“The bacteria on this floor are smarter than you,” he said.
He twisted his hips ninety degrees so his groin was protected and he squeezed the guy’s wrist with his hand. There had been a time when he could break bones by squeezing with his hand. It was more about blind determination than sheer strength.
But right then, he didn’t feel it.
“This is your lucky day,” he said. “All I know, you could be a cop. So I’m going to let you go.”
The guy was staring desperately at his wrist, watching it get crushed. The clammy flesh was swelling and going red.
“After you apologize,” Reacher said.
The guy stared on, four or five seconds. Like a dinosaur.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I apologize.”
“Not to me, asshole,” Reacher said. “To the lady.”
The guy said nothing. Reacher turned up the pressure. Felt his thumb go slick with sweat, sliding up over the tip of his index finger. Felt the bones in the guys wrist click and move. The radius and the ulna, getting closer than nature intended.
O.K.,” the guy gasped. “Enough.”
Reacher released the wrist. The guy snatched it back and cradled his hand, Panting, looking up, looking down.
Give me the keys to your truck,” Reacher said.
I he guy twisted awkwardly to get into his right pocket with his left hand. Held out a large bunch of keys.
“Now go wait for me in the parking lot,” Reacher said.
The guy unlocked the door left-handed and shuffled out. Reacher dropped the keys in the unflushed urinal and washed his hands again. Dried them carefully with the paper towels and left the bathroom behind him. He found the guy out in the lot, halfway between the diner door and the Cadillac.
“Be real nice, now,” Reacher called to him. “Maybe offer to wash her car or something. She’ll say no, but it’s the thought that counts, right? If you’re creative enough, you get your keys back. Otherwise, you’re walking home.”
He could see through the tinted glass that she was watching them approach, not understanding. He motioned with his hand that she should let her window down. A circular motion, like winding a handle. She buzzed the glass down, maybe two inches, just wide enough to frame her eyes. They were wide and worried.
“This guy’s got something to say to you,” Reacher said.
He stepped back. The guy stepped up. Looked down at the ground, and then back at Reacher, like a whipped dog. Reacher nodded, encouragingly. The guy put his hand on his chest, like an operatic tenor or a fancy maitre d’. Bent slightly from the waist, to address the two-inch gap in the glass.
“Ma’am,” he said. “Just wanted to say we’d all be real pleased if y’all would come back real soon, and would you like me to wash your car, seeing as you’re here right now?”
“What?” she said.
They both turned separately to Reacher, the guy pleading, Carmen astonished.
“Beat it,” he said. “I left your keys in the bathroom.”
Four, five seconds later, the guy was back on his way to the diner. Reacher stepped around the hood to his door. Pulled it open.
“I thought you were running out on me,” Carmen said. “I thought you’d asked that guy for a ride.”
“I’d rather ride with you,” he said.
The Crown Victoria drove south to a lonely crossroads hamlet. There was an old diner on the right and a vacant lot on the left. A melted stop line on the road. Then a decrepit gas station, and opposite it a one-room schoolhouse. Dust and heat shimmer everywhere. The big car slowed and crawled through the junction at walking pace. It rolled past the school gate and then suddenly picked up speed and drove away.
Little Ellie Greer watched it go. She was in a wooden chair at the schoolroom window, halfway through raising the lid of her big blue lunch box. She heard the brief shriek of rubber as the car accelerated. She turned her head and stared after it. She was a serious, earnest child, much given to silent observation. She kept her big dark eyes on the road until the dust settled. Then she turned back to matters at hand and inspected her lunch, and wished her mom had been home to pack it, instead of the maid, who belonged to the Greers and was mean.