Blue Moon

Upstairs in the hallway Abby whispered, “This is going to turn bad.”

Like a waitress smelling a bar fight coming.

“Probably,” Reacher said.

Below them they heard the guy say, “The third coincidence is that a phone with copies of those same messages on it was stolen last night. At one point recently it was switched on for twenty minutes. No calls were made or received. But twenty minutes is long enough to read plenty of texts. Long enough to note down the hard words to work on later.”

Hogan said, “Lighten up, man. No one had a stolen phone.”

“The fourth coincidence is that the stolen phone was stolen by the big ugly guy in the description. We know that for sure. We got a full report. The guy was acting alone at the time, but he is known to associate with a small dark-haired woman. Who was undoubtedly your dinner guest, because she wrote the word on the paper. Undoubtedly she copied it from the stolen phone. Because how else would she know that word? Why else would she be interested in that word right now?”

“I don’t know, man,” Hogan said. “Maybe we’re talking about different people.”

“He went out and stole the phone and brought it back to her. Did she instruct him to, ahead of time? Is she his boss? Did she send him on a mission?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, man.”

“Then you better get a clue,” the guy said. “You have been caught harboring enemies of the community. Doesn’t reflect well on you.”

“Whatever,” Hogan said.

“You want to move out of state?”

“I would prefer you to.”

Silence for a long moment.

Then the guy spoke again. Some new menace in his voice. Some new thought. He said, “Did they walk or drive?”

“Who?”

“The man and the woman you were harboring.”

“We weren’t harboring diddly squat. We had friends over for dinner.”

“Walk or drive?”

“When?”

“When they left your house at the end of the evening. When they didn’t stay over.”

“They walked.”

“Do they live close by?”

“Not very,” Hogan said, cautiously.

“So a walk of some length. We’re watching these blocks very carefully. We didn’t see a man and a woman walking home.”

“Maybe they had a car parked around the corner.”

“We didn’t see a man and a woman driving home, either.”

“Maybe you missed them.”

“I don’t think we would have.”

“Then I can’t help you, man.”

The guy said, “I know they were here. I saw the food they ate. I have the note they transcribed from the stolen phone. Tonight these are the most heavily watched blocks in the city. They were not seen leaving. Therefore they’re still here. I think they’re upstairs, right now.”

Silence for another long moment.

Then Hogan said, “You’re a pain in the ass, man. Go ahead up and take a look. Three rooms, all of them empty. Then get out of the house and don’t come back. Don’t send an invitation to the picnic.”

In the hallway upstairs Abby whispered, “We could still climb out the window.”

“We didn’t make the bed,” Reacher whispered back. “And I decided we need this guy’s car. We can’t let him leave anyway.”

“Why do we need his car?”

“Something I just realized we need to do.”

Below them the guy’s footsteps crossed the hallway. Toward the bottom of the stairs. A heavy tread. The old floor creaked and yielded under it. Reacher left his gun in his pocket. He didn’t want to use it. A gunshot on a city street at night is going to get a reaction

. Too many complications. Evidently the Albanian guy thought the same way. His right hand snaked into view and gripped the stair rail. No gun. His left hand followed. No gun. But they were big hands. Smooth and hard, broad and discolored, thick blunt fingers, with what looked like a manicure done by a steak mallet.

The guy stepped up on the bottom stair. Big shoe. Large size. Wide fitting. Thick heavy legs. Bulky shoulders, a too-tight suit jacket. Maybe six-two, maybe two-twenty. Not a scrappy little Adriatic guy. A big side of beef. Once upon a time a police detective in Tirana. Maybe size was a requirement. Maybe it got better results.

The guy kept on climbing. Reacher backed away, out of sight. He figured he would step up and say hello just as the guy got to the top. From where he had the furthest to fall. All the way back down again. Maximum distance. Better than just falling on the floor. More efficient. The footsteps kept on coming. Every board squeaked. Reacher waited.

The guy got to the top.

Reacher stepped out.

The guy stared at him.

Reacher said, “Tell me about the rare and subtle word.”

In the hallway below, he heard Hogan say, “Oh, shit.”

The guy at the top of the stairs didn’t answer.

Reacher said, “Tell me about the bunch of meanings. Repulsive to the eye, no doubt, unpleasant to look at, hideous, offensive, unsightly, base, degraded, vile, repellent. All that good modern-day stuff. But if it’s originally an old folk word from years ago, then it’s mostly about fear. In most languages the words share a root. Things you feared, you called ugly. The creature who lived in the forest was never handsome.”

The guy didn’t answer.