“No, less than a couple hours,” Josh said. “Hundred miles is all.” So maybe they were headed to the bar they had mentioned yesterday. Maybe they had friends there. They better had, Reacher thought. A pair of fifth-rate cowboys ain’t going to do it for me. Then he breathed out again. Relaxed. Struggled with a decision. The problem with the kind of undiluted raging aggression he had described to Carmen was it came out so all-or-nothing. He recalled his first day in high school. The summer after he finished his elementary education, the family moved back stateside for a six-month tour. He was enrolled in a big high school off-base, somewhere in New Jersey, somewhere near Fort Dix. And he was ready for it. In his usual serious earnest fashion he calculated that high school would be bigger and better than elementary school, in every way, including the seriousness of the locker-room scuffling. So he made his usual new-school first-day plan to jump on the very first guy who tried anything. That had always worked well for him. Hit hard, hit early, get your retaliation in first. It made a big impression. But this time, make an even bigger impression, hit harder than ever, because clearly high school was going to be a whole new kind of a deal.
So sure enough some hard kid shoved him the first morning, and ten minutes later the hard kid was on his way to the hospital for a three-week stay. Then
Reacher discovered it was really a very genteel school, in a good neighborhood, and that he’d reacted way too drastically, and everybody was looking at him like he was some sort of a barbarian. And he felt like one. He felt a little ashamed. From then on, he’d become calmer. He’d learned to be certain what he was into before he did anything. And he’d learned to offer warnings, sometimes, in certain circumstances.
“We coming straight back?” he asked.
It was a smart tactical question. They couldn’t say no, without alerting him. They couldn’t say yes, if they weren’t going there in the first place. “We’re going for a couple beers first,” Billy said. “Where?”
“Where we went yesterday.” “I’m broke,” Reacher said. “I didn’t get paid yet.” “We’re buying,” Josh said. “The feed store open late? On a Saturday?” “Big order, they’ll accommodate us,” Billy said. Maybe it was a new supplier. Maybe they changed their source. “I guess you use them a lot,” he said. “All the years we’ve been here,” Josh said. “Then we’re going straight back?”
“Sure we are,” Billy said. “You’ll be back in time for your beauty sleep.” “That’s good,” Reacher said. He paused.
“Because that’s the way I like it,” he said. Mess with me now, you get what you get. Billy said nothing. Josh just smiled and drove.
The scenery flattened very gradually as they headed south. From his time with the maps he knew the Rio Grande was curling around toward them from the west. They were entering the river basin, where wide prehistoric waters had scoured the land. Josh kept the speed at a steady sixty. Billy stared idly out of his window. The road remained straight and featureless. Reacher rested his head on the gun rack behind him and waited. Waiting was something he was accustomed to. Many times in his career, frantic action had been preceded by a long drive. It usually happened that way. The patient accumulation of evidence, the arrival at a conclusion, the identification of a suspect, the drive out to deal with him. Waiting was a skill you learned fast, in the military.
The road got rougher the farther south they drove. The truck labored over it. The load bed was empty, so the rear wheels bounced and skipped. There were vultures on some of the telephone poles. The sun was low in the west. There was a sign on the shoulder. It said ECHO 5 MILES. It was pocked with bullet holes.
“I thought Echo was north,” Reacher said. “Where Ellie goes to school.”
“It’s split,” Billy said. “Half of it up there, half of it down here. Hundred sixty miles of nothing in between.”