Jack Reacher's Rules

And having arrived there, we make rules governing that group’s behavior. We want a reliable guide to how to act, we want to build bulwarks against outsiders, we want to provide a secure mechanism for belonging, we want to reassure ourselves that continuing membership is guaranteed if only we conform.

Some rules are official. We form clubs and societies and associations and give them procedures and bylaws more complex than those of government bodies.

Some rules are only semiofficial. Hit on your friend’s best girl? No way. Rat out an accomplice? Not going to happen. Break a strike? You’d rather die.

Some rules are just slogans, consoling and emboldening. Maybe as a kid, your gang—part of your street in part of your city in your country in the big, bewildering world—was, like kids are, told by your parents and teachers to be scared of strangers. No, you said. Strangers should be told to be scared of us.

Jack Reacher has always followed his own rules. He grew up in a fractured way, six months here, three months there, always moving, never stable, never belonging. Then he was a soldier, but too wise to buy into all the nonsense. He obeyed only the rules that made sense to him. Then he was cut loose and became a true outsider, profoundly comfortable with solitude. Does he have a tribe? You bet. He’s human. But in his case he kept on slicing and dicing until he got all the way down to a tribe with just one member—himself. But that tribe still needs rules, to guide, and embolden, and simplify, and reassure.

What follows are some of them.

LEE CHILD

“Hope for the best, plan for the worst.”

Never count on anything except surprise and unpredictability and danger.

Ring doorbells with your knuckles or elbows to avoid leaving fingerprints.

Sit in diners or bars with your back to the wall so you cannot be surprised from behind.

Keep all exits in view.

Walk up the edge of stairs to minimize the chances of loud creaks. Stairs squeak at their centers where they’re weakest.

Go to bed fully clothed so you are always ready for action.

Never look through peepholes in doors. Someone could be on the other side, waiting to see the glass darken and shoot you in the eye.

“We’re making an omelette here … we’re going to have to break some eggs.”

“Optimism is good. Blind faith is not.”

Always lift a door handle upward. If a door

squeaks, it’s because it’s dropped on its hinges.

Upward pressure helps.

Climb through a hole feetfirst. If there’s an ax or a bullet waiting, better to take it in the legs than in the head.

If someone’s likely to shoot at you, plant yourself in the middle of a restaurant full of innocent people.

“Most guys who don’t check new equipment are still alive, but by no means all of them.”

Never trust a weapon you haven’t personally test-fired.

After you use a car to commit a crime, get it cleaned thoroughly, inside and out, twice, then make sure you leave no DNA.

Always have a penny in your pocket—you never know when you’re going to need it to unscrew a pair of license plates.

If you are climbing up toward a trapdoor into an uncertain situation, catapult yourself up the last eighteen feet as fast as you can.