“You may find normal people don’t agree.”
He nodded.
“A lot of you don’t,” he said.
He Stood in the warm water long enough to soak all over, and then he started on his hair. He lathered the shampoo into a rich halo and worked on his scalp with his fingertips. Then he rinsed his hands and soaped his face, his neck, behind his ears. He closed his eyes and let the water sluice down over his body. Used more shampoo on his chest where the hair was thick. Attended to his underarms and his back and his legs.
Then he washed his hands and his forearms very thoroughly and carefully, like he was a surgeon preparing for a procedure.
“How far now?” Alice asked.
Reacher calculated from the map.
“Twenty-five miles,” he said. “We cross I-10 and head north on 285 toward Pecos.”
“But the ruins are on the other road. The one up to Monahans.”
“Trust me, Alice. They stayed on 285. They wanted access.”
She said nothing.
“We need a plan,” Reacher said.
“For taking this guy?” she said. “I wouldn’t have a clue.”
“No, for later. For getting Carmen back.”
“You’re awfully confident.”
“No point going in expecting to lose.”
She braked hard for a corner and the front end washed wide. Then the road straightened for a hundred yards and she accelerated like she was grateful for it.
“Habeas corpus,” she said. “We’ll go to a federal judge and enter an emergency motion. Tell the whole story.”
“Will that work?”
“It’s exactly what habeas corpus is for. It’s been working for eight hundred years. No reason it won’t work this time.”
“O.K.,” he said.
“One thing, though.”
“What?”
“We’ll need testimony. So you’ll have to keep this one alive. If that’s not too much to ask.”
He finished washing and just stood there in the warm stream of water. He let it flow over his body. He had a new thought in his head. He would need money. The others weren’t coming back. The killing crew was history. He knew that. He was unemployed again. And he was unhappy about that. He wasn’t a leader. He wasn’t good at going out and creating things for himself. Teamwork had suited him just fine. Now he was back on his own. He had some money stashed under his mattress at home, but it wasn’t a whole lot. He’d need more, and he’d need it pretty damn soon.
He turned around in the stall and tilted his head back and let the water wash his hair flat against his scalp. So maybe he should take the kid with him back to L.A. Sell her there. He knew people. People who facilitated adoptions, or facilitated other stuff he wouldn’t want to inquire too closely about. She was what? Six and a half? And white? Worth a lot of money to somebody, especially with all that fair hair. Blue eyes would have added an extra couple of grand, but whatever, she was a cute little package as she was. She might fetch a decent price, from people he knew.
But how to get her there? The Crown Vic was gone, but he could rent another car. Not like he hadn’t done that plenty of times before. He could call Pecos or Fort Stockton and get one brought down, first thing in the morning. He had no end of phony paperwork. But that would mean some delivery driver would see his face. And the kid’s. No, he could hide her in the woman’s empty room and bring the rental guy into his. But it was still a risk.
Or, he could steal a car. Not like he hadn’t done that before, either, long ago, in his youth. He could steal one right out of the motel parking lot. He eased the shower curtain aside and leaned out for a second and checked his watch, which was resting on the vanity. Four-thirty in the morning. They could be on the road by five. Two hours minimum before some citizen came out of his room and found his car gone. They would be a hundred miles away by then. And he had spare plates. The California issue from the original LAX rental, and the Texas issue that had come off the Crown Vic.