"Jack Reacher" had only aired its first season before Jack traveled through time, but he knew if there was a second season, it would be a big deal.
While Reacher wasn't as prone to stabbing holes in the sky as the old "R.E.D." guys, it was obvious he was facing a villain far more formidable than Kleiner Industries in Margrave. After all,
only when the opponents get stronger and the spectacle gets bigger does the audience build anticipation, even though most American TV series suffer from the habit of getting worse with each episode.
Jack's concern wasn't that the plot was too bad or the opponents too strong, but that Reacher would kill too hard, leaving a mess that would be difficult to clean up.
Reacher remained calm after learning of Franz's death, but he always was, even when he was killing people.
After all, New York was his territory now, and until he could determine the full scope of this case, Jack had to keep up with him, even if it meant disguising himself.
"So, what are you going to do next?" Jack asked, his voice slightly slurred, after he had finished reading all the documents.
Reacher frowned at Jack's swollen cheek, looking somewhat bewildered. "Are you going to pretend to be a freeloader again?"
Jack glared at him. "If you don't mind staying in my office and listening to the case progress every day, I also don't mind having my team handle the case. I have great confidence in my team's abilities.
Or perhaps you'd like to work with me as a civilian consultant, following my instructions."
Reacher's face showed a constipated expression, and he shook his head with difficulty. "Forget it then."
Three hours later, the Gulfstream business jet landed, and Jack got in his Hellcat and took Reacher straight to the city.
"Wouldn't the license plate on this car give you away as an FBI agent?" Reacher asked casually, glancing at the hidden lights and knocking on the bulletproof window.
"The license plate has been changed. Now I'm a private investigator named Jack Ryan. Even if the CIA investigates, the result will be the same," Jack replied with a warning look.
"Don't even think about this car. It's government property. If you want it, we'll lease you one later." He drove this Hellcat more often than the Firebird in New York; he'd grown attached to it.
"So where are we going now?" Reacher changed the subject.
"To see Franz's widow, of course," Jack replied, somewhat baffled.
"Is Franz married?" Reacher sounded a bit surprised.
Jack was quite taken aback. "You asking me? Isn't he a friend of yours? Franz's profile says he has a son."
"We just haven't been in touch in a while," Reacher explained awkwardly.
—
"Are you the big guy?" The tearful woman blurted out after Reacher introduced himself. "God, Calvin told me your stories countless times, pointing to photos."
Jack glanced at the somewhat depressed big man and took the initiative to play the role of mediator. "Angela, right? Can we go inside and talk?"
"Oh, of course." Mrs. Franz quickly stepped aside and invited the two into the room.
The room was a bit messy. Children's toys and books were piled on the sofa, coffee table, and even the floor. A little boy, about five or six, was clutching a stuffed animal, staring blankly at a cartoon on TV.
"Mucky, go find your crayons and color on the table for a while, okay?" Mrs. Franz turned off the TV with the remote control, coaxed her son into the dining room, and gestured to the living room sofa for them to make their own way.
"I'm sorry, it's a bit messy, but I just don't have the energy to clean it up. My sister calls me every hour to prevent me from committing suicide."
"I believe you're a strong woman," Jack said, glancing at the boy, who sat obediently at the large dining table. "Your son looks a lot like your husband."
Mrs. Franz looked young, a Caucasian woman in her early 30s with soft features. Even with some makeup, she'd be a striking beauty. But now, without makeup, her eye bags were visibly red and puffy.
"Excuse me, were you also part of the 110 team? Your age?" Mrs. Franz asked hesitantly, perhaps sensing Jack's unfamiliarity.
Jack smiled and took out a pre-prepared business card, "I'm a private detective and a friend of this big guy. I'm here on his behalf to investigate the cause of Franz's death."
Reacher seemed very uncomfortable with this atmosphere and went straight to the point, "I know the police may have asked you countless questions, but could you please help me sort out what happened in chronological order?"
"Of course." Mrs. Franz's eyes instantly turned red again, and she choked, "I took Mikey to the countryside before to help my sister take care of my mother. She has early-onset Alzheimer's disease. During that time, I tried to contact Calvin several times, but he didn't call back.
This is not his style, so I began to worry and called the NYPD. The police said he might be handling a commission. After all, Calvin's profession is also a private detective.
Or he might have gone to a party. After all, his wife and children are not around, so he took the opportunity to enjoy the happiness of a middle-aged man."
"So that's what you think too? Secretly going out to have fun with his drinking buddies while you're away?" Reacher asked with a frown.
Mrs. Frantz wiped away her tears and answered affirmatively, "Calvin would even call me if he was ten minutes late for dinner, and he never went out to have fun behind my back.
So I was very worried and went home early, only to find that the house had been ransacked, but nothing was missing. The NYPD came to check but found nothing."
Jack wrote this information down in his notebook and asked, "Do you know what case he's taken on recently?"
Mrs. Frantz shook her head, "Calvin never brings work home. He said that when he's at home he hopes to devote 100% of his energy to me and Mikey."
Seeing that she was about to break down again, Jack quickly smiled and interrupted, "This is the most simple and touching love talk I've ever heard."
These words made Mrs. Frantz smile with tears in her eyes, and she kept wiping her tears. Faced with such an atmosphere, Reacher seemed a little restless. This was an occasion he was extremely bad at dealing with.
He clumsily pulled a few tissues from beneath a pile of debris on the table and handed them to her. His cheek muscles twitched with difficulty, forcing a smile that looked even uglier than tears. "We need more information. Just a few more questions and we'll be done. I promise."
Mrs. Franz covered her mouth and sobbed softly before nodding, trying to pull herself together.
"Could you please describe Franz's recent clientele? Are there any particularly troublesome or stressful ones?" Jack asked.
"No," Mrs. Franz's tone remained firm. "Ever since Mackey was born, he promised me he wouldn't do any more dangerous work. Now it's Wall Street guys, CEOs, venture funds, insurance companies, and the like. It
seems that's not the case now. Sorry, I don't know much. Maybe his office might have some clues."
She pulled a set of keys from a small dish on the fireplace and handed them to Reacher. "The address is 103 Flatbush. The sign on the door says 'Three Rivers Consulting.' The police say it's been completely destroyed, just like our house."
Reacher took the keys and opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something comforting, or perhaps some promise.
Mrs. Franz, seemingly having indirectly learned a lot about Reacher's deeds from her husband, took the initiative to interject, "Franz always told me that special investigators are not ordinary police officers. You are better than the best."
"Don't mess with special investigators," the little boy who had been quietly drawing in the next room suddenly said.
Jack had just heard Reacher say this a while ago. He couldn't help but smile and asked loudly, "Did your father teach you this?"
The little boy nodded timidly to the two of them.
Jack looked at Reacher, indicating that he really should say something.
"He's right." Reacher said this after a long pause, and his back looked a little embarrassed as he left.
(End of this chapter)