Running Blind

headline.

“Well, look at that,” he said, with his mouth full.

The headline read Gang Warfare Explodes in Lower Manhattan, Leaves Six Dead. The story recounted a brief and deadly turf war between two rival protection rackets, one of them allegedly Chinese, the other allegedly Syrian. Automatic firearms and machetes had been used. The body count ran four to two in favor of the Chinese. Among the four dead on the Syrian side was the alleged gang leader, a suspected felon named Almar Petrosian. There were quotes from the NYPD and the FBI, and background reporting about the hundred-year history of protection rackets in New York City, the Chinese tongs, the jockeying between different ethnic groups for their business, which reputedly ran to billions of dollars nationwide.

“Well, look at that,” Reacher said again.

They had already looked at it. That was clear. They were all turned away from him. Blake was staring through the window at the streaks of dawn in the sky. Poulton had his eyes fixed on the back wall. Lamarr was still studying her teaspoon.

“Cozo call you to confirm it?” Reacher asked.

Nobody said a thing, which was the same as a yes. Reacher smiled.

“Life’s a bitch, right?” he said. “You get a hook into me, and suddenly the hook isn’t there anymore. Fate’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”

“Fate,” Blake repeated.

“So let me get this straight,” Reacher said. “Harper wouldn’t play ball with the femme fatale thing, and now old Petrosian is dead, so you got no more cards to play. And you’re not listening to a word I say anyway, so is there a reason why I shouldn’t walk right out of here?”

“Lots of reasons,” Blake said.

There was silence.

“None of them good enough,” Reacher said.

He stood up and stepped away from the table again. Nobody tried to stop him. He walked out of the cafeteria and out through the glass doors into the chill of dawn. Started walking.

HE WALKED ALL the way out to the guardhouse on the perimeter. Ducked under the barrier and dropped his visitor’s pass on the road. Walked on and turned the corner and entered Marine territory. He kept to the middle of the pavement and reached the first clearing after a half-mile. There was a cluster of vehicles and a number of quiet, watchful men. They let him go on. Walking was unusual, but not illegal. He reached the second clearing thirty minutes after leaving the cafeteria. He walked through it and kept on going.

He heard the car behind him five minutes later. He stopped and turned and waited for it. It came near enough for him to see past the dazzle of its running lights. It was Harper, which is what he had expected. She was alone. She drew level with him and buzzed her window down.

“Hello, Reacher,” she said.

He nodded. Said nothing.

“Want a ride?” she asked.

“Out or back?”

“Wherever you decide.”

“I-95 on-ramp will do it. Going north.”

“Hitchhiking?”

He nodded. “I’ve got no money for a plane.”

He slid in next to her and she accelerated gently away, heading out. She was in her second suit and her hair was loose. It spilled all over her shoulders.

“They tell you to bring me back?” he asked.

She shook her head. “They decided you’re useless. Nothing to contribute, is what they said.”

He smiled. “So now I’m supposed to get all boiled up with indignation and storm back in there and prove them wrong?”

She smiled back. “Something like that. They spent ten minutes discussing the best approach. Lamarr decided they should appeal to your ego.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a psychologist who studied landscape gardening in school.”

“I guess so.”

They drove on, through the wooded curves, past the last Marine clearing.

“But she’s right,” he said. “I’ve got nothing to contribute. Nobody’s going to catch this guy. He’s too smart. Too smart for me, that’s for damn sure.”

She smiled again. “A little psychology of your own? Trying to leave with a clear conscience?”

He shook his head. “My conscience is always clear.”

“Is it clear about Petrosian?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“Hell of a coincidence, don’t you think? They threaten you with Petrosian, and he’s dead within three days.”

“Just dumb luck.”

“Yeah, luck. You know I didn’t tell them I was outside Trent’s office all day?”

“Why not?”

“I was covering my ass.”

He looked at her. 'And what’s Trent’s office got to do with anything?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t like coincidences. ”

“They happen, time to time. Obviously.”

“Nobody in the Bureau likes coincidences.”

“So?”

She shrugged again. “So they could, you know, dig around. Might make it hard for you, later.”

He smiled again. “This is phase two of the approach, right?”

She smiled back, and then the smile exploded into a laugh. “Yeah, phase two. There are about a dozen still to go. Some of them are real good. You want to hear them all?”

“Not really. I’m not going back. They’re not listening. ”

She nodded and drove on. Paused before the junction with the interstate, and then swooped north up the ramp.

“I’ll take you to the next one,” she said. “Nobody uses this one except Bureau people. And none of them is going to give you a ride.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Harper.”

“Jodie’s home,” she said. “I called Cozo’s office. Apparently they had a little surveillance going. She’s been away. She got back this morning, in a taxi. Looked like she’d come from the airport. Looks like she’s working from home today.”

He smiled. “OK, so now I’m definitely out of here.”

“We need your input, you know.”

“They’re not listening.”

“You need to make them listen,” she said.

“This is phase three?”

“No, this is me. I mean it.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.

“So why won’t they listen?”

“Pride, maybe?” she said.

“They need somebody’s input,” he said. “That’s for sure. But not mine. I don’t have the resources. And I don’t have the authority.”

“To do what?”

“To take it out of their hands. They’re wasting their time with this profiling shit. It won’t get them anywhere. They need to work the clues.”

“There aren’t any clues.”

“Yes, there are. How smart the guy is. And the paint, and the geography, and how quiet the scenes are.