Worth Dying For

found a metal file and cleaned the burrs of steel off the new muzzle, inside and out. He released the vice and lifted the gun out and pumped it twice,
crunch-crunch
,
crunch-crunch
, and then he reloaded it, five in the magazine and one in the breech. A sawn-off with a pistol grip, not much longer than his forearm.
    He found the coat closet on his way back through the house and retrieved his winter parka. The Glock and the switchblade were still in the pockets, along with the two screwdrivers and the wrench. He used the switchblade to slit the lining inside the left-hand pocket, so the sawn-off would go all the way in. He put the coat on. Then he unlocked the front door, and went back to the dining room to wait.
    The Cornhuskers came in separately, one by one, the first of them right on time, exactly thirty minutes after the doctor had spoken, in a black pick-up truck he left on the road. He jogged up the driveway and pushed in through the door like he owned the place, and Reacher laid him out with a vicious blow to the back of the head, from behind, with the wrench. The guy dropped to his knees and toppled forward on his face. Reacher invested a little time and effort in dragging him onward across the shiny wood, and then he taped him up, quick and dirty, not a permanent job, but enough for the moment. The crunch of the wrench and the thump of the guy falling and Reacher’s grunting and groaning woke the doctor’s wife and Dorothy Coe. They came out of their rooms wearing bathrobes. The doctor’s wife looked at the new guy on the floor and said, ‘I guess they’re coming in for breakfast.’
    Reacher said, ‘But today they’re not getting any.’
    Dorothy Coe asked, ‘What about tomorrow?’
    ‘Tomorrow is a new day. How well do you know Eleanor Duncan?’
    ‘She’s not to blame for anything.’
    ‘She’ll be hauling your harvest this year. She’s going to be in charge.’
    Dorothy Coe said nothing.
    The doctor’s wife said, ‘You want us to stay out of the way?’
    ‘Might be safer,’ Reacher said. ‘You don’t want one of these guys falling on you.’
    ‘Another one coming,’ the doctor called from the dining room, soft and urgent.
    The second guy went down exactly the same as the first, and in the same place. There was no room left to drag him forward. Reacher folded his legs at the knees so the door would close, and then he taped him up right there.
    The last to arrive was the guy who had broken Reacher’s nose.
    And he didn’t come alone.

FIFTY-TWO
    A WHITE SUV PARKED ON THE ROAD BEYOND THE FENCE, AND THE guy who had broken Reacher’s nose climbed out of the driver’s seat. Then the passenger door opened and the kid called John got out. The kid Reacher had left at the depot.
Go to bed
, Reacher had said. But the kid hadn’t gone to bed. He had hung out until he heard that things were safe, and then he had come out to claim his share of the fun.
    Dumb, dumb, dumb.
    The hallway was almost too crowded to move. It was full of football players, four of them lying around like carcasses, like beached whales, limbs taped, heads flopping. Reacher picked his way around them and watched out a window. The two late arrivals were making their way past Dorothy Coe’s pick-up, past John’s own Yukon, hustling through the damp and the cold, heading for the door, full of high spirits.
    Reacher opened the door and stepped out to meet them head on. He drew his sawn-off across his body, a long high exaggerated movement like a pirate drawing an ancient flintlock pistol, and he held it right-handed, elbow bent and comfortable,and he aimed it at the guy who had hit him. But he looked at John.
    ‘You let me down,’ he said.
    Both guys came to a dead stop and stared at him a little more urgently than he thought was warranted, until he remembered the duct tape on his face. Like war paint. He smiled and felt it pucker. He looked back at the guy who had hit him and said, ‘It was nothing that couldn’t be fixed. But I’m not certain you’ll be able to say the same.’
    Neither guy spoke. Reacher kept his eyes on the guy who had hit him and said, ‘Take out your car keys and toss them to me.’
    The guy said, ‘What?’
    ‘I’m bored with John’s Yukon. I’m going to use your truck the rest of the day.’
    ‘You think?’
    ‘I’m pretty sure.’
    No response.
    Reacher said, ‘It’s make-your-mind-up time, boys. Either do what I tell you, or get shot.’
    The guy dipped into his pocket and came