Nothing to Lose

desperate hooded squint and saw Thurman walking toward him. He turned and saw the plant foreman heading in from a different direction. He turned again and saw the giant with the three-foot wrench blocking his path to the gate.
    He stood still and waited, blinking, squinting, the muscles around his eyes hurting from clamping so hard. Thurman stopped ten feet away from him and then walked on and came close and took up a position alongside him, nearly shoulder to shoulder, as if they were two old buddies standing together, surveying a happy scene.
    Thurman said, “I thought our paths were not going to cross again.”
    Reacher said, “I can’t be responsible for what you think.”
    “Did you set our police station on fire?”
    “You’ve got a human wall all around the town. How could I have gotten through?”
    “Why are you here again?”
    Reacher paused a beat. Said, “I’m thinking about leaving the state.” Which was permanently true. Then he said, “Before I go, I thought I’d drop by the infirmary and pay my respects to my former opponents. Tell them no hard feelings.”
    Thurman said, “I think the hard feelings are all on the other side.”
    “Then they can tell me no hard feelings. Clearing the air is always good for a person’s mental well-being.”
    “I can’t permit a visit to the infirmary. Not at this hour.”
    “You can’t prevent one.”
    “I’m asking you to leave the premises.”
    “And I’m denying your request.”
    “There’s only one patient here at the moment. The others are all home now, on bed rest.”
    “Which one is here?”
    “Underwood.”
    “Which one is Underwood?”
    “The senior deputy. You left him in a sorry state.”
    “He was sick already.”
    “You need to leave now.”
    Reacher smiled. “That should be your town motto. It’s all I ever hear. Like New Hampshire, live free or die. It should be Despair, you need to leave now.”
    Thurman said, “I’m not joking.”
    “You are,” Reacher said. “You’re a fat old man, telling me to leave. That’s pretty funny.”
    “I’m not alone here.”
    Reacher turned and checked the foreman. He was standing ten feet away, empty hands by his sides, tension in his shoulders. Reacher turned again and glanced at the giant. He was twenty feet away, holding the wrench in his right fist, resting its weight in his left palm.
    Reacher said, “You’ve got an office boy and a broken-down old jock with a big spanner. I’m not impressed.”
    “Maybe they have guns.”
    “They don’t. They’d have them out already. No one waits to pull a gun.”
    “They could still do you considerable harm.”
    “I doubt it. The first eight you sent didn’t do much.”
    “Are you really willing to try?”
    “Are you? If it goes the wrong way, then you’re definitely alone with me. And with your conscience. I’m here to visit the sick, and you want to have me beaten up? What kind of a Christian are you?”
    “God guides my hand.”
    “In the direction you want to go anyway. I’d be more impressed if you picked up a message telling you to sell up and give all your money to the poor and go to Denver to care for the homeless.”
    Thurman said nothing.
    Reacher said, “I’m going to the infirmary now. You are, too. Your choice whether you walk there or I carry you there in a bucket.”
    Thurman’s shoulders slumped in an all-purpose sigh and shrug and he raised a palm to his two guys, one after the other, like he was telling a couple of dogs to stay. Then he set off walking, toward the line of cabins. Reacher walked at his side. They passed the security office, and Thurman’s own office, and the three other offices Reacher had seen before on his tour, the one marked Operations, the one marked Purchasing, the last marked Invoicing. They passed the first white-painted unit and stopped outside the second. Thurman heaved himself up the short flight of steps and opened the door. He went inside and Reacher followed.
    It was a real sick bay. White walls, white linoleum floor, the smell of antiseptic, soft nightlights burning. There were sinks with lever taps, and medicine cabinets, and blood pressure cuffs, and sharp disposal cans on the walls. There was a rolling cart with a kidney-shaped steel dish on it. A stethoscope was curled in the dish.
    There were four hospital cots. Three were empty, one was occupied, by the big deputy. He looked pretty bad. Pale, inert, listless. He looked smaller than before. His hair looked thinner.