the family business.
‘Well, that simplifies things,’ Reacher said. ‘I had thought there were two ways this could go. Now I see there’s only one.’
‘Lift your shirt,’ Zach said. ‘Show us yours.’
Reacher didn’t move.
Zach closed his vest and turned to his buddies. ‘He must be Antifa. Mr Klostermann said they’d be on our trail. That’s why he needed our help.’
‘Help with what?’ Reacher said. ‘Tying his shoelaces? I guess if you all worked together you might be able to do it. If you had a couple of days. And a dark room to lie down in afterwards.’
The six guys stepped forward as one, drawn by the insult.
‘Fellers, slow down,’ Reacher said. ‘You’re failing to use the resources available to you. Look around. There are wrenches. Hammers. Tyre irons. All kinds of sharp heavy things.’
The guys looked at each other. They were confused. Why was their enemy helping them? Then frustration took over. Now that Reacher had suggested using the tools as weapons that was the last thing they could do. They would lose too much face.
Reacher looked at them. They were lined up, bubbling with aggression. Gripped by ideological fury. The pack versus the infidel. He was the infidel. And he’d found out what he needed to know. The core of it, anyway. He had a car. He could drive away. That would be the smart thing to do. But – Nazis. He thought of his mother. A child during World War II. In occupied France. Often hungry. Often cold. Sometimes in danger. This was no time to walk away.
The six guys were standing in a line about a foot apart, ten feet away from Reacher, advancing slowly. It was a straightforward problem. The goal was to reduce their numbers as quickly as possible. Reacher’s usual tactic was to goad his opponents when he was outnumbered. Make them come at him fast. He would wait until they were five feet away then burst forward and smash through the centre of the line, elbowing the guy to his right as he went. The enemy force would instantly be depleted. And turned around. Literally. Reacher would be behind them. Out of sight. So they’d process the surprise, and turn. Only Reacher would already have turned. He would have launched himself back the other way. Elbow still up. Still swinging. Flattening the guy who had been on his left, but was now on his right. If Reacher timed it right, the guy would rush into the blow like a drunk heading the wrong direction on the highway. Timing came with experience. Reacher had plenty of experience. But on this occasion, he also had a problem. Zach was in the spot to the right of centre. And he didn’t want Zach to go down first. He wanted to save him for last.
Reacher waited and watched. The guy at the end to his left was creeping wide. Moving away on a diagonal. Aiming to sneak around him while he was occupied with the others. Which gave Reacher an idea. He pretended to look to his right, to encourage the flanking guy. Waited until the line was seven feet away. Six. Then he took a half step to his right. But he didn’t follow through. He planted his foot and used it to propel himself left, aiming for the gap between the end two guys. He found it. Raised both elbows as he moved. Swung them forward. Caught one guy below the chin. The other full in the face. Both went down like planks. Reacher spun back clockwise, leading with his right elbow. The blow missed the next guy in line, but its momentum fuelled the roundhouse punch Reacher was aiming with his left. His fist connected with the side of the guy’s head. Three down.
Half his opponents were out of the game. And the remainder were no longer facing him broadside, where their numbers could be brought to bear. They were lined up single file, as if asking to be knocked down one at a time. A single solid punch to the first guy’s face might even account for all of them. More than likely two of them. Reacher was tempted to try it. But there was a problem. The next guy in line was Zach, so a different approach was called for. Reacher feinted a jab towards Zach’s face, and when his guard was raised kicked him in the knee. Zach flopped down and Reacher kicked him again, in the solar plexus, driving the air