Then he looked up across the roof of the car, and he saw light in the mist to the south. A high hemispherical glow, trembling a little, bouncing, weakening and strengthening and weakening again. Very white. Almost blue.
A car, coming north towards him, pretty fast.
THIRTY-SIX
THE ONCOMING CAR WAS ABOUT TWO MILES AWAY. DOING ABOUT sixty, Reacher figured. Sixty was about all the road was good for. Two minutes. He said, 'Sit tight, John. Stop thinking. This is your time of maximum danger. I'm going to play it very safe. I'll shoot first and ask questions later. Don't think I won't.'
The guy sat still behind the Malibu's wheel. Reacher watched across the roof of the car. The bubble of light in the south was still moving, still bouncing and trembling and strengthening and weakening, but coherently this time, naturally, in phase. Just one car. Now about a mile away. One minute.
Reacher waited. The glow resolved itself to a fierce source low down above the blacktop, then twin fierce sources spaced feet apart, both of them oval in shape, both of them low to the ground, both of them blue-white and intense. They kept on coming, flickering and floating and jittering ahead of a firm front suspension and fast go-kart steering, at first small because of the distance, and then small because they were small, because they were mounted low down on a small low car, because the car was a Mazda Miata, tiny, red in colour, slowing now, coming to a stop, its headlights unbearably bright against the Malibu's yellow paint.
Then Eleanor Duncan killed her lights and manoeuvred around the Malibu's trunk, half on the road and half on the shoulder, and came to a stop with her elbow on the door and her head turned towards Reacher. She asked, 'Did I do it right?'
Reacher said, 'You did it perfectly. The headscarf was a great touch.'
'I decided against sunglasses. Too much of a risk at night.'
'Probably.'
'But you took a risk. That's for sure. You could have gotten creamed here.'
'He's an athlete. And young. Good eyesight, good hand-eye coordination, lots of fast-twitch muscles. I figured I'd have time to jump clear.'
'Even so. He could have wrecked both vehicles. Then what would you have done?'
'Plan B was shoot him and ride back with you.'
She was quiet for a second. Then she said, 'Need anything else?'
'No, thanks. Go on home now.'
'This guy will tell Seth, you know. About what I did.'
'He won't,' Reacher said. 'He and I are going to work something out.'
Eleanor Duncan said nothing more. She just put her lights back on and her car in gear and drove away, fast and crisp, the sound of her exhaust ripping the night air behind her. Reacher glanced back twice, once when she was half a mile away and again when she was gone altogether. Then he slid into the Malibu's passenger seat, alongside the guy called John, and closed his door. He held the Glock right-handed across his body. He said, 'Now you're going to park this car around the back of this old roadhouse. If the speedo gets above five miles an hour, I'm going to shoot you in the side. Without immediate medical attention you'll live about twenty minutes. Then you'll die, in hideous agony. Believe me, I've seen it happen. Truth is, John, I've made it happen, more than once. We clear?'
'Yes.'
'Say it, John. Say we're clear.'
'We're clear.'
'How clear are we?'
'I don't know what you want me to say.'
'I want you to say we're crystal clear.'
'You got it. Crystal.'
'OK, so let's do it.'
The guy fumbled the lever into gear and turned the wheel and drove a wide circle, painfully slow, bumping up on the far shoulder, coming around to the near shoulder, bumping down on to the beaten earth of the old lot, passing the south gable wall, turning sharply behind the building. Reacher said, 'Pull ahead and then back in, between the two bump-outs, like parallel parking. Do they ask for that in the Nebraska test?'
The guy said, 'I passed in Kentucky. In high school.'
'Does that mean you need me to explain it to you?'
'I know how to do it.'
'OK, show me.'
The guy pulled ahead of the second square bump-out and lined up and backed into the shallow U-shaped bay. Reacher said, 'All the way, now. I want the back bumper hard against the wood and I want your side of the car hard against the building. I want you to trash your door mirror, John. Totally trash it. Can you do that for me?'
The guy paused and then turned the wheel harder. He did pretty well. He got the rear bumper hard against the bump-out and he trashed his door mirror good, but he left about an inch between his flank of the car and the back of the building. He checked behind him, checked left, and then looked at Reacher like he was expecting praise.
'Close enough,' Reacher said. 'Now shut it down.'
The guy killed the lights and turned off the motor.
Reacher said, 'Leave the key.'
The guy said, 'I can't get out. I can't open my door.'
Reacher said, 'Crawl out after me.' He opened his own door and slid out and backed off and stood tall and aimed the gun two-handed. The guy came out after him, hands and knees, huge and awkward, feet first, butt high up in the air. He got straight and turned around and said, 'Want me to close the door?'
Reacher said, 'You're thinking again, aren't you, John? You're thinking it's dark out here, now the lights are off, and maybe I can't see too well. You're figuring maybe this would be a good time. But it isn't. I can see just fine. An owl has got nothing on me in the eyesight department, John. An owl with night-vision goggles sees worse. Believe it, kid. Just hang in there. You can get through this.'
'I'm not thinking anything,' the guy said.
'So close the door.'
The guy closed the door.
'Now step away from the car.'
The guy stepped away. The car was crammed tight in the back southwest quarter of the shallow bay, occupying a fifteen-by-six footprint within the total thirty-by-twelve space. It would be invisible from the road, either north or south, and no one was going to be in the fields to the east until spring ploughing. Safe enough.
Reacher said, 'Now move to your right.'
'Where?'
'So when I aim the gun at you I'm aiming parallel with the road.'
The guy moved, two steps, three, and then he stopped and turned and faced front, with his back to the forty empty miles between him and the Cell Block bar.
Reacher asked him, 'How close is the nearest house?'
He said, 'Miles away.'
'Close enough to hear a gunshot in the night?'
'Maybe.'
'What would they think if they did?'
'Varmint. This is farm country.'
Reacher said, 'I'd be happier if you heard the gun go off, John. At least once. I'd be happier if you knew what it was like to have a bullet coming your way. It might help you with all that thinking. It might help you reach sensible conclusions.'
'I won't try anything.'
'Do I have your word on that?'
'Absolutely.'
'So we're bonded now, John. I'm trusting you. Am I wise to do that?'
'Absolutely.'
'OK, turn around and walk back to your truck.' Reacher kept ten feet behind the guy all the way, around the back corner of the building, along the face of the south gable wall, across the old lot, back to the two-lane. Reacher said, 'Now get in the truck the same way you got out of the car.'
The guy closed the driver's door and tracked around the hood and opened the passenger door. Reacher watched him all the way. The guy climbed into the passenger seat and lifted his feet one at a time into the driver's foot well, and then he jacked himself up and over the console between the seats, on the heels of his hands, squirming, scraping, ducking his head. Reacher watched him all the way. When he was settled Reacher climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. He swapped the gun into his left hand for a second and put his seat belt on. Then he swapped the gun back to his right and said, 'I've got my seat belt on, John, but you're not going to put yours on, OK? Just in case you're getting ideas. Just in case you're thinking about driving into a telephone pole. See the point? You do that, and I'll be fine, but you'll be hurt bad, and then I'll shoot you anyway. We clear on that?'