Part 42 (2/2)

”Are you an honest man?”

Reacher said, ”Usually.”

”Are you a good driver?”

”Not really.”

”Are you drunk?”

Reacher said, ”Not even a little bit.”

The guy said, ”Well, I am. A lot. So you drive to wherever it is you want to go, keep me out of trouble, let me sleep it off, and then point me toward Denver, OK?”

Reacher said, ”Deal.”

Hitchhiking usually carried with it the promise of random personal encounters and conversations made more intense by the certainty that their durations would necessarily be limited. Not this time. The florid guy heaved himself over into the pa.s.senger seat and collapsed its back against a worn mechanism and went straight to sleep without another word. He snored and bubbled far back in his throat and he thrashed restlessly. According to the smell of his breath he had been drinking bourbon all evening. A lot of bourbon, probably with bourbon chasers. He was still going to be illegal when he woke up in four hours' time and pressed on to Denver.

Not Reacher's problem.

The Suburban was old and worn and grimy. Its total elapsed mileage was displayed in a window below the center of the speedometer in LED figures like a cheap watch. A lot of figures, starting with a two. The motor wasn't in great shape. It still had power but it had a lot of weight to haul and it didn't want to go much faster than sixty miles an hour. There was a cell phone on the center console. It was switched off. Reacher glanced at his sleeping pa.s.senger and switched it on. It wouldn't spark up. No charge in the battery. There was a charger plugged into the cigarette lighter. Reacher steered with his knees and traced the free end of the wire and shoved it into a hole on the bottom of the phone. Tried the switch again. The phone came on with a tinkly little tune. The sleeping guy just snored on.

The phone showed no service. The middle of nowhere.

The road narrowed from four lanes to two. Reacher drove on. Five miles ahead he could see a pair of red tail lights. Small lights, set low, widely s.p.a.ced. Moving north a little slower than the Suburban. The speed differential was maybe five miles an hour, which meant it took sixty whole minutes to close the gap. The lights were on a U-Haul truck. It was cruising at about fifty-five. When Reacher came up behind it, it sped up to a steady sixty. Reacher pulled out and tried to pa.s.s, but the Suburban wouldn't accelerate. It bogged down at about sixty-two, which would have put Reacher on the wrong side of the road for a long, long time. Maybe forever. So he eased off and tucked in behind the truck and battled the frustration of having to drive just a little slower than he wanted to. The cell phone was still showing no service. There was nothing to see behind. Nothing to see to the sides. The world was dark and empty. Thirty feet ahead, the U-Haul's back panel was lit up bright by the Suburban's headlights. It was like a rolling billboard. An advertis.e.m.e.nt. It had a picture of three trucks parked side by side at an angle: small, medium, and large. Each was shown in U-Haul's distinctive orange and white colors. Each hadU-Haul painted on its front. Each promised an automatic transmission, a gentle ride, a low deck, air conditioning, and cloth seats. A price of nineteen dollars and ninety-five cents was advertised in large figures. Reacher eased the Suburban closer to check the fine print. The bargain price was for in-town use of a small truck for one day, mileage extra, subject to contract terms. Reacher eased off again and fell back. painted on its front. Each promised an automatic transmission, a gentle ride, a low deck, air conditioning, and cloth seats. A price of nineteen dollars and ninety-five cents was advertised in large figures. Reacher eased the Suburban closer to check the fine print. The bargain price was for in-town use of a small truck for one day, mileage extra, subject to contract terms. Reacher eased off again and fell back.

U-Haul.

You haul. We don't. Independence, self-reliance, initiative.

In general Reacher didn't care for the corruption of written language.U for foryou, EZ for foreasy, hi for forhigh, lo for forlow . He had spent many years in school learning to read and spell and he wanted to feel that there had been some point to it. But he couldn't get too worked up about . He had spent many years in school learning to read and spell and he wanted to feel that there had been some point to it. But he couldn't get too worked up aboutU-Haul. What was the alternative? What was the alternative?Self-Drive Trucks? Too clunky. Too generic. No kind of a catchy business name. He followed thirty feet behind the bright rolling billboard and the triple U-Haul logos blurred together and filled his field of view. Too clunky. Too generic. No kind of a catchy business name. He followed thirty feet behind the bright rolling billboard and the triple U-Haul logos blurred together and filled his field of view.

Ufor you. you.

Then he thought: Youfor U. U.

You did this to me.

To a.s.sume makes an a.s.s out of u and me.

He checked the phone again.

No signal. They were in the middle of the Comanche National Gra.s.sland. Like being way out at sea. The closest cell tower was probably in Lamar, which was about an hour ahead.

The drunk guy slept noisily and Reacher followed the wallowing U-Haul truck for sixty solid minutes. Lamar showed up ahead as a faint glow on the horizon. Probably not more than a couple of streetlights, but in contrast to the black gra.s.sland all around it felt like a destination. There was a small munic.i.p.al airfield to the west. And there was cell coverage. Reacher glanced down and saw two bars showing on the phone's signal strength meter. He dialed Vaughan's home number from memory.

No answer.

He clicked off and dialed information. Asked for the Hope PD. Let the phone company connect him. He figured his sleeping pa.s.senger could spring for the convenience. He heard the ring tone and then there was a click and more ring tone. Automatic call forwarding, he guessed. The Hope PD building wasn't manned at night. Vaughan had mentioned a day guy, but no night guy. Incoming calls would be rerouted out straight to the nighttime prowl car. To a cell provided by the department, or to a personal cell. Ten nights out of fourteen it would be Vaughan answering. But not tonight. She was off duty. It would be another officer out there chasing gum wrappers. Maybe a deputy.

A voice in his ear said, ”Hope PD.”

Reacher said, ”I need to talk to Officer Vaughan.”

The guy in the pa.s.senger seat stirred, but didn't wake up.

The voice in Reacher's ear said, ”Officer Vaughan is off duty tonight.”

Reacher said, ”I know. But I need her cell number.”

”I can't give that to you.”

”Then call it yourself and ask her to call me back on this number.”

”I might wake her.”

”You won't.”

Silence.

Reacher said, ”This is important. And be quick. I'll be heading out of range in a minute.”

He clicked off. The town of Lamar loomed up ahead. Low dark buildings, a tall water tower, a lit-up gas station. The U-Haul pulled off for fuel. Reacher checked the Suburban's gauge. Half-full. A big tank. But a thirsty motor and many miles to go. He followed the U-Haul to the pumps. Unplugged the phone. It showed decent battery and marginal reception. He put it in his s.h.i.+rt pocket.

The pumps were operational but the pay booth was closed up and dark. The guy from the U-Haul poked a credit card into a slot on the pump and pulled it out again. Reacher used his ATM card and did the same thing. The pump started up and Reacher selected regular unleaded and watched in horror as the numbers flicked around. Gas was expensive. That was for d.a.m.n sure. More than three bucks for a gallon. The last time he had filled a car, the price had been a dollar. He nodded to the U-Haul guy, who nodded back. The U-Haul guy was a youngish well-built man with long hair. He was wearing a tight black short-sleeve s.h.i.+rt with a clerical collar. Some kind of a minister of religion. Probably played the guitar.

The phone rang in Reacher's pocket. He left the nozzle wedged in the filler neck and turned away and answered. The Hope cop said, ”Vaughan didn't pick up her cell.”

Reacher said, ”Try your radio. She's out in the watch commander's car.”

”Where?”

”I'm not sure.”

”Why is she out in the watch commander's car?”

”Long story.”

”You're the guy she's been hanging with?”

”Just call her.”

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