No Plan B

The lock’s mechanism clicked and whirred. Reacher’s door swung open. A quadrant of light unfurled across the garish carpet. Two men crept inside. Both mid-twenties. Both holding guns. One eased the door back into place in its frame. They stood still for a moment. Then they started toward the bed. It was only semi-visible. The glow filtering through the thin drapes was pale. But the shape beneath the covers was tall. It was broad. It was what they were expecting.

The men separated, one either side of the mattress. They continued to the head of the bed. It was a warm night but the comforter was pulled all the way up over the pillows. The guy nearer the window shrugged, then prodded what he estimated would be Reacher’s shoulder with the muzzle of his gun.

He got no response.

He poked again. Harder. He said, “Hey. Wake up.”

The ceiling light flicked on. The guys spun around. They saw Reacher at the other end of the room. He opened the door and stepped outside. Then he darted to the side and pressed his back against the external wall.

The guys ran after Reacher. The first one’s leading foot touched the ground outside and Reacher smashed him in the face with his forearm. The guy’s nose shattered. His neck snapped back. He collapsed through the doorway, piled into his buddy’s chest, and knocked him down. Reacher scooped up the guy’s gun and followed him inside.

The first guy wasn’t moving. The second had rolled onto his side and was scrabbling to retrieve his gun from where he dropped it when he fell. Reacher stamped on his hand. The guy screamed and curled up into a ball. Reacher grabbed the first guy by the arm, pulled him into the room, and closed the door.

There was a bang on the wall. A man’s voice yelled, “Hey. Room 12. Keep it down.”

Reacher waited for the second guy to go quiet then said, “Get up. Sit in the chair if you want. We can be civilized about this.”

The guy scuttled back on his heels and his butt and his good hand until his shoulders were touching the wall.

Reacher said, “I met a couple of your friends today. Here, in town. In an alley. Where are they now?”

The guy didn’t respond.

Reacher said, “Why did one of them kill a woman this morning? Push her under a bus?”

The guy didn’t answer.

Reacher stepped in close and stamped on the guy’s other hand. He screamed again, louder, and rolled onto his other side.

There was another bang on the wall. A man’s voice yelled, “Room 12. Be quiet. Last warning.”

Reacher waited for the guy to uncurl himself a little then said, “Who do you work for?”

The guy shook his head.

Reacher stamped on the guy’s right knee. He screamed, long and loud.

Reacher said, “I can go on all night. Can you? The other two. Where are they?”

The guy said, “They left town.”

“Where are they going?”

“Home. Winson, Mississippi.”

“Why did you stay?”

“We were told to find you.”

“Why?”

“Find out what you know.”

“About?”

The light filtering through the drapes switched from dull gray to pulsing red and blue. Reacher peered out of the window. There were two police cars in the parking lot. One outside his room. One at the far end. An officer was already on foot, heading for the office. To talk to the clerk. To check on numbers and dispositions. And to get a passkey. None of those things would take long. Reacher figured he had sixty seconds at best. He hauled the first guy up onto his feet and turned him so that his back was to the door. He punched the side of the guy’s head and let him fall to the floor again. He grabbed the second guy. Pulled him away from the wall. Smashed the back of his head into the floor. Pinched one of his earlobes to make sure he was unconscious. Dragged him forward until his feet were almost touching the first guy’s. They were lying like the hands of a clock at close to 3:00 p.m. He wiped his prints off the first guy’s gun and tossed it onto the floor. Went into the bathroom. Opened the window. And climbed out.

The area at the back of the hotel was not promising. There was a small pool and a bunch of white plastic lounging chairs all surrounded by a rickety wooden fence. It was eight feet tall. Ancient. No way would it take his weight. The only way out was through the office, and a pair of cops would be coming the other way any second. Two at the front. Two at the back. That was the obvious way to do it. He was trapped. And there was nowhere to hide. Not at ground level, anyway.

Reacher moved back to his bathroom window and lifted one foot onto the sill. He pushed up and grabbed the edge of the roof. Pulled with his arms. Scrambled over the lip. Rolled to the center. And lay completely still. He heard footsteps on both sides of the building. They were close. The ones at the front stopped moving. Someone thumped on the door.

“Gerrardsville Police Department. Open up.”