The Reacher Experiment

by Jude Hardin

  “Thanks.”

  Wahlman hung the receiver back onto its hook and walked over to the bake sale table. He bought a brownie. The girls didn’t say much. They still looked bored. There was a convenience store across the street from the library. Wahlman trotted over there and bought a cup of coffee, and then he started making his way back toward Main Street.

  5

  The talk with Colonel Dorland had gone well.

  Mr. Tyler slid his key card into the slot and opened the door to his hotel room. He planned to drive his rental car back to L.A. in the morning. From there, he planned to fly to Florida and begin his search.

  Ten million dollars, half of which had already been transferred to his account. Dorland had also agreed to pay for his expenses. Which was nice. Like a bonus. Mr. Tyler planned to pass the other two jobs he had lined up on to some B-list assassins who needed the work. He figured he could spend up to a year on this Wahlman thing and still come out way ahead.

  He tossed Major Stielson’s cell phone and the nine-by-twelve brown envelope on the bed.

  Colonel Dorland hadn’t seemed particularly grief stricken over Stielson’s untimely demise. Mr. Tyler got the sense that Stielson’s days had been numbered anyway. Which meant that Mr. Tyler had sort of done Colonel Dorland a favor. A freebie, as it turned out. Maybe that was why Dorland hadn’t tried to haggle over the price for the Wahlman job. He’d gotten the two for one special.

  Mr. Tyler took his coat off, walked to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. He patted himself dry with a towel, and then he went back to the bed and picked up the envelope and carried it over to the cheap little wooden desk in the corner. He switched on the cheap little lamp and sat down in the cheap little chair and opened the envelope.

  There were four eight-by-ten photographs of Rock Wahlman, each taken from a different angle.

  Mr. Tyler wondered why this man looked so familiar.

  And then it hit him.

  He used Stielson’s special cell phone to call Colonel Dorland’s special number.

  “I saw Wahlman,” he said. “This morning. Downtown. At a diner called The Quick Street Inn.”

  “You’re kidding,” Colonel Dorland said. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “I do this for a living. Remember?”

  “Okay, but—”

  “It was him. He might have caught a train or a bus by now, or he might have hitchhiked to Vegas. Who knows? But maybe he’s still here.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “I booked a flight to Jacksonville a while ago. I’m going to cancel it. I’m going to stay here for another day or two and see if I can close this thing out for you.”

  “Don’t forget I’m going to need proof,” Colonel Dorland said. “Blood and tissue samples for DNA analysis. And then—”

  “I know,” Mr. Tyler said. “And then you need for the body to disappear. I’m a professional. You only have to tell me things once. Understand?”

  “Listen, I’m paying you a lot of money, and I really don’t appreciate—”

  “You’re going to get what you paid for,” Mr. Tyler said.

  And then he hung up.

  6

  Wahlman walked around town for a while, making mental notes of the street names and the stores and the bus stops. He made it back to the diner a little after five. Greg was sitting at the counter eating a hamburger. Otherwise, the place was empty.

  Greg turned toward the door as Wahlman walked in.

  “Hello, Tom,” he said.

  “Hey. How’s it going?”

  “Just taking a little break. Can I get you something?”

  “Maybe just a cup of coffee.”

  Greg got up and walked behind the counter and poured some coffee into a cup. He set the cup on the counter, along with some sugar in a glass-and-chrome shaker and some cream in a miniature stainless steel pitcher, and then he returned to the stool where he’d been eating.

  Wahlman set his backpack down and saddled into the stool where Greg had left the coffee.

  “I made a couple of calls,” Greg said. “I know a guy who’s trying to restore an old railroad caboose, and he could use some help with scraping and sanding. It’s dirty work, but it pays twenty an hour and you won’t have to fill out any paperwork or anything.”

  “Sounds good,” Wahlman said.

  “The only thing is, he needs someone who can stick around until the job is finished. The last guy he hired cut out without any notice. Took a few of my friend’s tools with him, too.”

  “How long does he figure the job will last?”

  “A month or so. Apparently the old caboose is in pretty rough shape.”

  Wahlman took a sip of the coffee, which was also in pretty rough shape. Probably left over from lunch, he thought. He stirred some cream into it.

  “I can’t stay here a month,” he said. “But I could work double shifts, maybe finish up in a few days.”

  “I’ll see what he thinks.”

  “Tell him I work way faster than that other guy.”

  Greg laughed. “Okay, I’ll tell him. Sure you don’t want something to eat?”

  “I’m all right. I had a brownie a while ago.”

  “Well, let me know if you need anything.”

  Greg turned back to his hamburger. Wahlman took another sip of coffee, which was slightly more tolerable now that it had been heavily diluted with cream.

  Wahlman knew something about scraping and sanding. He’d been temporarily assigned to a corrosion control detail soon after he joined the navy. Right after boot camp, a few weeks before entering the Master at Arms training program that the recruiter had promised him. It was sweaty and dirty and boring. You had to wear goggles and a respirator and long sleeves and gloves, and a week after you were done with it all, everything you ate still tasted like rusted steel and paint chips.

  Never again, he’d told himself at the time. But of course there was no way he could have anticipated his current situation. Twelve dollars to his name, on the run from some people who didn’t want him to exist. Some people with great resources and great determination. Some people who, for whatever reason, would do whatever it took to get rid of him.

  “Is there a payphone in here?” he asked.

  “In the back,” Greg said. “By the restrooms.”

  “How much for the coffee?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wahlman walked to the back of the diner and called Kasey.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I decided to participate in the sleep study,” he said. “I told Dr. Surrey about the referral. He said he would take care of you.”

  “Great. When are you going to do it?”

  “Tonight. I’m supposed to be there by ten.”

  “Let me know how it goes.”

  “I will.”

  “So what are you doing until ten?” Kasey asked.

  “Just hanging out, I guess. I’m at the diner right now. Maybe Greg can give me directions to the college.”

  “It’s about ten miles from there,” Kasey said. “Too far to walk.”

  “I can catch a bus,” Wahlman said.

  “Or you could come over to my house for dinner, and then I could drive you over to the campus later.”

  “That would be great. Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Maybe I’m just a nice person,” Kasey said. “Or maybe I have ulterior motives.”

  “What kind of ulterior motives?”

  “You’ll have to come over for dinner to find out.”

  “I’m really curious now. How can I say no?”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up in a few minutes.”

  Wahlman hung the phone up and walked back to the counter. A waitress he hadn’t seen before was over by the drink station rolling silverware into paper napkins. Greg was gone. Probably in the back room, Wahlman thought. Doing prep work or whatever.

  The waitress looked up from the pile of knives
and forks and spoons she was working on.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “When you see Greg, tell him I’ll check with him tomorrow about the job.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Tom.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell him.”

  Wahlman exited the diner and sat on the bench outside the pharmacy, the one the man in the red hat and his friends had been sitting on earlier. There was an empty cigarette package on the sidewalk. He noticed the brand name. It was the same kind he’d smoked when he was a teenager.

  7

  Mr. Tyler walked into the diner. A few early birds were there for dinner already. A man and a woman were sitting across from each other at one of the booths. Older. Probably retired. Probably married for decades. How could they not be sick of each other after all that time together? It was something that Mr. Tyler had often wondered about, how two people could meet each other at a young age and then spend the rest of their lives together. It was something totally foreign to him. Beyond the realm of his personal experience, and beyond the scope of his understanding.

  A much younger man and a much younger woman and a baby in a highchair were at one of the freestanding tables around the bend. Just starting out, their whole lives ahead of them.

  Astoundingly, the older couple actually seemed happier than the younger couple. They were talking and laughing about something, whereas the younger couple just sat there staring at their menus. Interesting.

  Mr. Tyler took his coat off. He draped it over a stool and sat on the one next to it. Different stools than he’d used earlier. He was wearing different clothes this time, and he didn’t have a newspaper with him, and he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

  A waitress walked over and asked him if he needed a menu. Her nametag said Marta. She was a few years younger than the one who’d been working earlier. But the one who’d been working earlier had been prettier, in Mr. Tyler’s opinion. He couldn’t remember her name. Something that started with a K, he thought.

  “Just coffee,” he said.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “No. Just black.”

  She brought the coffee.

  He handed her a ten dollar bill.

  She brought him his change.

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” she said.

  He wanted to ask her if she’d seen a tall muscular guy carrying a backpack. But he didn’t. Best to just hang around and wait to see if Wahlman showed up for dinner. It would probably be dark outside by then. Mr. Tyler could follow him out of the restaurant and drop him on the sidewalk. One quick shot to the back of the head. Then he could cut one of his ears off and put it in the zippered plastic storage bag that was currently in his coat pocket. For the DNA test. To make sure that the other five million got transferred to his account.

  The baby was crying and the young couple looked miserable. Marta was over there taking their order. She wrote it all down, and then she walked over to the drink station and scooped some ice cubes into two humongous plastic tumblers. She filled the glasses with tea from a pitcher and dropped a lemon wedge into each one and a long skinny spoon. She delivered the drinks, and then the mother got up and lifted the baby out of the highchair and headed toward the restrooms.

  The old man in the booth was working on a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. The old woman sitting across from him must not have been very hungry. All she’d ordered was some soup.

  Mr. Tyler sipped his coffee. It was good. Fresh. Flavorful. Marta walked over and poured some more into his cup.

  “Is there a waitress working here whose name starts with a K?” he asked.

  “Kasey?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s off tonight.”

  Mr. Tyler remembered that Wahlman had spoken to her. A little more than just the usual back and forth between a customer and a food server. Something about the way she was cleaning a coffeepot. They’d seemed friendly toward each other. Maybe even a little flirtatious.

  Kasey. Yes, that was it.

  “Would you happen to know when she’s working again?” Mr. Tyler asked.

  8

  Kasey’s house wasn’t far from the diner. She steered into the driveway, set the emergency brake, switched off the engine.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  Stucco exterior, low roof, decorative gravel and cacti. Similar structures with similar landscaping lined both sides of the narrow street.

  “Looks nice,” Wahlman said.

  “Thanks. Wait until you see the inside.”

  Wahlman climbed out of the car and followed her to the front door. She slid her key in and opened the deadbolt and stepped inside.

  Wahlman wiped his boots on the welcome mat. They were dusty from all the walking he’d done earlier.

  “Maybe I should take my shoes off,” he said.

  “You’re fine. Come on in.”

  He went on in. Hardwood floors, low ceilings, textured walls painted white. The living room was sparsely furnished, just a couch and a coffee table and a television. There was a stone fireplace on one side of the room with a rustic wooden mantle. No pictures hanging on the walls, but there were some framed photographs on the mantle, along with some candles and a small trophy topped with a pair of shiny golden music notes.

  “Nice place,” Wahlman said.

  “Thanks. I just moved in a few weeks ago. That’s why there’s not much furniture here yet or anything.”

  “I like it like this. I guess I’m a minimalist at heart.”

  Kasey glanced around. “Come to think of it, maybe I am too,” she said. “Anyway, have a seat. I’ll get us something to drink. Want a beer?”

  “I have that research study thing tonight, so I better not. They might consider alcohol a sedative.”

  “You don’t have to be there until ten, right? That’s almost five hours from now. I don’t think one beer is going to hurt anything.”

  “Okay. You talked me into it.”

  “Be right back.”

  Kasey walked into the kitchen. Wahlman took his jacket off and sat down on the couch.

  It was nice being inside an actual house. Wahlman had abandoned his residence in Florida three months ago, and since then he’d been living in one cheap hotel room after another. He’d met some kind people along the way, but none as kind as Kasey.

  She walked into the living room carrying two cans of beer. She handed one to Wahlman.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Kasey sat down on the couch. Middle cushion. Her right leg was touching Wahlman’s left leg. He liked that. He liked her beside him. It felt right.

  “I thought we could order a pizza,” she said. “If you want to. Or I could go to the store and get something to cook.”

  “Pizza’s fine. Didn’t you say you have kids?”

  “I have a daughter. Ninth grade. She’s over at a friend’s house right now doing something for school. She’s going to eat dinner over there.”

  Wahlman took a sip of beer. Amber lager. Good and cold.

  He took another sip.

  “So tell me about these ulterior motives,” he said.

  Kasey leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Wahlman set his beer on the coffee table. Then he took Kasey’s beer from her hand and set it next to his. He put his arm around her, leaned over and kissed her on the lips. It was a good first kiss. Soft, warm, and gentle. He started to tell her how nice it was, but before he could say anything, she pressed her hand against the back of his neck and opened her mouth and pulled him in eagerly. It was a good second kiss. It went on and on. When it ended, Kasey moved in even closer, kissing Wahlman’s neck just below his right ear. She was breathing very heavily. So was he. She started unbuttoning his shirt with her free hand. He wondered if it had been as long for her as it had for him.

  “Want to see the rest of the house?” she asked.

  “I would love to,” he said.


  “Let’s start down at the end of the hall.”

  She led him to the end of the hall and showed him the master bedroom. She showed him the antique dresser, and the full-length mirror, and the king size bed. Especially the bed. Every square inch of it.

  Forty-five minutes later, he still hadn’t seen the other bedrooms or the kitchen or the dining room.

  “Is this what they call the grand tour?” he asked, collapsing back onto a pillow.

  “Disappointed?”

  “Not at all. I think it’s a splendid house.”

  She kissed his chest. His heart was still pounding from the intensity of their lovemaking session. He wondered if she really had worked for the circus at one time.

  “Want me to go ahead and order the pizza?” she asked.

  “Sure. Mind if I take a shower?”

  “I don’t mind. There’s a little closet in the bathroom, with towels and washcloths and all that. You need soap and shampoo?”

  “I have some in my backpack.”

  “But your backpack’s out in my car.”

  “Good point. So I guess I need soap and shampoo.”

  Wahlman took a nice long shower. Hot and steamy at first, cold and bracing at the end. He smelled like cocoa butter and kiwi fruit when he came out.

  His backpack was at the foot of the bed. Kasey must have brought it inside while he was in the shower. He put some deodorant on and some clean clothes, and then he sat on the edge of the bed and wiped the tops of his boots off with a damp paper towel. Kasey walked into the bedroom as he was tying his laces.

  “I hope you like pepperoni,” she said.

  “I hate pepperoni.”

  “What?”

  “Kidding. I like everything. Anyway, I’m hungry enough to eat the box.”

  She walked over and sat on his lap and kissed him.

  “I could get used to this,” she said.

  Wahlman thought about the sanding and scraping job. He could stretch it out for a month if he wanted to. It was what Greg’s friend expected, and a month with Kasey sounded wonderful. Then, if everything was still going well, maybe he could find something else nearby.