Bad Luck and Trouble Read Free

he had come into contact with her. She had left the army a year later than he had and gone into business with someone she knew. As a partner, he guessed, not an employee.
    He dug back in his pocket and came out with more quarters. Dialed long distance information. Asked for Chicago. Gave the company name, as he remembered it. The human operator disappeared and a robot voice came on the line with a number. Reacher broke the connection and redialed. A receptionist responded and Reacher asked for Frances Neagley. He was answered politely and put on hold. Altogether his impression was of a larger operation than he had imagined. He had pictured a single room, a grimy window, maybe two battered desks, bulging file cabinets. But the receptionist’s measured voice and the telephone clicks and the quiet hold music spoke of a much bigger place. Maybe two floors, cool white corridors, wall art, an internal phone directory.
    A man’s voice came on the line: “Frances Neagley’s office.”
    Reacher asked, “Is she there?”
    “May I know who’s calling?”
    “Jack Reacher.”
    “Good. Thank you for getting in touch.”
    “Who are you?”
    “I’m Ms. Neagley’s assistant.”
    “She has an assistant?”
    “Indeed.”
    “Is she there?”
    “She’s en route to Los Angeles. In the air right now, I think.”
    “Is there a message for me?”
    “She wants to see you as soon as possible.”
    “In Chicago?”
    “She’ll be in LA a few days at least. I think you should go there.”
    “What’s this all about?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Not work related?”
    “Can’t be. She’d have started a file. Discussed it here. She wouldn’t be reaching out to strangers.”
    “I’m not a stranger. I’ve known her longer than you have.”
    “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware of that.”
    “Where is she staying in LA?”
    “I don’t know that either.”
    “So how am I supposed to find her?”
    “She said you’d be able to track her down.”
    Reacher asked, “What is this, some kind of a test?”
    “She said if you can’t find her, she doesn’t want you.”
    “Is she OK?”
    “She’s worried about something. But she didn’t tell me what.”
    Reacher kept the receiver at his ear and turned away from the wall. The metal phone cord wrapped around his chest. He glanced at the idling buses and the departures board. He asked, “Who else is she reaching out to?”
    The guy said, “There’s a list of names. You’re the first to get back to her.”
    “Will she call you when she lands?”
    “Probably.”
    “Tell her I’m on my way.”

 
     
    4
     
    Reacher took a shuttle from the bus depot to the Portland airport and bought a one-way ticket on United to LAX. He used his passport for ID and his ATM card as a debit card. The one-way walk-up fare was outrageous. Alaska Airlines would have been cheaper, but Reacher hated Alaska Airlines. They put a scripture card on their meal trays. Ruined his appetite.
    Airport security was easy for Reacher. His carry-on baggage amounted to precisely none at all. He had no belt, no keys, no cell phone, no watch. All he had to do was dump his loose change in a plastic tray and take off his shoes and walk through the X-ray hoop. Thirty seconds, beginning to end. Then he was on his way to the gate, coins back in his pocket, shoes back on his feet, Neagley on his mind.
    Not work related. Therefore, private business. But as far as he was aware she had no private business. No private life. She never had. She would have everyday trivia, he guessed, and everyday problems. Like anyone. But he couldn’t conceive of her needing help with any of that kind of stuff. A noisy neighbor? Any sane man would sell his stereo after one short conversation with Frances Neagley. Or give it away to charity. Drug dealers on her corner? They would end up as a line item on an inside page of the morning newspaper, corpses found in an alley, multiple knife wounds, no suspects at this time. A stalker? A groper on the