Second Son

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Reacher hustled Helen up to her house and then he jogged across the street to his own. He went in the door and ran through to the kitchen and found his father in there, alone.

“Where’s Joe?” Reacher asked.

“Taking a long walk,” his father said.

Reacher stepped out to the back yard. It was a square concrete space, empty except for an old patio table and four chairs, and the empty incinerator. The incinerator was about the size of a big round garbage can. It was made of diagonal steel mesh. It was up on little legs. It was faintly gray with old ash, but it had been emptied and cleaned after its last use. In fact the whole yard had been swept. Marine families. Always meticulous.

Reacher headed back to the hallway. He crouched over the spool of electric cable and unwound six feet of wire and snipped it off with the cutters.

His father asked, “What are you doing?”

“You know what I’m doing, dad,” Reacher said. “I’m doing what you intended me to do. You didn’t order boots. You ordered exactly what arrived. Last night, after the code book went missing. You thought the news would leak and Joe and I would get picked on as a result. You couldn’t bring us Ka-Bar knives or knuckledusters, so you thought of the next best thing.”

He started to wind the heavy wire around his fist, wrapping one turn after another, the way a boxer binds his hands. He pressed the malleable metal and plastic flat and snug.

His father asked, “So has the news leaked?”

“No,” Reacher said. “This is a previous engagement.”

His father ducked his head out the door and looked down the street. He said, “Can you take that guy?”

“Does the Pope sleep in the woods?”

“He has a friend with him.”

“The more the merrier.”

“There are other kids watching.”

“There always are.”

Reacher started wrapping his other hand.

His father said, “Stay calm, son. Don’t do too much damage. I don’t want this family to go three for three this week, as far as getting in trouble is concerned.”

“He won’t rat me out.”

“I know that. I’m talking about a manslaughter charge.”

“Don’t worry, dad,” Reacher said. “It won’t go that far.”

“Make sure it doesn’t.”

“But I’m afraid it will have to go a certain distance. A little farther than normal.”

“What are you talking about, son?”

“I’m afraid this time I’m going to have to break some bones.”

“Why?”

“Mom told me to. In a way.”

“What?”

“At the airport,” Reacher said. “She took me aside, remember? She told me she figures this place is driving you and Joe crazy. She told me I had to keep an eye on you and him both. She said it’s up to me.”

“Your mother said that? We can look after ourselves.”

“Yeah? How’s that working out so far?”

“But this kid has nothing to do with anything.”

“I think he does,” Reacher said.

“Since when? Did he say something?”

“No,” Reacher said. “But there are other senses apart from hearing. There’s smell, for instance.”

And then he jammed his bulbous gray fists in his pockets and stepped out to the street again.