glass of water, but no food yet. Next to her was an empty space, and then came a guy hunched over a plate, and another, and another, with the next empty stool nine spots away. Reacher figured he would get a better look at her from one of the empty booths, but diners had an etiquette all their own, and lone customers taking up four- place booths at rush hour was frowned upon.
So Reacher stood in the doorway, unsure, and the blonde waitress from the left side of the coach took pity on him and detoured over, and she tried a welcoming smile, but she was tired and it didn’t really work. It came out as a dull and uninterested gaze, nothing there at all, and she said, ‘Sit anywhere you like, and someone will be right with you.’ Then she bustled away again, and Reacher figured
The girl was watching him in the mirror.
And she was watching him quite openly. Her eyes were locked on his, in the mirrored wall, via reflections and refractions and angles of incidence and all the other stuff taught in high-school physics class. She didn’t look away, even when he looked right back at her.
He moved on into the right side of the coach, and he took an empty booth one away from directly behind her. To see her best he put his shoulder against the window and his back to the rest of the room, which he didn’t like, but he had no option. The brunette waitress showed up with a menu and a smile as wan as the blonde’s, and she said, ‘Water?’
He said, ‘Coffee.’
The girl was still looking at him in the mirror.
He wasn’t hungry, because the meal Lozano had bought in West Hollywood had been a feast fit for a king. So he slid the menu aside. The brunette was not thrilled with his lack of an order. He got the feeling he wouldn’t see her again any time soon. No free refills for him.
The girl was still watching.
He tried the coffee. It was OK. The counter man brought the girl a plate, and she broke eye contact long enough to say something to him that made him smile. He had an embroidered patch on his uniform, with his name, which was Arthur. He said something back, and the girl smiled, and he moved away again.
Then the girl picked up her silverware and her napkin in one hand, and her plate in the other, and she slid off her stool, and she stepped over to Reacher’s booth, and she said, ‘Why don’t I join you?’
FIFTY-THREE
THE GIRL PUT her silverware down, and her napkin, and her plate, and then she ducked back to the counter to retrieve her glass of water. She waved to the guy called Arthur and pointed at the booth, as if to say
He said, ‘Why would you want to join me?’
She said, ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘You don’t know me.’
‘Are you dangerous?’
‘I could be.’
‘Arthur keeps a Colt Python under the counter, about opposite where you’re sitting. And another one at the other end. They’re both loaded. With .357 Magnums. Out of eight-inch barrels.’
‘You eat here a lot?’
‘Practically every meal, but the word would be often. Not a lot. Lot refers to quantity, and I prefer small portions.’
Reacher said nothing.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t help it. I’m naturally pedantic.’
He said, ‘Why did you want to join me?’
‘Why did I see your car three times today?’
‘When was the third time?’
‘Technically it was the first time. I was at the lawyer’s office.’
‘Why?’
‘Curiosity.’
‘About what?’
‘About why we see the same cars three times a day.’
‘We?’
‘Those of us paying attention,’ she said. ‘Don’t play dumb, mister. There’s something going on in the neighbourhood, and we would love to know what it is. And you look like you might tell us. If I asked you nicely.’
‘Why do you think I could tell you?’
‘Because you’re one of them, cruising around all day, snooping.’
Reacher said, ‘What do you think is happening?’
