"If there's anything else I can help with, just ask." After escorting everyone out of the police station, Finlay offered Reacher his hand.
Reacher, who had mostly kept a straight face since arriving in New York, rarely smiled. The joy of seeing his old friend dispelled the sadness and anger that had lingered in his heart for days.
"You've helped. Be careful during this time."
Reacher's gaze fell on Finlay's left hand, and his smile widened. "I noticed you're still wearing your wedding ring."
"It's just a habit. Although I still think about the past from time to time, I'm gradually getting over it." Finlay smiled with relief.
The old black detective had originally appeared in Margrave Town because his wife had died of a serious illness. He attributed the death to his long-term neglect of his family. Guilt led Finlay to a life of self-imposed exile.
"I've learned to work out and stopped being vegan. Come to think of it, I went back to Margrave not long ago, and it's changed a lot. Roscoe even gave me a dog."
Seeing his smile turn a little strange, Jack and Reacher felt a sense of unease. "You really got a dog?"
What had he said when they parted in Margrave?
"Yes, I call him Jack, and he eats as much as you two," Finlay said with a cheerful smile.
Since
everyone else had other things to do, catching up with Finlay didn't take long. Before leaving, Jack gave him his address. Boston wasn't too far from New York, and he invited him to drive over for a weekend or something.
"Can you find a motel on the way? I'm going to go crazy if I don't change these clothes." Nigley looked as if he had fleas, completely uneasy.
Reacher readily agreed, knowing that she, like him, was unaccustomed to formal attire. "We can spend the night in New Haven. Tomorrow morning, you and Dixon will go assist the FBI in their search for Marlo Burns and her daughter. Jack, I, and O'Donnell will go to Washington, D.C.
O'Donnell was a little puzzled. "What are we going to DC for?"
"Of course, to show up at DHS so Senator Lavoie can find us and relocate your family. We have to be prepared for them to get desperate." Jack's phone rang before he finished. He picked it up and saw it was Danny Reagan.
The call was short. After Jack hung up, he looked at Reacher curiously. "You've been carrying the anonymous phone we found on that hit man?"
"Yes, I'm worried someone might not be able to find me. What's wrong?" A murderous look flashed across Reacher's face.
Jack smiled broadly. "As you wished, a former NYPD lieutenant tried to locate that number through an old friend we were monitoring. I told you we're on I-90 heading toward New York, and someone should be showing up soon."
"Looking forward to it," Reacher said with a sinister grin. "I'm hungry, and I want to eat before I start beating someone up."
An hour later, the Porsche Cayenne and Firebird pulled into the parking lot of a steakhouse on the highway, one after the other. Negley couldn't wait to get out of the car.
"Let me use the restroom first. I can't wait to get out of this."
"And then? Are you going to throw your clothes in the trash like some sociopath?" O'Donnell opened the Cayenne's trunk, handed her several bags of clothes, and teased her.
"What else? You want to wear them?" Negley retorted.
O'Donnell patted his hips smugly. "Not that I can't. My amazing butt might look better in it than yours."
Jack was still a little confused when he got out of the car. He hadn't noticed any suspicious vehicles following them along the way. So, what was the other party planning to do by asking for his location?
The first time, in Atlantic City, it was a professional killer with a few local thugs. The second time, it was a professional gunman at a funeral. He was quite excited about who would come the third time.
To avenge his Hellcat, he had prepared an assault rifle in the trunk of his Firebird.
Suddenly, the roar of motorcycle engines rang out, and seven or eight Harley-Davidsons slowly pulled into the parking lot, surrounding the group who had just exited their cars and were about to enter the restaurant.
That's it? Question marks slowly formed in Jack's mind as he looked at the others. Reacher and the other three special investigators shared a similar expression.
No wonder he hadn't noticed he was being followed. It turned out the other party hadn't driven here at all. He hadn't even noticed the Harley-Davidsons that had just passed by.
While they roughly guessed they wouldn't cause a major incident around New York, hiring a motorcycle gang seemed a bit cheesy. At least they had some decent AR rifles last time.
"I hate to ruin other people's prom nights, but since someone paid a lot of money, please hand over your guns." The leading white man removed his helmet and pointed a ridiculously small revolver at the group.
"Why do you think we have guns?" Reacher looked around, his once murderous expression now tinged with a hint of resignation and disappointment.
"Of course someone told me, Reacher," the leading white man winked, and several of the surrounding motorcycle gang members drew their pistols and pointed them at the group.
"Let me guess, they claim to be Swann, right?" Reacher shook his head slightly at Jack, signaling him not to use his gun. It was clear they didn't want to cause a scene.
It was unclear whether the orders given to the motorcycle gang were to knock them unconscious and take them away, or to kill or maim them on the spot.
"You ask too many questions." The motorcycle gang leader tilted his head slightly. A female gang member with a heavily tattooed neck approached, carrying a bag.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his revolver into the bag first, a sinister smile playing on his face. "Ten against five, I'm a fair player."
Jack glanced at Negley and Dixon, who were already enthusiastically ripping off the slits of their skirts, and shook his head speechlessly. While his outfit wasn't the most expensive, it was still well under ten thousand. Besides, this was America, where shooting each other with guns was the norm.
These bikers were all riding Harleys. How cool would the governor look with a sawed-off shotgun that could be reloaded? That way, he wouldn't have to feel any pressure to fire back with his Noveske N4.
However, considering the Hellcat was still in the repair shop, leaving him with only his precious Firebird, Jack sighed and drew his sidearm from his waistband. He'd better wait until the new car arrived for the gunfights and car chases.
As for the FK7.5 hidden in his ankle holster, he wouldn't hand it over. He always had to be on guard.
The motorcycle gang members didn't come up to search him or anything. Seeing that several people had cooperated and handed over their pistols, they also threw their pistols into the bag and then took out various weapons such as knives and steel pipes and surrounded him.
The two women had already kicked off their high heels, and Dixon grasped one, using it as a weapon.
The three men removed their ties and unbuttoned their shirts. The five of them shifted to a back-to-back position, surrounded by ten biker gang members. The atmosphere grew tense.
"They say you're smart and a good fighter," the biker gang leader said, removing his studded leather jacket and wrapping it around his wrist. He stood before Reacher.
He was just as big as Reacher, and their heights were similar, giving the scene a sense of king versus king.
Unfortunately, Jack had no martial ethics. Before the other gang member could finish his threats, he smiled at the dagger-wielding gang member in front of him and, facing his bewildered gaze, kicked him.
Don't kick high in a fight; it's easy to catch an opponent. Taekwondo's flurry of flying kicks might look impressive, but they also lead to a quick death.
Jack used a downward kick, dislocating the underling's right knee. The sudden scream drew the attention of the motorcycle gang leader standing opposite Reacher.
Reacher, equally unsportsmanlike, headbutted him in the forehead, officially initiating a melee.
As the two massive figures exchanged punches, Jack had already grasped the knife-wielding right hand of the underling in front of him, forcibly twisting his wrist and stabbing him in the abdomen, quickly dispatching him.
O'Donnell, fighting with his usual style, ducked slightly to avoid a baseball bat swing and struck his opponent's armpit with his right brass knuckles, stunning him with a ferocious blow to the kidneys.
Both Negley and Dixon practiced authentic military martial arts, their moves revealing influences from boxing, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and even Krav Maga.
Facing armed male opponents, they were at a disadvantage, especially the unarmed Negley. Facing two simultaneous attacks, she struggled to parry, her defenses flailing left and right. A moment's unpreparedness landed her in the abdomen.
Jack took two steps forward, grabbed the scruff of the neck of a muscular man wielding a steel pipe, about to descend upon her. He pulled him toward him, and with his other hand, he grasped his right hand, holding the pipe, and twisted it back, disarming him.
"Next." Jack tossed the pipe to Negley, then struck the man in the throat with a backhanded slash. The blow deformed the cartilage in his Adam's apple, obstructing his trachea. The man clutched his neck, fell to his knees, his face a pale purple.
With his weapon in hand, Negley, as if divinely empowered, struck the dagger-wielding man with a whistling, piercing blow, causing him to scream in agony.
Dixon, who had been fighting back-to-back with Negley, two against three, suddenly felt the pressure ease. She ducked sideways, dodging her opponent's dagger and swinging her high-heeled shoe with all her might. The heel of her shoe, over ten centimeters long and extremely sharp, easily pierced her opponent's right eye.
Then, the roar of a motorcycle engine rang out, and a Harley roared towards Reacher. The female motorcycle gang member who had just taken the bag and confiscated the guns from the men sat in the back seat, wielding a chain.
Reacher turned and raised his hand, the chain wrapped around his arm twice. The Harley passed him, and he pulled the woman off the back seat.
The large man yanked her off the ground, glaring at the terrified woman. He didn't let go of his fist, which was almost as big as her face, and instead pushed her hard, sending her towards the battle between Negley and Dixon.
Dixon had just snatched a dagger from the man she'd blinded and stabbed him multiple times in the back. Her murderous intent was surging, and while Reacher might have been embarrassed to hit a woman, she had no qualms. She unleashed a barrage of "Give Back Your Pretty Punch" punches on the woman Reacher had thrown.
The Harley, which had been charging towards Reacher, swerved on the spot. Seeing the woman he was riding beaten to a pulp, the rider, fuming with rage, hit the throttle and charged into the crowd, unconcerned about his teammates.
Meanwhile, Jack, who had grabbed a burly man by the wrists and twisted his arms, saw the Harley turn and charge towards him. He kneed the man, crushing his jaw, and then, grabbing his collar with one hand and his belt at the back with the other, lifted the 200-pound man.
As the rider watched in horror, his teammate's massive form morphed into a dark shadow, growing ever larger until it filled his entire field of vision and violently knocked him flying. The fallen Harley streaked with sparks until it crashed into a nearby lamppost, coming to rest. The stalled Harley finally died, and the parking lot fell into a dead silence, without even a groan. Ten members of the motorcycle gang were dead or maimed, with the least injured languishing in a deep coma.
"Is everyone okay?"
Reacher tossed the man he'd strangled to the ground and glanced around. O'Donnell, clutching his waist, gasped for air. He'd been hit in the back by a metal pipe in the melee, and the pain clenched his lips.
Negley clutched his stomach, his face dismal. Dixon had a slight bruise at the corner of his mouth. Only Jack stood there, seemingly unfazed.
"No, but I guess we need to eat somewhere else." Negley picked up the gun bag from the ground and took out everyone's pistols.
"I haven't felt this good in ages." O'Donnell grinned, still trying to show off.
Dixon picked up his shoes, looked at the unknown liquid on them with disdain, and threw them aside. "It's a pity for my shoes, they were only worn once."
Reacher searched the motorcycle gang leader's body, found his phone, and unlocked it with the dead man's fingerprint. He looked through the call log. This time the numbers on it were not hidden. He didn't bother waiting for the call and called back directly.
"Before you ask, I can tell you in advance that it's all done. It's a pity it's still not what you expected."
"You've caused me a lot of complicated problems, Reacher." The other side still had that slightly old and hoarse voice.
"A 65 million question? Shane Langston." This time Reacher also revealed the other party's identity.
The voice on the other end of the phone was silent for a moment, and the tone seemed to slow down a bit, even the address changed. "Perhaps we have been dealing with this problem in the wrong way, Mr. Reacher. Why don't we make a deal?
Tell me what you want, money or something else?"
"I want to throw you out of the helicopter." Reacher replied coldly.
(End of this chapter)