Jack Reacher 01 - Killing Floor

battle of nerves. His nerves were shot to hell. So he was losing. His little eyes were darting about. They always came back to the blade.
    “OK, I’ll tell you,” he said. “Time to time, I helped Morrison out. He called me Friday. Said he was sending two guys over. Names meant nothing to me. Never heard of you or the other guy. I was supposed to get the Hubble guy killed. That’s all. Nothing was supposed to happen to you, I swear it.”
    “So what went wrong?” I asked him.
    “My guys screwed up,” he said. “That’s all, I swear it. It was the other guy we were after. Nothing was supposed to happen to you. You got out of there, right? No damage done, right? So why give me a hard time?”
    I flashed the blade up real quick and nicked his chin. He froze in shock. A moment later a fat worm of dark blood welled out of the cut.
    “What was the reason?” I asked him.
    “There’s never a reason,” he said. “I just do what I’m told.”
    “You do what you’re told?” I said.
    “I do what I’m told,” he said again. “I don’t want to know any reasons.”
    “So who told you what to do?” I said.
    “Morrison,” he said. “Morrison told me what to do.”
    “And who told Morrison what to do?” I asked him.
    I held the blade an inch from his cheek. He was just about whimpering with fear. I stared into his small snake eyes. He knew the answer. I could see that, far back in those eyes. He knew who told Morrison what to do.
    “Who told him what to do?” I asked him again.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “I swear it, grave of my mother.”
    I stared at him for a long moment. Shook my head.
    “Wrong, Spivey,” I said. “You do know. You’re going to tell me.”
    Now Spivey shook his head. His big red face jerked from side to side. The blood was running down his chin onto his slabby jowls.
    “They’ll kill me if I do,” he said.
    I flicked the knife at his belly. Slit his greasy shirt.
    “I’ll kill you if you don’t,” I said.
    Guy like Spivey, he thinks short term. If he told me, he’d die tomorrow. If he didn’t tell me, he’d die today. That’s how he thought. Short term. So he set about telling me. His throat started working up and down, like it was too dry to speak. I stared into his eyes. He couldn’t get any words out. He was like a guy in a movie who crawls up a desert dune and tries to call for water. But he was going to tell me.
    Then he wasn’t. Over his shoulder, I saw a dust plume far in the east. Then I heard the faint roar of a diesel engine. Then I made out the gray shape of the prison bus rolling in. Spivey snapped his head around to look at his salvation. The gate guard wandered out to meet the bus. Spivey snapped his head back to look at me. There was a mean gleam of triumph in his eyes. The bus was getting closer.
    “Who was it, Spivey?” I said. “Tell me now, or I’ll come back for you.”
    But he just backed off and turned and hustled over to his dirty Ford. The bus roared in and blew dust all over me. I closed up the switchblade and put it back in my pocket. Jogged over to the Bentley and took off.

    THE COMING STORM CHASED ME ALL THE WAY BACK EAST . I felt I had more than a storm after me. I was sick with frustration. This morning I had been just one conversation away from knowing everything. Now I knew nothing. The situation had suddenly turned sour.
    I had no backup, no facilities, no help. I couldn’t rely on Roscoe or Finlay. I couldn’t expect either of them to agree with my agenda. And they had troubles of their own up at the station house. What had Finlay said? Working under the enemy’s nose? And I couldn’t expect too much from Picard. He was already way out on a limb. I couldn’t count on anybody but myself.
    On the other hand, I had no laws to worry about, no inhibitions, no distractions. I wouldn’t have to think about Miranda, probable cause, constitutional rights. I wouldn’t have to think about reasonable doubt or rules of evidence. No appeal to any higher authority for these guys. Was that fair? You bet your ass. These were bad people. They’d stepped over the line a long time ago. Bad people. What had Finlay said? As bad as they come. And they had killed Joe Reacher.
    I rolled the Bentley down the slight hill to Roscoe’s house. Parked on the road outside her place. She wasn’t home. The Chevrolet wasn’t there. The big chrome clock on the Bentley’s dash showed ten of six. Ten minutes to wait. I got out of the front