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“Try me.”

“I don’t know who it was. It was just a voice on the phone.”

“You do that a lot? Kill a guy because some random anonymous voice on the phone tells you to?”

“He was vouched for.”

“By who?”

“Someone who used us before. He called us and told us to expect another call within the next five minutes. He told us to do what was asked. He said it would be a personal favor for a friend.”

Reacher checked the call log again. Five minutes before the long call from the one-time number was a shorter call. From a number that showed up a half dozen times prior, different months, different weeks, different days.

“Who is he?”

“Ah, shit,” the guy said again.

“Rock and a hard place,” Reacher said. “Your choice.”

He aimed the Colt. The right heel.

“Lazarus Lorenzo,” the tall guy said.

“That sounds like a made-up name.”

“Maybe it is,” the guy said. “But it’s what he calls himself.”

“You sure?”

“I swear.”

Reacher called Turner on his own phone. She answered and he said, “There was a firewall between the customer and the suppliers. Some guy known to both parties. Name of Lazarus Lorenzo.”

Turner said, “Ah, shit.”

“What?”

“That’s not a guy. That’s a law firm in San Francisco. Lots of whispers. Nothing proven.”

“They called these Denver guys half a dozen times, going back months, presumably for similar to what Bisley got.”

“That’s how bad guys work now. They figure if they’re going to need a hotshot criminal lawyer in the end, they might as well start out with one from the beginning. Client confidentiality is a wonderful thing. Makes it very hard for us.”

“What a world we made. Law firms call in contract killings now?”

“Not all of them.”

“So we buy this guy’s story? We accept another link in the chain?”

“We should have expected it.”

“OK,” Reacher said. “I’ll call you later.”

He put his phone away. He looked down at the two guys. They were staring up at him, necks twisted, hope in their wild eyes.

“Get back in your truck,” he said. “Head for the hospital.”

“I can’t walk,” the wide guy said.