Bad Luck and Trouble

looked puzzled for a second and then shrugged and waved a crew over. Reacher stood in the sun again and watched the show. The vacuum, the shampoo, the interior, the aerosols, and the towels. He paid and tipped and put his gloves back on and drove back to the motel.
    He left the car in a corner of the lot, in the sun, where it would dry. Then he walked a long block south to Fountain Avenue. Found a place that had started out as a pharmacy and then had become the kind of drugstore that sold all kinds of small household items. He went in and bought four flashlights. Three-cell Maglites, black, powerful enough to be useful, small enough to be maneuverable, big enough to be used as clubs. The girl at the register put them in a white bag with I love LA on it, three capital letters and a red heart-shaped symbol. Reacher carried the bag back to the motel, swinging it gently, listening to the quiet rustle of plastic.

    They couldn’t face Denny’s again for dinner. They called out to Domino’s instead, for pizzas, and ate them in the battered lounge next to the laundry room. They drank soda from a noisy red machine outside the door. A perfect meal, for what they had in mind. Some empty calories, some fats, some complex carbohydrates. Time-release energy, good for about twelve hours. An army doctor had explained it all to them, many years before.
    “Objectives for tonight?” O’Donnell asked.
    “Three,” Reacher said. “First, Dixon hits the reception desk for anything useful. Second, Neagley finds the dragon lady’s office and hits that. You and I hit the other offices for whatever else they’ve got. A hundred and twenty seconds, in and out. Then third, we ID the security people when they show up.”
    “We’re waiting around afterward?”
    “I am,” Reacher said. “You guys are heading back.”

    Reacher went up to his room and brushed his teeth and took a long hot shower. Then he stretched out full length on the bed and took a nap. The clock in his head woke him at half past midnight. He stretched and brushed his teeth again and dressed. Gray denim pants, gray shirt, black windbreaker zipped all the way up. Boots, tightly laced. Gloves on. The Chrysler keys in one pants pocket, the spare Glock mag in the other. The captured cell phone from Vegas in one shirt pocket, his own phone in the other. The Maglite in one jacket pocket, the Glock itself in the other. Nothing else.
    He walked out to the lot at ten minutes before one o’clock. The others were already there, a shadowy trio standing well away from any pools of light.
    “OK,” he said. He turned to O’Donnell and Neagley. “You guys drive your Hondas.” He turned to Dixon. “Karla, you drive mine. You park it close, facing west, and you leave the keys in for me. Then you ride back with Dave.”
    Dixon said, “Are you really going to leave the Chrysler there?”
    “We don’t need it.”
    “It’s full of our prints and hair and fiber.”
    “Not anymore. A bunch of guys up on Van Nuys just made sure of that. Now let’s go.”
    They bumped fists like ballplayers, an old ritual, and then they dispersed and climbed into their cars. Reacher slid into the Chrysler and started it up, the heavy V-8 beat slow and loud in the darkness. He heard the Hondas start, their smaller engines coughing and popping and their big-bore mufflers throbbing. He backed out of his slot and turned and headed for the exit. In his mirror he saw three pairs of bright blue headlights strung out behind him. He swung east on Sunset and south on La Brea and then east again on Wilshire and saw the others following him all the way, a ragged little convoy hanging together in the light nighttime traffic.

63
    The great city went quiet after they passed MacArthur Park and hit the 110. To their right, downtown was silent and deserted. There were lights on in Chinatown, but no visible activity. In the other direction Dodger Stadium was huge and dark and empty. Then they came off the freeway and plunged into the surface streets to the east. Navigation had been difficult by day and was worse by night. But Reacher had made the trip three times before, twice as a passenger and once as a driver, and he figured he could spot the turns.
    And he did, without a problem. He slowed three blocks before New Age’s building and let the others close up behind him. Then he led them through a wide two-block circle, for caution’s sake. Then a closer pass, on a one-block radius. There was mist in the