The Reacher Experiment by Jude Hardin

Author:Jude Hardin [Hardin, Jude]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
Published: 2017-03-30T04:00:00+00:00

2

Wahlman swiveled around and stood up and faced the man in the red hat. The man with the knife. He still didn’t want to fight. But if he did, and if the police came, at least it would be an obvious case of self-defense now. He probably wouldn’t be arrested, unless he killed one or more of the guys. Which was always a possibility.

“You should go on home and drink a beer or something,” Wahlman said.

“At least I have a home to go to.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“We have enough dirt bags around here already,” the man in the red hat said. “We don’t need another one.”

“So you’re telling me I need to get out of town? Who are you, the sheriff? Aren’t you going to give me until sundown, like they do in the movies?”

“You got a smart mouth.”

The cook appeared from behind the counter then, holding a kitchen knife, the kind you use to chop things with. Onions and whatnot. The shiny stainless steel blade was fat by the handle, and it gradually narrowed to a point at the end. Nine or ten inches long, Wahlman guessed, and heavy enough to cut a watermelon in half with a single downward swing.

The cook was probably about forty-five years old. Black hair, graying at the temples, long, pulled back into a ponytail. He was taller than the man in the red hat, but not nearly as tall as Wahlman. Probably around six feet. Earrings in both ears, acne scars, faded tattoos on both arms.

“I don’t want any trouble in here,” he said.

“We were just leaving,” the man in the red hat said.

He folded the switchblade and slid it into his pocket, turned and headed toward the exit. The other two guys followed.

“Wait a minute,” Wahlman said. “You still owe me for the breakfast.”

“That’s right,” the cook said. “You need to pay him for the food you ruined.”

The man in the red hat turned around and walked back to where Wahlman was standing.

“How much do you figure I owe you?” he asked.

“Ten bucks should cover it.”

“Ten bucks? There was hardly anything on the plate.”

“It’s past eleven now. I can’t get the special anymore. Bacon, eggs, toast. Maybe throw in a glass of juice for the emotional stress I endured. And of course I’ll want to leave a nice tip.”

The man in the red hat took a deep breath, exhaled incredulously from the side of his mouth. He had a black leather wallet in his back pocket with a chain on it that hooked onto one of his belt loops. He fished out a five and five ones, but instead of handing the bills over nicely, he threw them down on the floor near Wahlman’s backpack.

“Don’t let me catch you out on the street,” the man in the red hat said. “Things might not work out so well for you next time.”

“Just make sure you bring more money,” Wahlman said.

“And why is that?”

“Boots. I’ll need a new pair after I ram one of these up your ass.

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