Nendick could eat while they came out here. I think she’s still
alive.’
Stuyvesant snatched the receipt and ran for the helicopter.
Reacher and Neagley said their goodbyes at the Denver airport
late the next morning, Monday. Reacher signed over his fee
cheque to her and she bought him a first-class ticket on United
to New York La Guardia. He walked her to the gate for her
Chicago flight. People were already boarding. She didn’t
say anything. Just placed her bag on the floor and stood still
directly in front of him. Then she stretched up and hugged him,
fast, like she didn’t really know how to do it. She let go after a
second and picked up her bag and walked down the jetway.
Didn’t look back.
He made it into La Guardia late in the evening. Took a bus
and a subway to Times Square and walked Forty-second Street
until he found B.B. King’s new club. A four-piece guitar band
was just finishing its first set. They were pretty good. He
listened until the set ended and then walked back to the ticket
taker.
‘Was there an old woman here last week?’ he asked. ‘Sounded
a little like Dawn Penn? With an old guy on keyboards?’
The ticket taker shook his head. ‘Nobody like that,’ the guy
said. ‘Not here.’
Reacher nodded once and stepped out into the shiny darkness.
It was cold on the street. He headed west for the Port
Authority and a bus out of town.
398
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