Bad Luck and Trouble

Vic. The LA County sheriff. Second thing he saw was Mauney himself, through the window, inside the restaurant, sitting at a round table with Neagley and O’Donnell and Dixon. It was the same table they had shared with Diana Bond. Five chairs, one of them empty and waiting. Nothing on the table. Not even ice water or napkins or silverware. They hadn’t ordered. They hadn’t been there long. Reacher went in and sat down and there was a moment of tense silence and then Mauney said, “Hello again.”
    A gentle tone of voice.
    Quiet.
    Sympathetic.
    Reacher asked, “Sanchez or Swan?”
    Mauney didn’t answer.
    Reacher said, “What, both of them?”
    “We’ll get to that. First tell me why you’re hiding.”
    “Who says we’re hiding?”
    “You left Vegas. You’re not registered at any LA hotel.”
    “Doesn’t mean we’re hiding.”
    “You’re in a West Hollywood dive under false names. The clerk gave you up. As a group you’re fairly distinctive, physically. It wasn’t hard to find you. And it was an easy guess that you’d come in here for lunch. If not, I was prepared to come back at dinner time. Or breakfast time tomorrow.”
    Reacher said, “Jorge Sanchez or Tony Swan?”
    Mauney said, “Tony Swan.”

62
    Mauney said, “We’ve learned a thing or two, over the last few weeks. We let the buzzards do the work for us now. We’re out there like ornithologists, anytime we get a spare half hour. You get up on the roof of your car with your binoculars, you can usually see what you need. Two birds circling, it’s probably a snake-bit coyote. More than two, it’s probably a bigger deal.”
    Reacher asked, “Where?”
    “Same general area.”
    “When?”
    “Some time ago.”
    “Helicopter?”
    “No other way.”
    “No doubt about the ID?”
    “He was on his back. His hands were tied behind him. His fingerprints were preserved. His wallet was in his pocket. I’m very sorry.”
    The waitress came over. The same one they had seen before. She paused near the table and sensed the mood and went away again.
    Mauney asked, “Why are you hiding?”
    “We’re not hiding,” Reacher said. “We’re just waiting for the funerals.”
    “So why the false names?”
    “You brought us here as bait. Whoever they are, we don’t want to make it easy for them.”
    “Don’t you know who they are yet?”
    “Do you?”
    “No independent action, OK?”
    “We’re on Sunset Boulevard here,” Reacher said. “Which is LAPD turf. Are you speaking for them?”
    “Friendly advice,” Mauney said.
    “Noted.”
    “Andrew MacBride disappeared in Vegas. Arrived, didn’t check in anywhere, didn’t rent a car, didn’t fly out. Dead end.”
    Reacher nodded. “Don’t you just hate that?”
    “But a guy called Anthony Matthews rented a U-Haul.”
    “The last name on Orozco’s list.”
    Mauney nodded. “Endgame.”
    “Where did he take it?”
    “I have no idea.” Mauney slid four business cards out of his top pocket. He fanned them out and placed them carefully on the table. His name and two phone numbers were printed on them. “Call me. I mean it. You might need help. You’re not up against amateurs here. Tony Swan looked like a real tough guy. What was left of him.”

    Mauney went back to work and the waitress came over again five minutes later and hovered. Reacher guessed no one was very hungry anymore, but they all ordered anyway. Old habits. Eat when you can, don’t risk running out of energy later. Swan would have approved. Swan ate anywhere, anytime, all the time. Autopsies, exhumations, crime scenes. In fact Reacher was pretty sure that Swan had been eating a roast beef sandwich when they discovered Doug, the decomposed dead guy with the shovel in his head.
    Nobody confirmed it.
    Nobody talked at all. The sun was bright outside the window. A beautiful day. Blue sky, small white clouds. Cars passed by on the boulevard, customers came and went. Phones rang, landlines in the kitchen and cells in other people’s pockets. Reacher ate methodically and mechanically without the slightest idea what was on his plate.
    “Should we move?” Dixon asked. “Now that Mauney knows where we are?”
    “I don’t like it that the clerk gave us up,” O’Donnell said. “We should steal his damn TV remotes.”
    “We don’t need to move,” Reacher said. “Mauney is no danger to us. And I want to know about it when they find Sanchez.”
    “So what next?” Dixon asked.
    “We rest up,” Reacher said.