Everyone went home, and Jack arranged for Reacher to stay in a room above the Most Wanted Squad offices, across from his own.
"It's private and secure here. The outside world has always mistaken it for an insurance agency." The guest room wasn't sparsely furnished, but it was regularly cleaned and ready for immediate check-in.
Reacher pulled his only belongings, a toothbrush, from his pocket and placed it on the bathroom sink, a look of slight confusion on his face.
"You're still working in intelligence? Why are you so cautious?"
"No, just consider it my quirk." Jack briefly described his bombed-out house, then elaborated on his security philosophy about the importance of protecting those around him.
"Whether it's drug lords or terrorists, I'm not afraid to assume the utmost malice. Even the industrial zone in Margrave has a factory security team to prevent those South American drug traffickers from making a comeback."
Reacher instinctively opened his mouth, unsure how to respond, as he heard a familiar place.
"You haven't been back to see her, have you? Roscoe's still single," Jack teased, pulling two bottles of beer from the fridge—Clay and Jubal's stock.
Reacher took the beer and remained silent. Jack smiled and didn't continue the conversation. The big guy was actually quite odd. He was supposed to be a man of loyalty, yet he chose to wander the world alone.
"Who died in the car accident?" Reacher suddenly asked after a long silence.
"It should be the oldest of you, Larry. He died in a car accident in Montana two years ago. Did the military really hurt you so badly that you completely cut off contact with your former colleagues?" Jack asked curiously.
"Of course not. I just got tired of the military's rules and regulations and wanted to enjoy a completely free journey. I was surprised they didn't tell me." Reacher unscrewed the bottle cap with his hand and took a sip of his cold beer. "Without an address or a phone number, do you think everyone is as good at finding people as we are in the FBI?" Jack's tone was slightly sarcastic.
"Do you know if there are any gangs around here? I need a gun." Reacher took the initiative to change the subject.
"I don't think you're planning on spending money on an unnumbered pistol." Jack curled his lips and beckoned him to follow him.
The two of them came to the garage downstairs, part of which had been converted by Jack into a small indoor shooting range, which also served as the "arsenal" of the wanted criminal team.
"These guns have no numbers, and their ballistic data doesn't exist in any database, so you can use them with confidence." Jack handed Reacher a brand new Glock 20, two spare magazines, and a box of 10mm AUTO bullets.
"I like this gun." Reacher grinned, picked up the gun, inspected it briefly, raised his hand, aimed at the target in the distance, and fired a shot, hitting the bull's eye.
Jack, who had guessed he would do this, hurriedly put on his noise-canceling earmuffs as he handed him the gun, and shook his head speechlessly at this scene.
After Reacher tucked his gun back into his waistband, satisfied, the two returned to the ground floor. Jack opened the back door, each with a beer and a cigar, and settled into a rocking chair on the porch, staring out at the small vegetable garden.
After a long pause, Jack broke his silence. "You seem to be enjoying your life as usual." " I'm free enough. It's good. I don't have to work or deal with superiors. You know, those companies are just like the military; they're just caged in." Reacher's expression was impassive.
Jack shrugged. "It seems we all have different definitions of freedom. I think I'm quite free the way I am. It
's been years. I'm surprised you haven't grown tired of this vagabond lifestyle yet. You've probably traveled all over the country, haven't you? It's a shame Greyhound doesn't have the mileage program like the airlines do."
Reacher smiled. "Arkansas is my last stop in the South. If you hadn't come find me, I'd probably have jumped on a train north by now."
"You were also a 'Bos'?" Jack was surprised. He'd learned that term from a railway police officer (Chapter 416).
"Yes, it was quite frequent for a while, until one day a freight train I was riding on derailed. Then I gradually gave up this unsafe way of traveling and switched to hitchhiking and taking Greyhound buses." Speaking of this, Reacher's face still had a hint of luck.
"That sounds even more unsafe," Jack muttered. "I mean, aren't those drivers afraid of a big guy like you?"
"Actually, they're quite interesting sometimes, even sharing food with me," Reacher grinned.
"You're just lucky," Jack said with a wicked grin. There are so many Americans with unique tastes these days, and it's not just pretty girls who get into danger when they hitchhike.
But this guy has reached the pinnacle of "poor travel," and most people can't live so carefree.
Jack also recounted his experiences over the past two years, the various cases he's taken on, some of which were satisfying and satisfying, while others were tragedies that were uncomfortable and unpleasant.
As he spoke, he observed the big guy's expression. Although Reacher just listened quietly most of the time, he could occasionally catch a glimpse of yearning and longing in his eyes, but it quickly disappeared, making people wonder if it was just an illusion.
An idea flashed across Jack's face, and a smile played across his face. "If you've traveled all over the country someday, would you be interested in exploring other countries?"
Reacher raised an eyebrow, seeming quite interested in his suggestion. "What would you like to discuss?"
"Like, Malaysia to the north, or Mexico to the south, or even those countries in the Americas further south. In the future, we could even explore Europe, Africa, and even Asia."
Reacher looked at him suspiciously. "What do you want me to do for you?"
"Just some small business, like buying a small house in a big city in a certain country and hiring someone to maintain it regularly. It won't take up too much of your time, and we'll hand it over to a few companies to manage it later. You'll just need to handle the initial work."
This was something Jack had previously planned to assign to Anna, but, keeping in mind the principle of not putting all your eggs in one basket, he decided to assign it to different people.
"I hate dressing up in a suit and looking like a business person to meet people."
Reacher's words surprised and delighted Jack that the big man didn't refuse immediately.
"All you have to do is wave checks and sign contracts. No need to wear a suit. I need to set up some safe houses, like this one, for emergencies. It'll give me and my crew a place to sleep when we're out on missions.
And you don't need to check in with me constantly. You can go wherever you want. Just give me a call when you pass through a major city."
"If I ever want to go abroad, I'll consider your suggestion," Reacher said, not completely.
"Okay, let me know when you've made up your mind. I know you believe in minimalism, but there's no need to become a homeless person. At least if you can't find a motel, consider staying in a regular hotel instead of sleeping on an unattended boat at the dock."
Jack truly admired the big guy. This kind of "free" life is usually only described by novelists. It sounds romantic, but only those who have lived it can truly understand.
The two, who hadn't seen each other for a long time, chatted late into the night. Jack even asked about the circumstances surrounding the disbandment of the 110 Special Investigations Unit.
It's a rather clichéd story, going on to investigate a case in which someone in the military was using a transport plane to smuggle drugs into the country. Special investigators, observing the fuel consumption of the transport plane, discovered that someone had hidden the drugs in the spare tire of a Humvee.
Just as they were about to close the case, they encountered resistance from higher-ups. A colonel, about to be promoted to general and transferred to a South Korean base to enjoy life, didn't want the case to spread too widely, so he ordered Reacher to
close the case and cover up the scandal. Reacher and his men chose to disobey orders, and the case was solved. The scandal was reported in the newspapers, and the 110 Special Investigations Unit was disbanded on the spot for defying orders from their superiors. Everyone, including Reacher, was forced to retire.
"How did you manage to gather such a group of idealists in this day and age?" Jack asked curiously.
"I personally selected and trained them." Mentioning his old subordinates, Reacher's expression was varied, with guilt being the most prominent, but no regrets.
(End of chapter)