Blue Moon

“Ideally I would like you to drive up behind the Lincoln and nudge it in the back bumper at about walking pace.”

“Why?”

“The doors will unlock. For the first responders. The car will think it’s in a minor accident. There’s a little doo-dad in there somewhere. A safety mechanism.”

“So then you can open the doors from the outside.”

“That would be the first tactical objective. All else would follow.”

“They might have guns.”

“For a limited period only. After which I would have them.”

“What if the guys are in the house?”

“I suppose we could set the car on fire. That would send a message.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Let’s take it one step at a time.”

“Will my car get wrecked?”

“It has federal bumpers. Should be good up to five miles an hour. Conceivable you could need another electrical tie.”

“OK,” she said.

“Remember to keep your foot on the clutch pedal. You don’t want to stall out. You want to be ready to reverse away.”

“Then what?”

“You park and go get your stuff, while I tell the guys in the car what they need to do.”

“Which is what?”

“Follow you to some dubious place east of Center. After that it’s up to them.”

She was quiet another long beat.

Then she nodded. A bob of her short dark hair. A gleam in her eye. A smile on her lips, half grim, half excited.

“OK,” she said again. “Let’s do it.”

—

At that moment Gregory’s right-hand man was laying out what little he knew. He was in the inner office, across the desk from his boss. Which was an intimidating place to be. The desk was massive, ornately carved from toffee-colored wood. The desk chair was huge, made of tufted green leather. Behind the chair was a tall heavy bookcase that matched the desk. Altogether imposing. Not a comfortable place to be, when telling a confusing story.

He said, “At six o’clock last night Aaron Shevick was a big ugly sadsack nobody paying back a loan. At eight he was a big ugly sadsack nobody taking out a new loan. But at ten he was different. He was a man about town, enjoying the band, flirting with the waitress, eating bite-size pizzas and drinking six-dollar cups of coffee. Then on the way out of the bar he was different again. He was a tough guy talking about Max Trulenko. He’s like three people in one. We have no idea who he really is.”

Gregory asked, “Who do you think he is?”

His guy didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Meanwhile we dug up his last known address. But he wasn’t there. He moved out a year ago. The new tenants are an old retired couple named Jack and Joanna Reacher. Their granddaughter was visiting. Her name is Abigail Reacher. Except it isn’t. Her name is Abigail Gibson. She’s the waitress Shevick was flirting with last night. We know all about her. She’s a troublemaker.”

“How so?”

“A year or so ago she told the police about something she saw. We straightened it out. We showed her the error of her ways. She promised to reform, which is why we let her keep working.”

Gregory bent his neck to the left, and held it, and to the right, and held it. As if it was hurting.

He said, “But now she’s flirting with Shevick, and showing up at his last known address under a phony name.”

“It gets worse,” his guy said. “Grandma Reacher was in our pawn shop this morning, but she signed her name Shevick.”

“Really?”

“Maria Shevick.”

“And then she showed up at Aaron Shevick’s last known address.”

“We have no idea who these people really are.”

“Who do you think they are?” Gregory asked again.

“We didn’t get where we are by being stupid,” his guy said. “We should consider every possibility. Start with Abigail Gibson. We’re getting a new police commissioner. Maybe he’s getting a jump on reading the files. Her name is in there. Maybe he reached out. Maybe he put the big guy in the field to work with her.”

“He’s not commissioner yet.”

“All the more reason. We think we’re still safe.”

Gregory said, “You think Shevick is a cop?”

“No,” his guy said. “We know the cops. We would have heard. Someone would have talked to us.”

“Then who is he?”

“Maybe he’s FBI. Maybe the police department asked for outside help.”

“No,” Gregory said. “A new commissioner wouldn’t do that. He would want his own people on the job. He would want all the glory for himself.”

“Then maybe he’s an ex-cop or ex-FBI and Dino hired him to mess with us.”

“No,” Gregory said again. “Same as the new commissioner. Dino wouldn’t hire outside help. He doesn’t trust anyone enough. Like we don’t.”

“Then who is he?”

“He’s a guy who borrowed money and then asked about Max. Which I agree is an odd combination.”

“What do you want to do about him?”

“Watch the house you found,” Gregory said. “If he lives there, he’ll show up sooner or later.”

—

Abby kept her seat belt on. Reacher took his off. He braced his palm against the dash. She put the gear stick in first.

“Ready?” she said.

“Walking speed,” he said. “It’s going to seem awful fast when you get there. But don’t slow down. Maybe better to close your eyes for the last bit.”

She pulled away from the curb and rolled down the street.

Chapter 20