Worth Dying For

to turn east as soon as I can.’
    ‘How far east?’
    ‘All the way east,’ Reacher said. ‘Virginia.’
    The guy with the hair nodded sagely. ‘Then you’ll need to go south first. Until you hit the Interstate.’
    ‘That’s the plan,’ Reacher said.
    ‘Where did you start out today?’
    ‘North of here,’ Reacher said.
    ‘Driving?’
    ‘Hitching rides.’
    The guy with the hair said nothing more, because there was nothing more to say. Bartenders like to stay cheerful, and there was no cheerful direction for the conversation to go. Hitching a ride on a back road in the dead of winter in the forty-first least densely populated state of America’s fifty was not going to beeasy, and the guy was too polite to say so. Reacher picked up the mug and tried to hold it steady. A test. The result was not good. Every tendon and ligament and muscle from his fingertips to his ribcage burned and quivered and the microscopic motion in his hand set up small concentric ripples in the coffee. He concentrated hard and brought the mug to his lips, aiming for smoothness, achieving lurching, erratic movement. The drunk guy watched him for a moment and then looked away. The coffee was hot and a little stewed, but it had caffeine in it, which was really all it needed. The drunk guy took a sip from his glass and put it back on its coaster and stared at it miserably. His lips were parted slightly and bubbles of moisture were forming in their corners. He sipped again. Reacher sipped again, slower. Nobody spoke. The drunk guy finished up and got a refill. Jim Beam. Bourbon, at least a triple. Reacher’s arm started to feel a little better. Coffee, good for what ails you.
    Then the phone rang.
    Actually, two phones rang. One number, two instruments, one over on the reception desk, the other on a shelf behind the bar. Quintuple duty. The guy with the hair couldn’t be everywhere at once. He picked up and said, ‘This is the Apollo Inn,’ just as proudly and brightly and enthusiastically as if it was the establishment’s first-ever call on opening night. Then he listened for a spell and pressed the mouthpiece to his chest and said, ‘Doctor, it’s for you.’
    Automatically Reacher glanced backward, looking for a doctor. No one there. Beside him the drunk guy said, ‘Who is it?’
    The bartender said, ‘It’s Mrs Duncan.’
    The drunk guy said, ‘What’s her problem?’
    ‘Her nose is bleeding. Won’t stop.’
    The drunk guy said, ‘Tell her you haven’t seen me.’
    The guy with the hair relayed the lie and put the phone down. The drunk guy slumped and his face dropped almost level with the rim of his glass.
    ‘You’re a doctor?’ Reacher asked him.
    ‘What do you care?’
    ‘Is Mrs Duncan your patient?’
    ‘Technically.’
    ‘And you’re blowing her off?’
    ‘What are you, the ethics board? It’s a nosebleed.’
    ‘That won’t stop. Could be serious.’
    ‘She’s thirty-three years old and healthy. No history of hypertension or blood disorders. She’s not a drug user. No reason to get alarmed.’ The guy picked up his glass. A gulp, a swallow, a gulp, a swallow.
    Reacher asked, ‘Is she married?’
    ‘What, marriage causes nosebleeds now?’
    ‘Sometimes,’ Reacher said. ‘I was a military cop. Sometimes we would get called off-post, or to the married quarters. Women who get hit a lot take a lot of aspirin, because of the pain. But aspirin thins the blood, so the next time they get hit, they don’t stop bleeding.’
    The drunk guy said nothing.
    The barman looked away.
    Reacher said, ‘What? This happens a lot?’
    The drunk guy said, ‘It’s a nosebleed.’
    Reacher said, ‘You’re afraid of getting in the middle of a domestic dispute?’
    No one spoke.
    ‘There could be other injuries,’ Reacher said. ‘Maybe less visible. She’s your patient.’
    No one spoke.
    Reacher said, ‘Bleeding from the nose is the same as bleeding from anyplace else. If it doesn’t stop, she’s going to pass out. Like a knife wound. You wouldn’t leave her sitting there with a knife wound, would you?’
    No one spoke.
    ‘Whatever,’ Reacher said. ‘Not my business. And you’d be no good anyway. You’re not even fit to drive out there, wherever she is. But you should call someone.’
    The drunk guy said, ‘There isn’t anyone. There’s an emergency room sixty miles away. But they’re not going to send an ambulance sixty miles for a nosebleed.’
    Reacher took another sip of coffee. The drunk