Nothing to Lose

“You’re really very welcome.”
    Reacher said, “You did a great job with the drapes, too.”
    Mrs. Gardner didn’t reply to that. The judge said, “There’s nothing I can do. There’s no provision for an appeal. Sue the town, if you must.”
    Reacher said, “You told me you’d welcome me with open arms if I got a job.”
    The judge nodded. “Because that would remove the presumption of vagrancy.”
    “There you go.”
    “Have you gotten a job?”
    “I have prospects. That’s the other thing we need to talk about. It’s not healthy that this town has no functioning law enforcement. So I want you to swear me in as a deputy.”
    There was silence for a moment. Reacher took the pewter star from his shirt pocket. He said, “I already have the badge. And I have a lot of relevant experience.”
    “You’re crazy.”
    “Just trying to fill a hole.”
    “You’re completely insane.”
    “I’m offering my services.”
    “Finish your coffee and get out of my home.”
    “The coffee is hot and it’s good. I can’t just gulp it down.”
    “Then leave it. Get the hell out. Now.”
    “So you won’t swear me in?”
    The judge stood up and planted his feet wide and made himself as tall as he could get, which was about five feet nine inches. His eyes narrowed as his brain ran calculations about present dangers versus future contingencies. He was silent with preoccupation for a long moment and then he said, “I’d rather deputize the entire damn population. Every last man, woman, and child in Despair. In fact, I think I will. Twenty-six hundred people. You think you can get past them all? Because I don’t. We aim to keep you out, mister, and we’re going to. You better believe it. You can take that to the bank.”

32
    Reacher thumped back over the expansion joint at nine-thirty in the evening and was outside the diner before nine-thirty-five. He figured Vaughan might swing by there a couple of times during the night. He figured that if he left her truck on the curb she would see it and be reassured that he was OK. Or at least that her truck was OK.
    He went inside to leave her keys at the register and saw Lucy Anderson sitting alone in a booth. Short shorts, blue sweatshirt, tiny socks, big sneakers. A lot of bare leg. She was gazing into space and smiling. The first time he had seen her he had characterized her as not quite a hundred percent pretty. Now she looked pretty damn good. She looked radiant, and taller, and straighter. She looked like a completely different person.
    She had changed.
    Before, she had been hobbled by worry.
    Now she was happy.
    He paused at the register and she noticed him and looked over and smiled. It was a curious smile. There was a lot of straightforward contentment in it, but a little triumph, too. A little superiority. Like she had won a significant victory, at his expense.
    He handed Vaughan’s keys to the cashier and the woman asked, “Are you eating with us tonight?” He thought about it. His stomach had settled. The adrenaline had drained away. He realized he was hungry. No sustenance since breakfast, except for coffee and some empty calories from the bottle of Bud in the bar. And he had burned plenty of calories in the bar. That was for sure. He was facing an energy deficit. So he said, “Yes, I guess I’m ready for dinner.”
    He walked over and slid into Lucy Anderson’s booth. She looked across the table at him and smiled the same smile all over again. Contentment, triumph, superiority, victory. Up close the smile looked a lot bigger and it had a bigger effect. It was a real megawatt grin. She had great teeth. Her eyes were bright and clear and blue. He said, “This afternoon you looked like Lucy. Now you look like Lucky.”
    She said, “Now I feel like Lucky.”
    “What changed?”
    “What do you think?”
    “You heard from your husband.”
    She smiled again, a hundred percent happiness.
    “I sure did,” she said.
    “He left Despair.”
    “He sure did. Now you’ll never get him.”
    “I never wanted him. I never heard of him before I met you.”
    “Really,” she said, in the exaggerated and sarcastic way he had heard young people use the word. As far as he understood it, the effect was intended to convey: How big of an idiot do you think I am?
    He said, “You’re confusing me with someone else.”
    “Really.”
    Look at yourself, Vaughan had said. What do you see?
    “I’m not a cop,” Reacher said. “I was one once, and maybe I still