Page 16 of Chain Reaction

“What day?”

“The day you disappeared the guy in the yellow Toyota.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Reacher said. “You got a call late last night. They sent you here to guard that precious mutual two-week-old secret.”

The guy didn’t answer.

Reacher asked, “How’s your neck?”

No response.

“On a scale of one to ten, that was a three. Your wrist was maybe a four. We could try a five right here, if you like. Maybe your hand. There are a lot of bones in the human hand. A five would break most of them. Then we could go to a six, and take care of the few remaining. No more driving a truck, no more shooting a gun, no more stabbing people with knives. What else have you got? What use are you, if you can’t do that stuff? They’ll get rid of you in a heartbeat. You’ll be signing up for food stamps left-handed.”

No answer.

“Put your hand on the table,” Reacher said. “Let me see it.”

“Two weeks ago I drove the truck, man. That was all I did. I’m not one of them. I don’t even really work for them.”

“Then why were you driving the truck?”

“I owe them money. I can’t pay.”

“Yet you have a thousand-dollar Colt Defender.”

“They loaned me the gun. I’m working off what I owe them. They call me with jobs. I don’t even need a gun. Mostly I’m just driving the truck. That was all I did two weeks ago.”

“Same truck you were just in?”

The guy nodded.

“Is it yours?”

“No, it’s theirs. Everything is theirs. The truck, the gun, the phone. And me. I’m theirs. I do what I’m told. Drive here, drive there, sit up all night.”

“So two weeks ago you followed the Toyota to the bar.”