Tripwire Read Free Page B

Tarzan,” the left-hand guy said.
    Reacher smiled. He had been called a lot of things, but that was a new one.
    “Three bucks to come in,” he said. “Or it’s free to go back downstairs.”
    “We just want to speak with somebody,” the right-hand guy said.
    Accents, from both of them. From somewhere in New York. Reacher shrugged.
    “We don’t do too much speaking in here,” he said. “Music’s too loud.”
    “What’s your name?” the left-hand guy asked.
    Reacher smiled again.
    “Tarzan,” he said.
    “We’re looking for a guy called Reacher,” the guy said back. “Jack Reacher. You know him?”
    Reacher shook his head.
    “Never heard of him,” he said.
    “So we need to talk to the girls,” the guy said. “We were told they might know him.”
    Reacher shook his head again.
    “They don’t,” he said.
    The right-hand guy was looking past Reacher’s shoulder into the long, narrow room. He was glancing at the girls behind the bar. He was figuring Reacher for the only security on duty.
    “OK, Tarzan, step aside,” he said. “We’re coming in now.”
    “Can you read?” Reacher asked him. “Big words and all?”
    He pointed up at a sign hanging above the desk. Big Day-Glo letters on a black background. It read Management Reserves the Right to Refuse Admission.
    “I’m management,” Reacher said. “I’m refusing you admission.”
    The guy glanced between the sign and Reacher’s face.
    “You want a translation?” Reacher asked him. “Words of one syllable? It means I’m the boss and you can’t come in.”
    “Save it, Tarzan,” the guy said.
    Reacher let him get level, shoulder to shoulder on his way past. Then he raised his left hand and caught the guy’s elbow. He straightened the joint with his palm and dug his fingers into the soft nerves at the bottom of the guy’s tricep. It’s like getting a continuous pounding on the funny bone. The guy was jumping around like he was getting flooded with electricity.
    “Downstairs,” Reacher said softly.
    The other guy was busy calculating the odds. Reacher saw him doing it and figured full and fair disclosure was called for. He held his right hand up, eye level, to confirm it was free and ready for activity. It was a huge hand, brown, callused from the shovel handle, and the guy got the message. He shrugged and started down the stairs. Reacher straight-armed his pal after him.
    “We’ll see you again,” the guy said.
    “Bring all your friends,” Reacher called down. “Three bucks each to get in.”
    He started back into the room. The dancer called Crystal was standing right there behind him.
    “What did they want?” she asked.
    He shrugged.
    “Looking for somebody.”
    “Somebody called Reacher?”
    He nodded.
    “Second time today,” she said. “There was an old guy in here before. He paid the three bucks. You want to go after them? Check them out?”
    He hesitated. She swept his shirt off the barstool and handed it to him.
    “Go for it,” she said. “We’re OK in here for a spell. Quiet night.”
    He took the shirt. Pulled the sleeves right side out.
    “Thanks, Crystal, he said.”
    He put the shirt on and buttoned it. Headed for the stairs.
    “You’re welcome, Reacher,” she called after him.
    He spun around, but she was already walking back toward the stage. He looked blankly at the desk girl and headed down to the street.
     
    KEY WEST AT eleven in the evening is about as lively as it gets. Some people are halfway through their night, others are just starting out. Duval is the main street, running the length of the island east to west, bathed in light and noise. Reacher wasn’t worried about the guys waiting for him on Duval. Too crowded. If they had revenge on their minds, they’d pick a quieter location. Of which there was a fair choice. Off Duval, especially to the north, it gets quiet quickly. The town is miniature. The blocks are tiny. A short stroll takes you twenty blocks up into what Reacher thought of as