by Diane Capri
“Let’s take it one thing at a time,” Kim said. “You met Reacher back then, didn’t you?”
Vincent nodded like a bobblehead.
“And so did all of the others on our list, right?”
He nodded again.
“While Reacher was here, there was some trouble with the Duncans and their employees. We know all about that. We’ve seen the police reports,” Burke said.
Vincent cleared his throat and swigged water from a glass as if his voice was too parched to speak. Then he managed to croak, “If you know all of that, what are you looking for now?”
“We need to fill in a few more facts. And to know where Reacher went when he left here,” Kim said.
Vincent shook his head. “I wasn’t the last one to see him before he left town.”
“Who was?”
“Dorothy Coe, maybe. She’s the one who talked to the police. She probably told them where he went,” Vincent said, stumbling over his words as they tumbled out.
“Call her. Ask her to come over here. We’ll buy her a coffee,” Burke suggested.
“Dorothy died last year. She didn’t have any family left. Her husband and daughter died long ago,” Vincent said as if it genuinely pained him to relay the news.
He took a swig from his water glass. He staggered a bit and leaned into the back of the bar for support. His behavior suggested the clear liquid in the glass probably wasn’t water.
Before she could follow up, Kim felt a cool breeze wafting through the room.
The front door had opened and four burly men tumbled inside, pushing and shoving and trash-talking, punctuated by good-natured guffaws. They were wearing faded red Cornhuskers football jerseys. They had cropped blond hair, small eyes, and round, fleshy pink faces.
Kim’s lip curled. Oversized frat boys with thick necks and huge shoulders, way too old to behave like teenagers. Which didn’t slow them down any. They seemed to fill up the entire place as they rolled forward, tumbling and stumbling along.
She slid out of the way to avoid being flattened like a ribbon of asphalt.
The leader pushed one of the guys aside and landed a mock punch on another’s shoulder as they moved through like the tide. He shouted, “Hey, Vincent! Bring us a round of beers. Hell, bring two rounds. We’re celebrating! It’s Jimmy’s birthday!”
He staggered toward a table at the opposite end of the bar and his buddies waddled along behind him.
Jimmy, the birthday boy, was too drunk to walk. He fell against Burke on his way past, pushing about three hundred pounds of lard into Burke’s left side, pinning him briefly against the bar.
Burke grunted and shoved the guy hard in the opposite direction.
“Whoa!” Jimmy staggered and two-stepped and stuck his thick arms out for balance. He managed to right himself without falling flat on his ass.
When he realized he was still upright, he flashed a sloppy grin Burke’s way.
“Sorry, buddy. My bad,” Jimmy said with a giggle. “No harm, no foul, right?”
Burke gave him a steely stare and growled a warning. “Sure. Don’t let it happen again.”
The others had managed to plop into chairs, but the leader glanced back in time to see the exchange. He scowled and pushed himself upright and turned to face Burke from across the room.
Hands on hips, his chin pushed forward, he demanded, “What’s your problem, pal?”
Vincent hurried out from behind the bar. “Come on, Brady. Jimmy’s fine. It’s nothing. I don’t want any trouble in here. I’ll get your beers. You guys take a seat.”
Brady wasn’t in the mood to be placated. He had already started tumbling his bulk in Burke’s direction. For a big man, he moved with surprising speed and dexterity toward his target.
He fisted his hand and used his arm as a battering ram to knock Vincent off his feet, into the air, and across the room. When he landed hard on the concrete floor, Kim heard a sickening crack, followed by Vincent’s wounded yowl.
Vincent displayed an oddly swelling lump about halfway up his forearm. The damage was bad. All the vodka he’d consumed from his water glass must have numbed the nerves because he was able to form a coherent sentence. “What the hell, Brady? You’ve busted my arm!”
Kim grabbed a bar towel and filled it with ice. She carried it to Vincent and put the ice pack on his forearm. The unmistakably revolting scent of vodka mixed with fear sweat wafted from his body.
“Come on, Vincent,” she said, encouraging him to stand up. “Let’s get you to a seat and call the doctor. We don’t want you going into shock.”
She glanced at her new partner, and a look of understanding passed between them.
Trouble in a faded Cornhusker jersey was headed this way.
Brady was all business now. He nodded toward the biggest of his squad. “Simpson, you’re with me.”
Simpson lifted himself like a whale pushing from the depths of the ocean straight up through to the surface. He had already closed the distance from the table to the bar before his chair finally fell backward and clattered onto the dance floor.
Brady reached across the bar and pulled out a ball-peen hammer and a long, two-headed wrench as if he knew exactly where to find them. He tossed the wrench to Simpson and gripped the hammer in his left paw.
“Burke,” Kim warned from her position on the floor next to Vincent.
Burke nodded and backed away from the bar for room to maneuver.
Kim watched for an opening she could effectively exploit.
Brady and Simpson came within seven feet of Burke’s position and then stopped, shoulder to shoulder, weapons in their outer hands.
Burke placed himself directly in front of the two guys. Simpson at eleven o’clock with the wrench and Brady at one o’clock with the hammer.
Simpson moved first. He locked his knees, grunted, and pushed the wrench swiftly backward by bending his elbow. Like his pal, Brady, Simpson was fast for such a huge man.
The force of the heavy metal arced his arm, pulling him slightly off-balance. He prepared to swing forward, intending to break Burke’s left arm between the shoulder and the elbow.
A direct strike with that thing would have crippled Burke for life.
“Burke!” Kim shouted a quick warning, which was all she had a chance to do. She pulled her weapon, but she didn’t have a clear shot.
Timing was everything.
Simpson was fast for such a big man, but Burke was already moving.
He swung his right foot while the Cornhusker’s exposed forearm was on the backswing. Before Simpson could reverse direction to bring the wrench crushing down on Burke’s arm, Burke had kicked forward and smashed the big heel of his boot into Simpson’s knee.
The big man dropped the heavy wrench onto the floor with a loud thud, grabbed his ruined knee with both hands, and howled. He went down, landing on his back, rolling on the floor, howling like the hounds of Hell were gnawing his enormous belly.
Burke stepped aside and around Simpson, coming up behind Brady as if he’d practiced the move countless times, and his body operated on pure muscle memory.
He never took his eyes off Brady, who stood holding the hammer, unsure what to do with it.
Brady was still facing forward. He’d had no time to change his stance.
He could try to twist his body around before Burke attacked from behind. Or he could trust his judgment. Seemed like he had minimal confidence in his judgment.
He made the wrong choice.
He flailed the hammer behind him, hoping for a lucky contact.
He missed.
Burke planted his feet, and jerked from his waist, and drove his palm into Brady’s elbow like a ramrod.
The sound of bone and cartilage dislocating came quick.
The hit was not hard enough to maim Brady forever. But it was hard enough to put him out of commission for a good long while.
Kim scrambled forward along the floor and grabbed the wrench. The damned thing weighed a ton. Even a
glancing blow with it that connected in the right spot could do plenty of damage.
She watched the other two Cornhuskers, expecting a second wave, daring them to make a move.
Jimmy seemed rooted to the spot.
The other one, John, wasn’t as smart. He displayed a loopy grin before he opened his arms wide and ran at Kim, chest first, eyes bulging, nostrils flared like a charging bull.
Coming straight at her.
She braced her feet, held the wrench firmly, stared straight into his eyes, and waited until she was sure he couldn’t stop.
John came closer. Closer. And reached to grab her with both arms as if he could pick her up like a child’s toy.
At the very last possible moment, she ducked under his left arm and pushed hard with both feet, harnessing the energy to move to one side, passing swiftly on his left.
Too swiftly for John to react.
He tried to stop his forward momentum and pivot, but he couldn’t make all that bulk respond fast enough.
While he was flailing his arms to regain balance, Kim raised the wrench and swung with all her strength like hitting a line drive to center field.
The wrench landed a solid, sickening blow on the back of John’s elbow.
He howled like a wounded animal and grabbed the destroyed joint with his right hand, pulling it close to his chest.
Which screwed up his balance. He tripped over his own feet and went down hard.
The left kneecap landed on the concrete and took all his weight. The bones and ligaments in his knee snapped and cracked.
John rolled onto his back on the floor, grabbing his ruined knee with his right hand while his left arm fell uselessly by his side, baying and crying until the pain overwhelmed him.
He passed out and continued to whimper even as he was unconscious.
John’s vocals distracted Brady, who glanced away from Burke at precisely the wrong moment.
Burke finished Brady off with a hard fist to the solar plexus, punching air from his lungs. Brady doubled over and dropped onto the floor next to his buddies.
Jimmy was still standing at the end of the bar, mouth open. Kim pulled her weapon, just in case Jimmy was even dumber than she’d given him credit for.
Burke sent her a questioning glance and she nodded, breathing heavily. She was okay. Burke had handled himself as well as any man she’d witnessed, and she’d seen plenty of bar fights.
He could have done more damage. Maimed these good ol’ boys for life or simply killed them and ended their interference forever.
But Burke wasn’t a barbarian. And he wanted to keep his job.
“How about you?” Burke asked, staring at the last Cornhusker.
When Jimmy shook his head rapidly, Burke’s lips turned up slightly at the corner.
Kim holstered her gun and said, “Okay, get your pals out of here. They’ll need a hospital. Closest one is about an hour south, I hear. You’d better get going.”
Jimmy had sobered up fast.
Kim watched as he struggled to get Brady, Simpson, and John out the door.
Just before he left, Jimmy, who had said almost nothing during the entire encounter, paused to glare at Burke with as much menace as he could muster.
The message was weak but simple enough. “I’ll be back.”
Burke smiled more broadly. “Yeah, you do that.”
When the Cornhuskers got outside, and the door had closed behind them, Burke turned his gaze toward Vincent, the immediate problem.
Kim called Dr. Landon and spoke to him briefly while she checked the ice on Vincent’s arm. He said he wouldn’t need an X-ray to diagnose the break. The arm was out of commission for a while, for sure.
“He’s on his way over,” Kim said when she hung up.
Burke replied, “Is he bringing his wife? I’d just as soon get these interviews over with and head out before the Cornhuskers call in reinforcements.”
CHAPTER 10
Tuesday, May 17
Duncan, Nebraska
1:45 p.m.
While they waited for the doctor, Kim tried interviewing Vincent. Partly to keep his mind off the arm and partly because his pain might keep his answers honest. His skin was clammy and his breathing rapid. He was still slightly intoxicated, too. Otherwise, he seemed in control of his mental state.
“Tell me about Dorothy Coe,” Kim said. “She worked as a maid in the motel, didn’t she?”
Vincent nodded and winced, changing the position of the ice pack over the growing lump on the top of his forearm. “She did for a while, yeah.”
“She worked here when Reacher was in town, though.”
“Dorothy and her husband,” Vincent winced and readjusted the ice pack. “When their daughter disappeared, all the joy disappeared with their little girl.”
“Did Reacher know about that?”
“Dorothy had a really hard time.” Vincent shook his head and blotted the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Reacher helped her, uh, deal with the loss. But after that, she didn’t seem to have a purpose anymore. Long before she had the stroke that killed her, Doc Landon said her spirit had died of a broken heart years ago.”
“A lot of people died while Reacher was here. The police report said ten dead and at least six seriously injured. A few locals, mostly all named Duncan, and some guys from out of town,” Burke said. “What do you know about that?”
“It was a long time ago.” Vincent shrugged, which jarred his arm, and he winced again. Burke waited and Vincent filled the silence. “Seems like the Duncans had a business deal go bad. Not sure exactly what it was all about. I try to keep my head down, you know? Stay out of trouble.”
“And Dorothy Coe? Did she keep her head down and stay out of trouble?” Kim asked.
“Wish she had. Dorothy didn’t deserve what happened to her.” Vincent shook his head slowly. “Look, some pretty bad dudes came into town, looking for the Duncans. They all went at each other for a while. Dorothy and a few others got caught in the middle.”
“Including Reacher?” Burke asked. “Did he get caught in the middle? Or was he more proactive?”
“Kinda both, I guess. He didn’t start the trouble. But when the smoke cleared, the only Duncan left standing was Eleanor, and she wouldn’t have survived without Reacher.” Vincent glanced toward the door as if he was willing the doctor to materialize. “So if you’re looking for a guy to complain about Reacher, you’ve come to the wrong place. Far as I’m concerned, he done us all a public service.”
Burke frowned and narrowed his gaze toward Vincent. “Seems like a lot of violence for a dispute between a rural trucking company and its customers, doesn’t it? What exactly were they hauling, anyway? Drugs?”
Vincent closed his eyes and slumped into his chair as if the story was too much to tell.
“When was the last time you saw Reacher?” Kim asked, following her hunch. If Reacher came back here two days ago, Vincent might admit it, considering the state he was in.
He moaned and closed his eyes. The glass door opened and an average-sized man ambled in. He was carrying an old-fashioned doctor’s bag in his left hand like the kind Kim used to see on television shows when she was a kid.
She would’ve guessed his age at about fifty, give or take five years. He was wearing a threadbare tweed sport coat with frayed leather patches on the elbows. He peered into the pink-washed interior, spied them in the bar, and made a wavy line for Vincent.
“Dr. Ezra Landon?” Kim asked as he approached. “I’m the one who called. We had a little trouble here with a couple of drunks, and Vincent seems to have suffered the worst of the damage.”
“Hey, Doc,” Vincent said sheepishly.
Kim and Burke stood aside. Landon approached Vincent, setting his bag on the floor. “Show me the problem.”
Vincent removed the ice and the towel and displayed the lump on his forearm. Landon prodded and examined the injury while his patient winced and moaned. After a few minutes of checking vital signs a
nd the like, Landon looked up into Vincent’s distressed face.
“It feels like you may need surgery. Can’t say for sure without some imaging. I’ll wrap the arm to try to keep the swelling down. But we need to get you to a specialist at the hospital if you want to keep full use of your hand and arm,” Landon said, looking into his bag for an elastic bandage. “Brenda can drive us. We can lock up until you get back.”
“How long will I be gone?” Vincent asked. “These folks have reservations for two nights. There’s nowhere else for them to sleep.”
“Depends on when they can do the surgery. Couple of days at the most, I’d guess,” Landon replied. He’d finished the elastic wrap. He grabbed his cell phone and speed-dialed his wife.
Kim said, “Don’t worry about us, Vincent. We’ll be okay here on our own. You already gave us our keys. We’ll leave them in the rooms when we check out.”
Vincent nodded. With his arm in the elastic bandage, he was able to move around. He staggered slightly on his way toward his rooms in the back. “I need to pack a bag. Not sure I can do it with one arm.”
Kim tilted her head toward Burke, who followed, saying, “I’ll give you a hand.”
When Landon finished his call, he dropped the phone into his pocket. “Thanks for helping Vincent. Good of you to stay, too. He can use the revenue.”
Kim nodded. “Actually, we were on our way to talk to you anyway. Do you have a minute?”
He cocked his head. “Me? What about?”
She showed her badge wallet. “We’re looking to fill in some missing background on a job candidate. Guy’s name is Jack Reacher. You know him, don’t you?”
Landon’s face blanched. He cleared his throat and glanced around the bar as if he’d mislaid something. “I wouldn’t say I know him, exactly.”
The way he answered the question sounded odd. “How would you describe your relationship?”
He looked away from her steady gaze. “Doctor-patient, I guess. What kind of background are you looking for?”
Kim’s heartbeat quickened. “When did you see him last?”
Landon loosened his shirt collar as if it was too tight all of a sudden. “A few days ago, I guess.”