The Sentinel

TWENTY

So, it wasn’t laziness. It was greed. Only not on Thomassino’s part. He was just a pawn. He could have made a stand, Reacher supposed. In which case the servers would already be back in their hands. But he couldn’t blame the guy for looking the other way while his work truck got looted. Not with his wife’s life on the line. And not over a bunch of junk that people had already thrown away. Reacher would have been happier if they were driving away with the servers stacked safely in the back of the minivan. But having another breadcrumb to follow was better than nothing.

The GPS predicted a twenty-two-minute drive to Fat Freddie’s, but that turned into forty-six minutes because Reacher asked Sands to make a detour via the truck stop. He wanted to get his hands on two more things. A bolt cutter. The biggest they had. And a padlock. The strongest he could find. Sands took the opportunity to top off the gas while Reacher was inside and she was waiting when he returned with the engine running and the next leg of the route highlighted on the screen. She drove faster than before. Buoyed up with the prospect of retrieving the servers, Reacher figured. She pushed the minivan hard, swaying and drifting through the curves until a robotic voice from the dashboard announced that their destination was on their left. They were still north of town. A few houses were dotted around amongst the fields and the trees but the concentrated development was still at least a mile away. There was a pre-war flatbed parked on either side of the driveway, like a rusty automotive equivalent of the statues Reacher had seen at the entrance to grand estates. The diner itself was set back from the road. It was a wide rectangular building made to look like it was constructed from logs. It had a green metal roof and a full-width porch and a neon sign mounted in the centre of the front wall. It spelled out Fat Freddie’s in flashing red letters and below the script an animated cartoon cowboy repeatedly lifted a colossal cheeseburger from his plate to his mouth.

The parking lot was out front. It was packed. The dinner rush was still in full swing. Sands threaded her way around the cars and trucks that had been left at the ends of rows and half up on the kerbs and looped around to the back of the building. There was another line of spaces marked Staff Only, again all taken. Beyond them was the outhouse, just where Thomassino had said it would be. It was low and square, built of pale brick, with a flat roof and a fenced-off area attached at the front to contain the garbage cans. Sands pulled up at the side, next to its door. Reacher climbed out. He was holding the bolt cutter low down, tight against his leg. He checked that no one was watching. Raised the tool. Closed its jaws over the top of the padlock. And squeezed. Hard. The metal loop severed. He swung the body of the lock aside, pulled it clear, and stowed its remains in his pocket. Sands jumped down and joined him. Rutherford scurried around from the far side of the van.

‘Ready?’ Reacher said.

Sands and Rutherford looked at each other and nodded.

Reacher pulled the door. Its hinges squealed. Daylight flooded in almost to the far wall. Inside, the floor was covered with heaps of equipment. A similar mix to the junk at the recycling plant. Only here it was neatly sorted into categories. Computers in one area. Monitors next to them. Then keyboards. And mice. And printers. And TVs. And DVD players. Presumably everything was serviceable, although Reacher didn’t know how to tell for sure. Everything was certainly ordered and organized. And there was only one thing that wasn’t electronic. A cabinet. It was six feet tall, standing on its own at the back of the space, half hidden in the shadows. Its solid right side was facing them, and the remains of its glass door was hanging open.

‘There it is!’ Rutherford pushed past Reacher and rushed forward, pulling out his phone as he went. He switched on its flashlight. Dodged around to the front of the cabinet. Looked inside. Then slumped sideways, ending up with his right shoulder propped against the wall.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sands said.

Rutherford couldn’t speak. He just gestured vaguely with his left hand.

Sands crossed the room, looked into the cabinet, and turned back to Reacher. He knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth. ‘It’s empty. They’re gone.’

Reacher had a vision of the servers receding even further into the distance. And the new guy from Moscow heading in the opposite direction. On a plane. Growing ever closer.

‘Any chance they’re in one of these piles?’ Reacher said.

Rutherford struggled back upright and shook his head. ‘No. There’s only one lot of computers, and they’re all desktops. The servers aren’t here. We’re too late.’

‘That’s the wrong way to look at it,’ Reacher said. ‘We’re not too late. We’re a step closer. We know for sure they were here. Which means we’re on the right track.’

‘That’s true,’ Sands said. She took Rutherford’s arm and led him to the door. ‘Come on. We’re not giving up.’

‘What can we do?’ Rutherford said. ‘It’s a dead end.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Sands said. ‘The servers were here. Someone knows what happened to them.’

‘I guess,’ Rutherford said. ‘But who?’

‘We already know who,’ Sands said. ‘Bill Budnick. The man who threatened Thomassino. Who owns this place. We’ll talk to him. Make him tell us who he sold them to.’

‘Think he’s still here?’ Rutherford said. ‘What if he doesn’t work evenings?’

‘We’ll go inside,’ Sands said. ‘It should be easy to see if he’s around. And if he’s not, someone will know how to contact him.’

‘No need to go looking for him,’ Reacher said. ‘Give it five minutes. Maybe less. He’ll come to us.’

Reacher leaned into the van and slid the bolt cutter under his seat then turned and shoved the outhouse door closed.

‘Right,’ Sands said. ‘The half-hour thing.’

‘I don’t follow,’ Rutherford said.

‘Thomassino said he could show up here any time the place is open.’ Reacher slid the new lock into place and clicked it shut. ‘No need to call ahead. He just had to stay for half an hour.’

‘Meaning that whoever searches his truck is always here,’ Sands said. ‘He needs time to look through all the stuff. Figure out what’s valuable. Move it to the outhouse. And get clear before Thomassino comes back out. Thirty minutes is already tight. Anything else, like relying on another person to notice Thomassino had showed up, taking their call, driving here from wherever he’s based – that would add too much overhead.’

‘Maybe,’ Rutherford said. ‘But it doesn’t follow that Budnick does that himself.’

‘True.’ Reacher leaned against the wall. ‘But professional criminals generally want two things. As much reward as possible. And as little risk as possible. If Budnick doesn’t deal with the trucks himself he has to bring in someone else to do it. At least one person. Maybe two, to cover all the week’s shifts. These people would need to be paid. Which dilutes the profit. They might drop a dime on him. And they would have to keep sneaking away from the kitchen or the dishwasher or whatever their cover job is, which would be suspicious. Which would increase the risk.’ He pointed to a fire door at the back of the main building. ‘A dime gets a dollar that the next guy who comes out of there is Budnick. Meantime, Rusty, you better get back in the van. Keep your head down. You’re local. You’ve been in the paper. He might recognize you.’

The fire door opened after three minutes and a man stepped out. He was dressed in a pale grey suit with a white shirt and a flowery tie. His hair was neatly parted. And he was enormous. Six two and at least four hundred pounds. The perils of being surrounded by free food all day, every day, Reacher thought. The guy stood still for a moment, head tipped slightly to one side. Assessing the situation.

The guy came to a conclusion and started towards the outhouse. He was light on his feet. He moved fast. Reacher updated his appraisal. The guy was not a slob, after all. Maybe a former wrestler. Or a lineman. Not that his background was going to make any difference. Not unless he had a heart attack before giving Reacher what he wanted.

‘I’m sorry, folks,’ the guy said. ‘You can’t park there. I’m going to have to ask you to move.’

‘That’s not right, is it, Mr Budnick?’ Reacher said. ‘We can park here. Clearly. Because we have. And you don’t have to ask us to move. You want to.’

‘Who the hell are you?’ Budnick said. ‘And how do you know my name?’

‘I know a lot about you,’ Reacher said. ‘I know you own this restaurant. And I know that owning a restaurant isn’t enough for you, because you do a little business on the side. So I’m here to make you an offer. Something very simple. We both get what we want. We go our separate ways. Sound good?’

‘Firstly, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I run my diner. That’s it. Period, full stop. I have nothing else going on the side. And second, even if I did, what have you got that I could possibly want?’

‘Nothing. I’m not selling. I’m buying. Or more accurately, bartering, as no money is going to change hands. You’re going to give me something. And I’m going to do something for you in return.’

‘You’re very sure of yourself.’

Reacher said nothing.

‘All right,’ Budnick said. ‘I’ll bite. What do you want?’

‘A piece of information.’

‘Such as?’

‘Some electronic equipment was brought here. Now it’s gone. The problem is, it belongs to us. And we want it back. So you’re going to tell me who you sold it to.’

Budnick didn’t reply.

‘And in return I won’t break your legs,’ Reacher said.

‘Screw you.’ Budnick took a step back, pulled a phone out of his jacket pocket, and started poking at its screen.

Reacher took it from him and tossed it to Sands.

‘You obviously weren’t dialling 911 since we’re talking about stolen goods,’ Reacher said. ‘Which means you were calling whoever you pay for protection. To do what? Send over three or four guys? Now, normally I’d be in favour of that. I’ve spent a lot of today sitting on my ass, waiting and talking. A little light exercise would be welcome. But unfortunately I’m short of time. Which means that either you tell me what I want to know, or I take my frustration out on you.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Budnick raised his chin. ‘Come on then. Try it. See how it works out for you.’

A wrestler, Reacher thought. Or a lineman. Which meant he’d probably try some kind of grappling manoeuvre. Or he’d charge, hoping to knock Reacher down. He’d have to do something like that. There was very little chance of his landing a punch. Or a kick. Reacher was confident about that. Budnick was three inches shorter, to start with. And Reacher had abnormally long arms. The simplest thing would be to wait for Budnick to make his move then punch him in the face the moment he was in range. But not too hard. Reacher didn’t want to knock him out. Not until he’d given up a name.

Budnick shuffled to the side, moving clockwise, closer to the outhouse. Trying to get a straight shot towards the parking lot. Meaning he was going to charge. Not grapple. He was a big guy. Hauling a body that size around would take a lot of energy. Reacher changed his plan. He had space to his left and right. He could dodge out of Budnick’s way. Run the guy around. Wear him out. Let him defeat himself.

Budnick moved another six inches. Braced himself for launch. Then Sands stepped up. She drove the side of her foot hard into his knee and he went down sideways like a felled tree, squealing, then rolled on to his back and clutched his injured leg.

‘What?’ Sands turned to Reacher. ‘Why should I let you boys have all the fun?’

Budnick scrabbled into a sitting position, his hurt leg still bent.

‘That kick?’ Sands stepped in front of him. ‘Half power. The next kick? Full power. And forget your legs. I’m going right for your balls. And I never miss.’

Budnick whimpered and tried to scramble away backwards.

‘Unless you give us the name,’ Sands said. ‘Who you sold the electronics to. Right now.’

‘I can’t,’ Budnick said. ‘I didn’t sell it.’

‘Go ahead,’ Reacher said. ‘Kick him.’

‘No,’ Budnick said. ‘Please. You don’t understand. I don’t sell the stuff. It’s not my operation. I just rent out the space where it gets stored.’

‘Who do you rent it to?’ Reacher said.

‘The guy I pay for protection.’

‘OK. What’s his name? Where do we find him?’

‘No. Please. I can’t. Look, the guy doesn’t even pay me. He regards it as a favour. A courtesy.’

Reacher and Sands looked at each other.

‘It’s true.’ Budnick held up his hands. ‘I swear. Look, this is the hospitality business. I knew protection would be a thing. I even put it in the budget. Under a fake heading, obviously. I had cash set aside, ready to go. The guy showed up the night I reopened. Like clockwork. Told me how much I had to pay. It was a lot, but what could I do? I agreed. Then he told me about this other thing, with the electronics. A sideline of his. It had been going on for years, apparently. The guy I bought the place from must have forgotten to mention it. The asshole. Anyway, the protection guy said he was happy with the arrangement. He suggested I might like to keep it going. For the sake of my health. What was I going to say? I’m not stupid.’

‘Maybe you are stupid,’ Reacher said. ‘Maybe you’re not. But here’s the thing. Who told you what, and when? What you get paid for, and what you give away? I don’t care. I only want to hear two things from you. The name of this guy. And where we can find him.’

‘I can’t tell you. He’ll kill me.’

‘And if you don’t tell me, my friend is going to kick a field goal with your testicles. I can’t imagine that would feel good. So you’re going to have to do all kinds of thinking. About your priorities. About current certainties versus future possibilities. And you’re going to have to do it fast, because I’m running out of patience.’

Budnick was silent for a minute, then he struggled to his feet. ‘You mentioned priorities. Well, what are yours? Getting your stuff back? Or getting the guy who’s got it? Because the way I see it, for your stuff to end up here, it must have gotten thrown in the trash at some point. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe someone did it to mess with you. But however it got there, it wasn’t my guy’s fault. So what if I could help you get your stuff back, but without involving him?’

Reacher took a moment to think. A protection racket suggested organized crime. Organized crime suggested prostitution. Drugs. Gambling. Loan sharking. All things he had no time for. All things, in an ideal world, he would tear down. But he wasn’t living in an ideal world. And he wasn’t dealing in the hypothetical. He had more tangible concerns. The identity of the spy who was trying to steal a copy of The Sentinel, for one thing. And Rutherford’s safety, for another.

Priorities, indeed.

‘All right,’ Reacher said. ‘Suppose I forget about your guy. Suppose I only care about getting my stuff back. How could that happen?’

‘I know where he keeps it,’ Budnick said. ‘The good stuff. I’m assuming your stuff is good?’

Reacher nodded.

‘One of his guys let it slip once. Where he was taking it. The guy didn’t realize what he was saying. He was just running his mouth. And it was months ago. He wouldn’t remember, anyway. So you could go there. Make it look like a random robbery. And no one could ever tie it back to me. Everyone could walk away happy. Except for the protection guy. But, hey, screw him.’

Reacher looked at Sands. She nodded.

‘OK,’ Reacher said. ‘Where is the place?’

‘It’s called Norm’s Self Storage. He has unit E4. You can Google the address. I can tell you the code for the gate. I know it because I started renting a unit for myself during the renovations. It’s the unit number – mine is A6 – and the last seven digits of my cell.’ He rattled off a string of numbers.

‘Good,’ Reacher said. ‘But you know, before we go racing across town, maybe we should make absolutely certain our stuff isn’t here? The door is padlocked and it was hard to get a good look through the crack. Can you open it for us?’

‘You didn’t check inside?’

‘How could we?’

Budnick shrugged then took a Titans fob out of his pocket. It had a single key attached. He handed it to Reacher. ‘Makes sense, I guess. Here. You open it.’

Reacher stepped into the space between the building and the minivan. He switched keys while his back was turned. Worked the new padlock. And pulled open the door.

‘Why didn’t we think of this before?’ Reacher pretended to hit himself in the forehead with his palm. ‘It was inside all along. Budnick, come here. I need your help moving it.’

Budnick limped forward. ‘Which thing is yours?’

‘It’s all the way at the back,’ Reacher said. ‘See that tall cabinet with the broken door? That’s it.’

‘No way.’ Budnick shook his head. ‘I remember dragging that thing in. It weighs a damn ton. Look, take it if you want. But you’re on your own.’

‘OK,’ Reacher said. ‘Your choice.’ He braced one foot against the side of the minivan and slammed into Budnick’s back, hard, right between the shoulder blades.

Budnick staggered through the doorway. His arms flapped like the wings of a giant flightless bird. He stumbled forward. Steered around one pile of equipment. Two. Then he stepped in the heap of computer mice. His feet got tangled in the wires and he pitched forward, landing next to the widescreen TVs.

Reacher tossed the Titans key ring in after him. ‘Don’t worry. Someone will come by and let you out. Unless you were lying about the storage unit. Or it’s a trap. In which case it won’t be the protection guy who’s screwed. It’ll be you.’

Sands gestured to Reacher to hold his position then darted around to the other side of the minivan. She returned a moment later with two bottles of water from the pack he had bought earlier. Set them down just over the threshold. Waited for him to close the door and work the lock. Then she took hold of his arm. ‘You are going to come back and let Budnick out, right?’

‘If we need to have another conversation,’ Reacher said.

‘And if you don’t need to? If we get the servers? You can’t just leave him locked in there.’

‘I won’t leave him. Not for long. I’ll call Officer Rule. Tell her where to find him. Let her put another feather in her cap.’

‘Isn’t that a bit hard on Budnick? It’s not his operation. He’s not profiting from it. Just like Thomassino isn’t, which is why we let him go. Shouldn’t we stick the police on the protection guy instead? He’s the one who made Budnick do it.’

‘The protection guy will go down too, I’m sure. But all he did was make Budnick let him use the outhouse. It was Budnick who chose to threaten Thomassino’s family. He took that step by himself. And that’s a line he should not have crossed.’