“Can you think of a reason?”
Alice shrugged. “Not really, in the circumstances. I mean, I’m not exactly Perry Mason. Maybe I don’t inspire much confidence. I go in there half-naked and sweating like a pig, and if this was Wall Street or somewhere I could understand somebody taking one look and thinking wow, like, forget about it. But this isn’t Wall Street. This is Pecos County jail, and she’s Hispanic, and I’m a lawyer with a pulse, so she should have been dancing with joy I came at all.”
“So why?”
“It’s inexplicable.”
“What happens now?”
“Now it’s a balancing act. I have to get her to accept representation before anybody hears her refuse it.”
“And if she still doesn’t?”
“Then I go about my business and she’s completely on her own. Until six months from now when the indictment’s in and some crony of the judge’s sends some useless jerk to see her.”
Reacher was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, Alice. I had no idea this would happen.”
“Not your fault.”
“Go back about seven, O.K.?” he said. “When the upstairs offices are empty and before the night shift woman comes on. She struck me as nosier than the day guy. He probably won’t pay too much attention. So you can press her some. Let her holler if she wants to.”
“O.K.,” she said. “Seven o’clock it is. Hell of a day. Up and down, like a roller coaster.”
“Like life itself,” Reacher said.
She smiled, briefly. “Where will I find you?”
“I’m in the last motel before the highway.”
“You like traffic noise?”
“I like cheap. Room eleven, name of Millard Fillmore.”
“Why?”
“Habit,” he said. “I like aliases. I like anonymity.”
“So who is Millard Fillmore?”
“President, two before Abraham Lincoln. From New York.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Should I dress up like a lawyer for her? You think that might make a difference?”
Reacher shrugged. “I doubt it. Look at me. I look like a scarecrow, and she never said anything about it.”
Alice smiled again. “You do a little, you know. I saw you come in this morning and I thought you were the client. Some kind of homeless guy in trouble.”
“This is a new outfit,” Reacher said. “Fresh today.”
She looked him over again and said nothing. He left her with paperwork to do and walked as far as the pizza parlor south of the courthouse. It was nearly full with people and had a huge air conditioner over the door spilling a continuous stream of moisture on the sidewalk. Clearly it was the coldest place in town, and therefore right then the most popular. He went in and got the last table and drank ice water as fast as the busboy could refill his glass. Then he ordered an anchovy pizza, heavy on the fish. He figured his body needed to replace salt.
As he ate it a new description was being passed by phone to the killing crew. The call was carefully rerouted through Dallas and Las Vegas to a motel room a hundred miles from Pecos. The call was made by a man, speaking quietly but clearly. It contained a detailed identification of a new target, a male, starting with his full name and his age, and accompanied by an exact rundown of his physical appearance and all of his likely destinations within the next forty-eight hours.
The information was taken by the woman, because she had sent her partners out to eat. She made no notes. She was naturally cautious about leaving written evidence, and she had an excellent memory. It had been honed by constant practice. She listened carefully until the caller stopped talking and then she decided the crew’s price. She wasn’t reluctant to speak on the phone. She was talking through an electronic device bought in the Valley that made her sound like a robot with a head cold. So she named the price and then listened to the silence on the other end. Listened to the guy deciding whether to negotiate the cost. But he didn’t. Just said O.K. and hung up. The woman smiled. Smart guy, she thought. Her crew didn’t work for cheapskates. A parsimonious attitude about money betrayed all kinds of other negative possibilities.