would have been a waste of time. The cops don’t do anything about those guys. Never. Too much hassle. Too much money changing hands. Those guys are pretty much safe from the cops, believe me.”
Old disappointments in her voice.
As an experiment he asked, “Would you have liked it if I could have done something about him?”
She snuggled tighter. Unconsciously, he thought. Which he figured had to mean something.
She said, “That particular guy?”
“He was the one in front of me.”
She paused a beat.
“Yes,” she said. “I would have liked it.”
“What would you have liked me to do to him?”
He felt her stiffen against him.
She said, “I guess I would have liked you to mess him up.”
“Bad?”
“Real bad.”
“What have you got against him?”
She wouldn’t answer.
After a minute he said, “There was something else you mentioned last night. You said texts would have gone out, with my description.”
“As soon as they realized they lost you.”
“To hotels and such.”
“To everybody. That’s how they do it now. They have automated systems. They’re very good at technology. They’re very advanced with computers. They’re always trying new scams. Sending out an automatic all-points bulletin is easy in comparison.”
“And literally everyone gets the same alert?”
“Who are you thinking of in particular?”
“Potentially, a guy in a different division. In the moneylending section.”
“Would that be a problem?”
“He has a photograph of me. A close-up of my face. He’ll recognize the description, and he’ll text the picture in response.”
She snuggled closer. Relaxed again.
“Doesn’t really matter,” she said. “They’re all out looking for