Jack Reacher 01 - Killing Floor

holding it rock steady, and he was pointing it straight at Finlay.

29
    “YOU?” FINLAY GASPED.
    Picard smiled a cold smile at him.
    “None other,” he said. “The pleasure’s all mine, believe me. You’ve been very helpful, both of you. Very considerate. You’ve kept me in touch every step of the way. You’ve given me the Hubbles, and you’ve given me Officer Roscoe. I really couldn’t have asked for anything more.”
    Finlay was rooted to the spot. Shaking.
    “You?” he said again.
    “Should have spotted it Wednesday, asshole,” Picard said. “I sent the little guy to Joe’s hotel two hours before I told you about it. You disappointed me. I expected to be doing this scene way before now.”
    He looked at us and smiled. Finlay turned away. Looked at me. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him. I couldn’t think about anything at all. I just looked at Picard’s huge bulk in the doorway and had a strong feeling that this was going to be the last day of my life. Today, it would end.
    “Get over there,” Picard said to me. “Next to Finlay.”
    He had taken two giant strides into the room and he was pointing the gun straight at me. I noticed mechanically that it was a new .38 with a short barrel. I calculated automatically that it would be accurate over such a short distance. But that a .38 couldn’t be relied on to put a target down. And there were two of us and one of him. And Finlay had a weapon in a shoulder holster under the tweed jacket. I spent a fraction of a second weighing up the odds. Then I abandoned the calculation because Mayor Teale stepped through the open door behind Picard. He had his heavy cane in his left hand. But in his right hand he was carrying a police-issue shotgun. It was an Ithaca Mag-10. Didn’t really matter where he was pointing it.
    “Get over there,” Picard said to me again.
    “Where’s Roscoe?” I said to him.
    He laughed at me. Just laughed and gestured with the gun barrel that I should stand up and move over next to Finlay. I heaved myself off the desk and stepped over. I felt like I was weighted down with lead. I clamped my lips and moved with the grim determination of a cripple trying to walk.
    I stood next to Finlay. Teale covered us with the giant scatter gun. Picard darted his hand up under Finlay’s jacket. Took the revolver out of his holster. Slipped it into the pocket of his own enormous jacket. The jacket flapped open under the weight. It was the size of a tent. He stepped sideways and patted me down. I was unarmed. My jacket was outside in the Bentley’s trunk. Then he stepped back and stood side by side with Teale. Finlay stared at Picard like his heart was breaking.
    “What’s this all about?” Finlay said. “We go back a long way, right?”
    Picard just shrugged at him.
    “I told you to stay away,” he said. “Back in March, I tried to stop you coming down here. I warned you off. That’s true, right? But you wouldn’t listen, would you, you stubborn asshole? So you get what you get, my friend.”
    I listened to Picard’s growl and felt worse for Finlay than I did for myself. But then Kliner stepped in through the door. His bone-hard face was cracked into a grin. His feral teeth glittered. His eyes bored into me. He was carrying another Ithaca Mag-10 in his left hand. In his right hand, he was carrying the gun that had killed Joe. It was pointed straight at me.
    It was a Ruger Mark II. A sneaky little .22-caliber automatic. Fitted with a fat silencer. It was a gun for a killer who enjoys getting close. I stared at it. Nine days ago, the end of that silencer had touched my brother’s temple. There was no doubt about that. I could feel it.
    Picard and Teale moved around behind the desk. Teale sat in the chair. Picard towered over his shoulder. Kliner was gesturing Finlay and me to sit. He was using his shotgun barrel as a baton. Short jerky movements to move us around. We sat. We were side by side in front of the big rosewood desk. We stared straight at Teale. Kliner closed the office door and leaned on it. He held the shotgun one-handed, at his hip. Pointed at the side of my head. The silenced .22 was pointing at the floor.
    I looked hard at the three of them in turn. Old Teale was staring at me with all kinds of hate showing in his leathery old face. He was shaken up. He looked like a man under terrible stress. He looked desperate. Like he was near collapse. He looked twenty years older than the smooth old guy I’d met on