Tripwire

grunted.
    Steven shrugged. He was leaning on a post, under the tin roof, out of the sun.
    “Long time ago,” he said. “What can I tell you? We were just kids, you know? Our dads were in the chamber of commerce together. His was a printer. Mine ran this place, although it was just a lumberyard back then. We were together all the way through school. We started kindergarten on the same day, graduated high school on the same day. I only saw him once after that, when he was home from the Army. He’d been in Vietnam a year, and he was going back again.”
    “So what sort of a guy was he?”
    Steven shrugged again. “I’m kind of wary about giving you an opinion.”
    “Why? Some kind of bad news in there?”
    “No, no, nothing like that,” Steven said. “There’s nothing to hide. He was a good kid. But I’d be giving you one kid’s opinion about another kid from thirty-five years ago, right? Might not be a reliable opinion.”
    Reacher paused, with a hundred-pound bag in each hand. Glanced back at Steve. He was leaning on his post in his red apron, lean and fit, the exact picture of what Reacher assumed was a typical cautious small-town Yankee businessman. The sort of guy whose judgment might be reasonably solid. He nodded.
    “OK, I can see that. I’ll take it into account.”
    Steven nodded back, like the ground rules were clear. “How old are you?”
    “Thirty-eight,” Reacher said.
    “From around here?”
    Reacher shook his head. “Not really from around anywhere.”
    “OK, couple of things you need to understand,” Steven said. “This is a small small suburban town, and Victor and I were born here in ‘48. We were already fifteen years old when Kennedy got shot, and sixteen before the Beatles arrived, and twenty when there was all that rioting in Chicago and L.A. You know what I’m saying here?”
    “Different world,” Reacher said.
    “You bet your ass it was,” Steven said back. “We grew up in a different world. Our whole childhood. To us, a real daring guy was one who put baseball cards in the wheels of his Schwinn. You need to bear that in mind, when you hear what I say.”
    Reacher nodded. Lifted the ninth and tenth bag out of the pickup bed. He was sweating lightly, and worrying about the state of his shirt when Jodie next saw it.
    “Victor was a very straight kid,” Steven said. “A very straight and normal kid. And like I say, for comparative purposes, that was back when the rest of us thought we were the bee’s knees for staying out until half past nine on a Saturday night, drinking milk shakes.”
    “What was he interested in?” Reacher asked.
    Steven blew out his cheeks and shrugged. “What can I tell you? Same things as all the rest of us, I guess. Baseball, Mickey Mantle. We liked Elvis, too. Ice cream, and the Lone Ranger. Stuff like that. Normal stuff.”
    “His dad said he always wanted to be a soldier.”
    “We all did. First it was cowboys and Indians, then it was soldiers.”
    “So did you go to ‘Nam?”
    Steven shook his head. “No, I kind of moved on from the soldier thing. Not because I disapproved. You got to understand, this was way, way before all that longhair stuff arrived up here. Nobody objected to the military. I wasn’t afraid of it, either. Back then there was nothing to be afraid of. We were the U.S., right? We were going to whip the ass off those slanty-eyed gooks, six months maximum. Nobody was worried about going. It just seemed old-fashioned. We all respected it, we all loved the stories, but it seemed like yesterday’s thing, you know what I mean? I wanted to go into business. I wanted to build my dad’s yard up into a big corporation. That seemed like the thing to do. To me, that seemed like more of an American thing than going into the military. Back then, it seemed just as patriotic.”
    “So you beat the draft?” Reacher asked.
    Steven nodded. “Draft board called me, but I had college applications pending and they skipped right over me. My dad was close to the board chairman, which didn’t hurt any, I guess.”
    “How did Victor react to that?”
    “He was fine with it. There was no issue about it. I wasn’t antiwar or anything. I supported Vietnam, same as anybody else. It was just a personal choice, yesterday’s thing or tomorrow’s thing. I wanted tomorrow’s thing, Victor wanted the Army. He kind of knew it was kind of, well, staid. Truth is, he was pretty much influenced by his old man. He was four-F in World War