Jack Reacher 01 - Killing Floor

blow a safe house, I’m in really deep shit.”
    “OK, Picard,” I said. “I won’t cause you any problems. And I appreciate it.”
    He nodded, gravely, like he was way out on a limb. Then Charlie and the kids burst in. They were burdened down with badly packed bags. Picard introduced himself. I could see that Charlie’s daughter was terrified by the size of the guy.
    The little boy’s eyes grew round as he gazed at the FBI Special Agent’s shield Picard was holding out. Then the five of us carried the bags outside and piled them in the blue sedan’s trunk. I shook hands with Picard and Charlie. Then they all got in the car. Picard drove them away. I waved after them.

15
    I HEADED OVER TO WARBURTON A DAMN SIGHT FASTER than the prison driver had and I was there in less than fifty minutes. It was a hell of a sight. There was a storm coming in quickly from the west and shafts of low afternoon sun were escaping the clouds and hitting the place. The glittering metal towers and turrets were catching the orange rays. I slowed up and pulled into the prison approach. Stopped outside the first vehicle cage. I wasn’t going in there. I’d had enough of that. Spivey was going to have to come out to me. I got out of the Bentley and walked over to the guard. He seemed friendly enough.
    “Spivey on duty?” I asked him.
    “You want him?” the guard said.
    “Tell him Mr. Reacher’s here,” I said.
    The guy ducked under a Perspex hood and made a call. Ducked back out again and shouted over to me.
    “He doesn’t know any Mr. Reacher,” he said.
    “Tell him Chief Morrison sent me,” I said. “Over from Margrave.”
    The guy went under the Perspex thing again and started talking. After a minute he was back out.
    “OK, drive on through,” he said. “Spivey will meet you at reception.”
    “Tell him he’s got to come out here,” I said. “Meet me on the road.”
    I walked away and stood in the dust on the edge of the blacktop. It was a battle of nerves. I was betting Spivey would come on out. I’d know in five minutes. I waited. I could smell rain coming out of the west. In an hour, it was going to roll right over us. I stood and waited.
    Spivey came out. I heard the grilles on the vehicle cage grinding across. I turned and saw a dirty Ford driving through. It came out and stopped next to the Bentley. Spivey heaved himself out. He walked over. Big guy, sweating, red face and hands. His uniform was dirty.
    “Remember me?” I asked him.
    His small snake eyes flicked around. He was adrift and worried.
    “You’re Reacher,” he said. “So what?”
    “Right,” I said. “I’m Reacher. From Friday. What was the deal?”
    He shifted from foot to foot. He was going to play hard to get. But he’d already showed his hand. He’d come out to meet me. He’d already lost the game. But he didn’t speak.
    “What was the deal on Friday?” I said again.
    “Morrison is dead,” he said. Then he shrugged and clamped his thin lips. Wouldn’t say any more.
    I stepped casually to my left. Just a foot or so, to put Spivey’s bulk between me and the gate guard. So the gate guard couldn’t see. Morrison’s switchblade appeared in my hand. I held it up at Spivey’s eye level for a second. Just long enough for him to read the gold-filled engraving in the ebony. Then the blade popped out with a loud click. Spivey’s small eyes were fixed on it.
    “You think I used this on Morrison?” I said.
    He was staring at the blade. It shone blue in the stormy sun.
    “It wasn’t you,” he said. “But maybe you had good reason.”
    I smiled at him. He knew it wasn’t me who killed Morrison. Therefore he knew who had. Therefore he knew who Morrison’s bosses were. Simple as that. Three little words, and I was getting somewhere. I moved the blade a fraction closer to his big red face.
    “Want me to use this on you?” I said.
    Spivey looked around wildly. Saw the gate guard thirty yards away.
    “He’s not going to help you,” I said. “He hates your useless fat guts. He’s just a guard. You sucked ass and got promotion. He wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. Why should he?”
    “So what do you want?” Spivey said.
    “Friday,” I said. “What was the deal?”
    “And if I tell you?” he said.
    I shrugged at him.
    “Depends what you tell me,” I said. “You tell me the truth, I’ll let you go back inside. Want to tell me the truth?”
    He didn’t reply. We were just standing there by the road. A