break your leg. Or your wife might. The house might catch on fire. Lots of accidents, one after the other. You'll never know when the next one is coming. It'll drive you crazy."
"You couldn't get away with it."
"I'm getting away with it right now. I could start today. With you."
Brewer said nothing.
"Give me that pitcher," Reacher said.
Brewer hesitated a moment. Then he picked it up and held it out, like an automaton. Reacher took it. It was fancy crystal with a cut pattern, maybe Waterford, maybe imported all the way from Ireland. It held a quart and probably cost a thousand bucks. He balanced it on his palm and sniffed its contents. Lemonade. Then he tossed it over the edge of the balcony. Yellow liquid arced out through the air and a second later there was a loud crash from the patio below.
"Oops," he said.
"I'll have you arrested," Brewer said. "That's criminal damage."
"Maybe I'll start with one of your sons," Reacher said. "Pick one out at random and throw him off the balcony, just like that."
"I'll have you arrested," Brewer said again.
"Why? According to you, what the legal system says doesn't matter. Or does that only apply to you? Maybe you think you're something special."
Brewer said nothing. Reacher stood up and picked up his chair and threw it over the rail. It crashed and splintered on the stone below.
"Give me the check," he said. "You can afford it. You're a rich man. You just got through telling me."
"It's a matter of principle," Brewer said. "They shouldn't be here."
"And you should? Why? They were here first."
"They lost. To us."
"And now you're losing. To me. What goes around, comes around."
He bent down and picked up the silver bell from the table. It was probably an antique. Maybe French. The cup part was engraved with filigree patterns. Maybe two and a half inches in diameter. He held it with his thumb on one side and all four fingers on the other. Squeezed hard and crushed it out of shape. Then he transferred it into his palm and squashed the metal flat. Leaned over and shoved it in Brewer's shirt pocket.
"I could do that to your head," he said.
Brewer made no reply.
"Give me the check," Reacher said, quietly. "Before I lose my damn temper."
Brewer paused. Five seconds. Ten. Then he sighed.
"O.K.," he said. He led the way into the study and over to the desk. Reacher stood behind him. He didn't want any revolvers appearing suddenly out of drawers.
"Make it out to cash," he said.
Brewer wrote the check. He got the date right, he got the amount right, and he signed it.
"It better not bounce," Reacher said.
"It won't," Brewer said.
"It does, you do, too. Off the patio."
"I hope you rot in hell."
Reacher folded the check into his pocket and found the way out to the upstairs foyer. Went down the stairs and walked over to the grandfather clock. Tilted it forward until it overbalanced. It fell like a tree and smashed on the floor and stopped ticking.
* * *
The two men exfiltrated after nearly three hours. The heat was too brutal to stay longer. And they didn't really need to. Nobody was going anywhere. That was clear. The old woman and her son stayed mostly in the house. The kid was hanging around in the barn, coming out now and then until the sun drove her back inside, once walking slowly back to the house when the maid called her to come and eat. So they gave it up and crawled north in the lee of the rocks and came out to wait on the dusty shoulder as soon as they were out of sight of the house. The woman in the Crown Vic turned up right on time. She had the air blasting and water in bottles. They drank the water and made their report.
"O.K.," the woman said. "So I guess we're ready to make our move."
"I guess we are," the dark man said.
"Sooner the better," the fair man agreed. "Let's get it done."
* * *
Reacher put the plates back on the old LeBaron as soon as he was out of sight of the Brewer house. Then he drove straight back to Pecos and reclaimed Alice Aaron's VW from the mechanics. He paid them their forty bucks without complaint, but afterward he wasn't really sure they'd done anything to the car. The clutch felt just as sharp as it had before. He stalled out twice on the way back to the legal mission.