‘WHERE’S REACHER, NORMAN?’
Three simple words, scrawled on a napkin. It wasn’t what he expected, nor what he wanted.
But it was what he needed.
Norman was frogmarched out of the coffee shop to the Mercedes by the two taciturn men. The lady followed. He was carefully placed in the back of the four-by-four. One man accompanied him, the other ducked into the driver’s side. The lady slid into the passenger side. The other two men that had been standing guard entered another four-by-four behind. The vehicles slowly moved off.
‘So, are you going to tell me what this is all about? What’s this all got to do with my brother?’
There was no reply.
Norman knew any further questions were an exercise in futility. This wasn’t a vehicle encouraging discussion. Let’s see where this takes me, he thought.
After around 45 minutes, the vehicle came to a stop outside a small, secluded building just west of the main highway exit they’d taken earlier. Norman was led out toward the building’s entrance – a large glass door outlined in chrome. They approached a front desk in a lobby, of sorts. The lady approached a uniformed man, presumably local PD, and whispered in his ear. The man nodded and gestured over to the opposite side of the entrance, where a solitary, empty cell was situated.
Norman heard a loud buzz and the cell door opened. He was ushered in and the door was closed and electronically locked behind him. The lady and men left, silently.
‘What, no phone call?’ Norman shouted after them. There came no reply as the glass door closed behind them as they exited the building. The man at the desk tapped away at a keyboard, occasionally looking at some files to his right on the desk.
‘Hey, can you get HBO on those monitors?’ Norman asked the man.
Again, no reply.
Norman looked at his watch – 3:15. All he could do now was wait.
He removed his thin summer jacket and slung it over a horizontal bar that fed through the vertical cell door bars. Lied down on the surprisingly comfortable bed.
He was awoken by a loud buzz, the same one as earlier.
He blinked several times to regain his focus. Looked at his watch – 7:22pm.
He saw a man approach the cell, dressed in a light grey suit and black tie. The man beckoned Norman out of the cell, ‘Follow me, sir,’ he said.
Norman grabbed his jacket and followed the man toward the building’s exit, glancing at the guard at the desk on his way out – he was still tapping away at his keyboard.
Norman followed the man around the corner of the building, the early evening summer sun offering an impossibly beautiful concentration of light on a flawless, shiny 1970 Dodge Charger.
The man gestured to Norman to get in the car. As he approached, he almost hesitated to touch the door handle, as flawless as it was.
‘You’re moving up in the world, Jack,’ Norman said, smiling.
Reacher said nothing.
Reacher nosed out of the small, sandy parking lot and turned right, back on to the road that’d led Norman here.
‘What are you doing here, Jake?’ Reacher asked.
Joe, Jack and Jake. The Reacher brothers. Except Norman never wanted that kind of allegiance; it was alien to him. He’d idolised his brothers – their strength, accomplishments, but he wasn’t them. Didn’t bother him, why not be proud of your siblings? He was Norman, a separate entity but still a Reacher. He’d not heard from Joe for several years before his murder. Jack even more so. Didn’t stop him thinking about both of them every day.
He was Norman Reacher. And he was very alone.
‘I needed to see you. How do you find the man who can’t be reached?’
Reacher glanced over, frowned.
Norman continued, ‘I knew you’d be in Chicago. Leon Garber, your old mentor had been stationed up here, years ago. He’d done a lot of good and had many friends. I recalled you attending his funeral around this time. One of the guests, a friend of Dad’s, emailed me. Said you looked well. Said some of his old compatriots met up around this time every year. Didn’t know where in Chicago though. The trick was getting to you. It was a stab in the dark, but all I had to go on.’
Norman pointed to his bow tie. ‘You walk around dressed like this enough and you get noticed. More cameras around now than there used to be. It was only a matter of time before I got recognised. And found. Needed to bring you out of hiding.’
Reacher slowed down as he approached a red light.
‘Well, whatever the reason, it’s cost me time and a lot of trouble,’ Reacher replied. ‘It’s gonna have to wait. I’m late for an appointment and it’s more important than your game of hide and seek, that’s for damn sure.’
‘Getting involved in another crazy adventure, Jack?’ Norman asked.
Reacher gestured to the back seat of the car. There lay a light brown folder. He trusted Norman more than most people in his life. He wouldn’t humour him with specifics, but didn’t want to lie. ‘I’m working with a friend in the DEA, he called in a favour. Just like the one I called in to get you out of that cell, quickly. He needed some undercover hired muscle at some drug buys. I need to get back to my motel and change out of this suit. Can’t show up looking like this.’
‘Anything I can help you with?’ Norman offered.
Reacher said nothing.
The light changed to green and Reacher squeezed down on the Dodge’s gas pedal. It let out an exhilarating growl. He took a corner faster than he needed to, but well within the Dodge’s capabilities. Norman noticed the contents of the folder spill across the length of the back seat as the car screeched through the turn; in particular, a high quality surveillance photograph of a smartly dressed middle-aged man standing next to a younger man dressed in baggy clothing.
There was a name written at the base of the photograph in thick black marker pen.
‘Walter White’