Page 25 of Better off Dead

I heard Dendoncker make a comment about my looking for him, not Michael. So he was narcissistic as well as paranoid. A charming combination. No wonder he didn’t play well with others. I heard papers rustle. More questions. Then talk about burning my passport. Dumping my body. Dendoncker’s voice was louder and sharper, like he was giving orders. It sounded like he was wrapping things up.

Two minutes without a breath. My lungs were done. I took a huge gulp of air. Pulled the tape off my eyes. And sat up.

—

There were fourpeople in the room. All men. All with their mouths open in shock. There was Dr. Houllier, at his desk. Two guys in suits, maybe in their forties, near the door. And one in the center, facing me. He looked like he was in his sixties. He had an angular face, with a burn scar on his left cheek. It was triangle-shaped. He had bulging eyes. Abnormally long arms and legs. Three fingers were missing from his right hand. He was using his thumb and remaining finger to pinch the bezel of his watch. I said, “Dendoncker?” He didn’t react. I jumped off the tray. He fumbled in his jacket pocket. Produced a gun. A revolver. An NAA-22S. It was a tiny little thing. Less than four inches long. I took it from him, tossed it into the refrigerator, and shoved him toward the back corner of the room. I wanted him well away from the door. I wanted no chance of him sneaking out while I was dealing with his goons. Both were approaching me. A pale-suited, curly-haired one on my left. A dark-suited, straight-haired one on my right. There was two feet between them. They were reaching under their jackets. Going for their guns. But they never got the chance to draw. I moved toward them, fast. Pulled back both fists. And punched them both in their jaws, simultaneously. Maybe not the hardest blows ever. I felt like the sedative shots had affected me a little. Taken a few percent off the total. Not that it mattered. My forward motion combined with their movement toward me made it like they’d walked into the front of a truck. They landed together in a tight tangle of arms and legs. They weren’t moving. I turned to check on Dendoncker and saw him standing in the corner. I had a momentary impression of a stick insect in a cage at the zoo.

I heard a sound. Behind me. From the door. It was flung open like a gas main had blown someplace nearby. A guy stepped through. I got the impression he had to turn sideways to fit, he was so broad. And he was tall. Six feet six, minimum. I would guess at least three hundred and fifty pounds. He had no hair. His head was like a bowling ball. His eyes and mouth and nose were small and pinched and they were all crammed together at the front. He had tiny protruding ears. Shiny pink skin. A black suit with a white shirt and no tie. Which was a shame. Ties can be useful for strangling people.

The guy started moving forward. He had a weird stomping, staccato motion like a robot. As he came closer his steps turned into kicks and his arm swings turned into punches. He was steady and repetitive and relentless, like he was doing a martial arts demonstration. It was mesmerizing. No doubt devastating if one of his blows connected. And deadly if more than one did.

I stepped back to buy a little time. Dendoncker tried to scuttle past. I grabbed him and threw him behind me. I didn’t look to see where he landed. There was no way I could risk taking my eyes off the human bludgeoning machine that was closing in on me. Dendoncker tried to creep by on the opposite side. I shoved him back again. The huge guy was still coming. I figured he wanted to toy with me for a while, then back me up against the wall or into the corner and then pummel the life out of me when I could retreat no farther. He didn’t seem worried about keeping out of range of anything I could throw at him.

I took another step away. Then I launched myself the opposite way off my back foot and darted around him. I jabbed him in the kidney on my way past. It was a decent blow. It would have floored a lot of people. This guy showed no sign of even noticing it. He took another step then went into some kind of elaborate turning routine. His arms crossed and recrossed and finally opened the opposite way. He pivoted on the balls of his feet. He pushed off the floor and threw another kick but I was already moving. I had turned faster. Pushed off the floor harder.

I charged, head down, before his next kick. Below his next punch. I slammed into his chest, hard enough to throw him back despite the difference in weight. He staggered. I tried to line up a punch before he could recover. I was thinking, his throat. This was no time for gentlemanly conduct. But before I could launch anything the guy’s legs connected with the fridge rack. It was still extended. He toppled back onto it. The force was enough to release the latch and it started sliding. He had landed at an angle so he wouldn’t fit through the door. His head slammed into the frame. Not hard enough to knock him out. But enough to stun him. For a moment. And a moment was all I needed.

I followed in and scythed my elbow down into the side of his head. I used all my strength. My full weight was behind it. It was a perfect connection. His arms and legs bounced up like a bug’s then flopped down and dangled off either side of the rack. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. I waited a moment, to be sure. Then I turned to check on Dendoncker.

There was no sign of him. Aside from Dr. Houllier and the three unconscious guys, the room was empty.

“She was so quick.” Dr. Houllier’s voice was flat. “A woman. With a limp. She put a gun to Dendoncker’s head. Dragged him out of here. She left this.”

Dr. Houllier passed me a grocery store bag. Inside was the shirt I was wearing before swapping it for the baggy yellow one, which by then was ruined, and a single sheet of paper. I unfolded it. There was a handwritten message:

Reacher, I’m sorry. I was late to the rendezvous because Dendoncker sent me on a bullshit errand. And I didn’t set out to use you. I hope you don’t feel that way. But I have a feeling things could get very ugly, very soon, and there are lines I can’t ask you to cross. I’m glad we met, even briefly. I hope you make it to the ocean soon.

xoxo

PS—You saved my life. I’m grateful, and I will never forget.

Chapter17

I screwed the note intoa ball and tossed it into the trash. Peeled the fake bullet wound off my chest. Pulled the shirt Fenton had brought over my head. Crossed to the right-hand refrigerator door. The one where Dr. Houllier had stashed my clothes. Opened it and got dressed the rest of the way. And then retrieved my passport from his trash can.

“Where are you going?” Dr. Houllier said. “Wait a minute. What are you going to do about the woman? And Dendoncker?”

The way I saw it I had two choices. I could let Fenton go. Or I could try to find her. And I couldn’t see any point in finding her. I had no doubt she could handle herself when she was up against one old frail guy. Or numerous strong young guys, if that was how things shook out. I had no doubt she would do whatever she saw fit to stop Dendoncker’s bombs. She had the contacts. She just needed information. How she got it was up to her. Maybe she would cross a line. Maybe a whole bunch of lines. But that was her call. I wasn’t her conscience, and I wasn’t her priest. My nose was a little out of joint, the way she’d blindsided me. But at the same time I had to say,Nicely played. The truth was, I liked her. I wished her the best.

“I’m not going to do anything about either of them,” I said. “If Fenton wants to handle things from here, I’m happy to let her.”

“Oh.” Dr. Houllier scratched the side of his head. “Then, what about these apes? You can’t leave them on my floor. Especially not that big one. I treated him after one of his victims bit him and his arm got infected. He’s called Mansour. He’s a psychopath. What will he do when he wakes up and finds me? It’s obvious I helped you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take the trash out when I leave. You won’t see these guys again.”

I started with the guy Dr. Houllier had called Mansour. I checked his pants pocket and found what I was looking for straightaway. His keys. A big bunch on a plastic fob. With one kind in particular. A car key. The logo molded into the plastic grip saidLincoln. I hoped it was for a Town Car. They’re spacious vehicles. Plenty of room for passengers. Conscious or unconscious. Alive or dead. That fact was established almost immediately after the first model rolled off the production line. They’d been popular with people who appreciated that quality ever since. People like me, at that moment.

I figured I could tie the three guys up. Load them in. Dump the car. And call 911. I bet they all had pretty substantial records. Although I wasn’t impressed with the way the police had responded to my report of the bodies by The Tree. I hadn’t seen a single uniformed cop in the town. Or a detective. Or a crime scene truck. It made me think of a conversation I had recently with a guy in Texas. He had a theory. He said that in remote regions any officer sent to deal with something messy like a bunch of dead bodies must be on his boss’s bad side. Which meant he wouldn’t be looking to carry out a thorough investigation. He’d be looking to get the case closed, quickly and tidily. To get back in his boss’s good graces. And to make sure someone else would get sent the next time there was a problem out in the sticks.

Maybe the guy had been right. Maybe I’d be better off dumping the car somewhere farther away. At the side of the highway. Or in a bigger town. Or a city. I didn’t want to invite extra work. But I did want the right result. And on top of that, I was hungry. Making plans on an empty stomach is a bad idea. It can distort your priorities. I figured I should grab something to eat, then decide.

I said, “It’s been a busy morning. I could use some breakfast. Want to join me?”

Dr. Houllier pulled a face like he’d smelled something vile. “Eat? Now? No. No thank you. I couldn’t.”

I tried to slip Mansour’s keys into my pocket but the bunch got all snagged up. It was big. And heavy. When I tried to streamline it, one key in particular stood out. A mortise. It was similar to the ones the guys had been carrying yesterday.

I said, “Which place around here has the best coffee?”

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