One Shot

stood still. Did nothing. Reacher shrugged and bypassed the corral of counters and headed for a door in back marked
No Admittance.
It would be an office or a lunchroom, he guessed. Not a stockroom. A place like that, stock was unloaded directly onto the shelves. No hidden inventory. Reacher knew how modern retail worked. He read the papers people left behind on buses and in diner booths.
    It was an office, small, maybe ten-by-ten, dominated by a large white laminate desk with oily handprints on it. Sandy was sitting behind it, wearing red coveralls. Hers looked a whole lot better than Gary’s. They were cinched in tight around her waist with a belt. The zipper was open about eight inches. Her name was embroidered on the left, displayed a lot more prominently than Gary’s was. Reacher figured that if he owned the franchise he would have Sandy working the counter and Gary in the office, no question.
    “We meet again,” he said.
    Sandy said nothing. Just looked up at him. She was working with invoices. There was a stack of them on her left, and a stack of them on her right. One of them was in her hand, frozen in midair on its journey from one stack to the other. She looked smaller than Reacher remembered, quieter, less energetic, duller. Deflated.
    “We need to talk,” he said. “Don’t we?”
    “I’m very sorry for what happened,” she said.
    “Don’t apologize. I wasn’t offended. I just want to know how it went down.”
    “I don’t know how.”
    “You do, Sandy. You were there.”
    She said nothing. Just placed the invoice on top of the stack to her right and used her fingers to line it up exactly.
    “Who set it up?” Reacher asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “You must know who told
you
about it.”
    “Jeb,” she said.
    “Jeb?”
    “Jeb Oliver,” she said. “He works here. We hang out sometimes.”
    “Is he here today?”
    “No, he didn’t show.”
    Reacher nodded. The guy called Gary had said:
I’m short-staffed today.
    “Did you see him again last night? Afterward?”
    “No, I just ran for it.”
    “Where does he live?”
    “I don’t know. With his mother somewhere. I don’t know him that well.”
    “What did he tell you?”
    “That I could help with something he had to do.”
    “Did it sound like fun?”
    “Anything sounds like fun on a Monday night in this town. Watching a barn plank warp sounds like fun.”
    “How much did he pay you?”
    Sandy didn’t answer.
    “A thing like that, nobody does it for free,” Reacher said.
    “Hundred dollars,” she said.
    “What about the other four guys?”
    “Same for them.”
    “Who were they?”
    “His buddies.”
    “Who came up with the plan? The brothers thing?”
    “It was Jeb’s idea. You were supposed to start pawing me. Only you didn’t.”
    “You improvised very well.”
    She smiled a little, like it had been a small unscripted success in a life that held very few of them.
    “How did you know where to find me?” Reacher asked.
    “We were cruising in Jeb’s truck. Around and around. Kind of standing by. Then he got word on his cell.”
    “Who called him?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Would his buddies know?”
    “I don’t think so. Jeb likes to know things that nobody else knows.”
    “You want to lend me your car?”
    “My car?”
    “I need to go find Jeb.”
    “I don’t know where he lives.”
    “You can leave that part to me. But I need wheels.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I’m old enough to drive,” Reacher said. “I’m old enough to do lots of things. And I’m pretty good at some of them.”
    She half-smiled again, because he was using her own line from the night before. She looked away, and then she looked back at him, shy, but curious.
    “Was I any good?” she asked. “You know, last night, with the act?”
    “You were great,” he said. “I was preoccupied, or I would have given up on the football in a heartbeat.”
    “How long would you need my car for?”
    “How big is this town?”
    “Not very.”
    “Not very long, then.”
    “Is this a big deal?”
    “You got a hundred bucks. So did four other guys. That’s five hundred right there. My guess is Jeb kept another five for himself. So someone paid a thousand bucks to put me in the hospital. That’s a moderately big deal. For me, anyway.”
    “I wish I hadn’t gotten involved now.”
    “It turned out OK.”
    “Am I in trouble?”
    “Maybe,” Reacher said. “But maybe not. We could deal. You could lend me your car and I