One Shot (Jack Reacher, #9)

by Lee Child

His life was like that. It was a mosaic of fragments. Details and contexts would fade and be inaccurately recalled, but the feelings and the experiences would weave over time into a tapestry

equally full of good times and bad.

He wasn’t going to have to refresh his wardrobe because of weather.

He was in white chino pants and a bright yellow canvas shirt. Both were three days old. He figured he would get another day out of them.

Then he would buy replaceme...

It was like a black hole, with emotion compressed into it too tight to escape.

Reacher had that kind of an effect on people. He sat there alone, in a bubble of quiet, with a message plainly displayed: Stay away from me.

“What’s this about?” “Personal.” “She’s here to work.”

“It’s a legal matter.” “You’re not a cop.” “I’m working with a lawyer.” “I need to see some ID.” “No, Gary, you don’t. You need to go get Sandy.”

“I want to see something.” “What about the inside of an ambulance? That’s the next thing you’re going to see, Gary, unless you give me Jeb Oliver’s address.”

“They were doped up? Then you were lucky.”

Reacher shook his head. “You want to fight with me, your best choice would be aspirin.”