car.’
‘Not recently. That car has been idling in place for ten minutes. Look at the puddles under the exhaust pipes.’
Peterson didn’t reply. And didn’t move.
Reacher asked again, ‘Who are they?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Just curious. They’re scaring you.’
‘You think?’
‘If they weren’t they’d be cuffed in the back of this car by now.’
‘They’re bikers.’
‘I don’t see any bikes.’
‘It’s winter,’ Peterson said. ‘They use pick-up trucks in winter.’
‘That’s illegal now?’
‘They’re tweakers.’
‘What are tweakers?’
‘Crystal meth users.’
‘Amphetamines?’
‘Methylated amphetamine. Smoked. Or to be technically accurate, vaporized and inhaled. Off of glass pipes or busted light bulbs or aluminum foil spoons. You heat it up and sniff away. Makes you erratic and unpredictable.’
‘People are always erratic and unpredictable.’
‘Not like these guys.’
‘You know them?’
‘Not specifically. But generically.’
‘They live in town?’
‘Five miles west. There are a lot of them. Kind of camping out. Generally they keep themselves to themselves, but people don’t like them.’
Reacher said, ‘The dead guy was one of them.’
Peterson said, ‘Apparently.’
‘So maybe they’re looking for their buddy.’
‘Or for justice.’ Peterson watched and waited. Thirty feet ahead the body language ballet continued as before. Chief Holland was shivering. With cold, or fear.
Or both.
Reacher said, ‘You better do something.’
Peterson did nothing.
Reacher said, ‘Interesting strategy. You’re going to wait until they freeze to death.’
Peterson said nothing.
Reacher said, ‘Only problem is, Holland will freeze first.’
Peterson said nothing.
‘I’ll come with you, if you like.’
‘You’re a civilian.’
‘Only technically.’
‘You’re not properly dressed. It’s cold out.’
‘How long can it take?’
‘You’re unarmed.’
‘Against guys like that, I don’t need to be armed.’
‘Crystal meth is not a joke. No inhibitions.’
‘That just makes us even.’
‘Users don’t feel pain.’
‘They don’t need to feel pain. All they need to feel is conscious or unconscious.’
Peterson said nothing.
Reacher said, ‘You go left and I’ll go right. I’ll turn them around and you get in behind them.’
Thirty feet ahead Holland said something and the two guys crowded forward and Holland backed off and tripped and sat down heavily in the snow bank. Now he was more than an arm’s length from where his gun must have fallen.
Half past ten in the evening.
Reacher said, ‘This won’t wait.’
Peterson nodded. Opened his door.
‘Don’t touch them,’ he said. ‘Don’t start anything. Right now they’re innocent parties.’
‘With Holland down on his ass?’
‘Innocent until proven guilty. That’s the law. I mean it. Don’t touch them.’ Peterson climbed out of the car. Stood for a second behind his open door and then stepped around it and started forward. Reacher matched him, pace for pace.
The two guys saw them coming.
Reacher went right and Peterson went left. The car had been a comfortable seventy degrees. The evening air was sixty degrees colder. Maybe more. Reacher zipped his jacket all the way and shoved his hands deep in his pockets and hunched his shoulders so that his collar rode up on his neck. Even so he was shivering after five paces. It was beyond cold. The air felt deeply refrigerated. The two guys ahead stepped back, away from Holland. They gave him room. Holland struggled to his feet. Peterson stepped alongside him. His gun was still holstered. Reacher tracked around over the thin white glaze and stopped six feet behind the two guys. Holland stepped forward and dug around in the snow bank and retrieved his weapon. He brushed it clean and checked the muzzle for slush and stuck it back in his holster.
Everyone stood still.
The shaved snow on the street was part bright
‘Not recently. That car has been idling in place for ten minutes. Look at the puddles under the exhaust pipes.’
Peterson didn’t reply. And didn’t move.
Reacher asked again, ‘Who are they?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Just curious. They’re scaring you.’
‘You think?’
‘If they weren’t they’d be cuffed in the back of this car by now.’
‘They’re bikers.’
‘I don’t see any bikes.’
‘It’s winter,’ Peterson said. ‘They use pick-up trucks in winter.’
‘That’s illegal now?’
‘They’re tweakers.’
‘What are tweakers?’
‘Crystal meth users.’
‘Amphetamines?’
‘Methylated amphetamine. Smoked. Or to be technically accurate, vaporized and inhaled. Off of glass pipes or busted light bulbs or aluminum foil spoons. You heat it up and sniff away. Makes you erratic and unpredictable.’
‘People are always erratic and unpredictable.’
‘Not like these guys.’
‘You know them?’
‘Not specifically. But generically.’
‘They live in town?’
‘Five miles west. There are a lot of them. Kind of camping out. Generally they keep themselves to themselves, but people don’t like them.’
Reacher said, ‘The dead guy was one of them.’
Peterson said, ‘Apparently.’
‘So maybe they’re looking for their buddy.’
‘Or for justice.’ Peterson watched and waited. Thirty feet ahead the body language ballet continued as before. Chief Holland was shivering. With cold, or fear.
Or both.
Reacher said, ‘You better do something.’
Peterson did nothing.
Reacher said, ‘Interesting strategy. You’re going to wait until they freeze to death.’
Peterson said nothing.
Reacher said, ‘Only problem is, Holland will freeze first.’
Peterson said nothing.
‘I’ll come with you, if you like.’
‘You’re a civilian.’
‘Only technically.’
‘You’re not properly dressed. It’s cold out.’
‘How long can it take?’
‘You’re unarmed.’
‘Against guys like that, I don’t need to be armed.’
‘Crystal meth is not a joke. No inhibitions.’
‘That just makes us even.’
‘Users don’t feel pain.’
‘They don’t need to feel pain. All they need to feel is conscious or unconscious.’
Peterson said nothing.
Reacher said, ‘You go left and I’ll go right. I’ll turn them around and you get in behind them.’
Thirty feet ahead Holland said something and the two guys crowded forward and Holland backed off and tripped and sat down heavily in the snow bank. Now he was more than an arm’s length from where his gun must have fallen.
Half past ten in the evening.
Reacher said, ‘This won’t wait.’
Peterson nodded. Opened his door.
‘Don’t touch them,’ he said. ‘Don’t start anything. Right now they’re innocent parties.’
‘With Holland down on his ass?’
‘Innocent until proven guilty. That’s the law. I mean it. Don’t touch them.’ Peterson climbed out of the car. Stood for a second behind his open door and then stepped around it and started forward. Reacher matched him, pace for pace.
The two guys saw them coming.
Reacher went right and Peterson went left. The car had been a comfortable seventy degrees. The evening air was sixty degrees colder. Maybe more. Reacher zipped his jacket all the way and shoved his hands deep in his pockets and hunched his shoulders so that his collar rode up on his neck. Even so he was shivering after five paces. It was beyond cold. The air felt deeply refrigerated. The two guys ahead stepped back, away from Holland. They gave him room. Holland struggled to his feet. Peterson stepped alongside him. His gun was still holstered. Reacher tracked around over the thin white glaze and stopped six feet behind the two guys. Holland stepped forward and dug around in the snow bank and retrieved his weapon. He brushed it clean and checked the muzzle for slush and stuck it back in his holster.
Everyone stood still.
The shaved snow on the street was part bright
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