The skinny guy offered Reacher a room for $60. Reacher countered with $80 in cash for a room with no one on either side. The guy happily agreed. He pocketed the extra twenty and handed Reacher the key to room twelve followed by a dog-eared ledger and a pen for him to sign in with. Reacher scrawled a name and a signature then walked the length of the building and let himself into his room. There was a bed. A closet. A chair. A bathroom. Standard motel fare. The fruit theme didn’t extend to the inside of the building. It was a little scruffy in places but Reacher didn’t mind. He kept the light on for ten minutes then switched it off and crossed to the bed.
Chapter 9
Ticket first, Jed Starmer thought, then something to eat.
Not that Jed was any kind of an expert traveler. This was only going to be the second time he’d left Los Angeles County since his mother brought him there when he was a baby. Now he was leaving for good and so far he wasn’t enjoying the experience. He’d had to pack, which was a problem because he didn’t have a suitcase or a duffel. He didn’t want to steal one from his foster parents or the other kids he lived with and there was nowhere in his neighborhood that sold them. So he did the only thing he could think of. He opened up his school backpack and dumped all the institutional crap into the trash. He replaced it with clothes. Just the basics, snatched at random from his closet, as many as would fit. He grabbed his toothbrush from the bathroom, more or less as an afterthought, and jammed it in his pocket. Then he took a final look around the house. He had hated the building the moment he first set foot through the door. He had been miserable pretty much every minute he had spent there. Now it seemed like the most welcoming place in the world.
Now that he was never going to see it again.
Next up was an issue with the bus that Jed needed to catch. It didn’t show up when it was supposed to. Which wasn’t a concern in terms of time. Jed had built plenty of slack into his schedule. It was a question of exposure. Jed’s foster mother got off work early on Tuesdays. She drove home down the street where the bus stop was located. Jed was standing there alone. He was totally exposed. There was no way she could miss him. And if she caught him there with a pocket full of her cash, he would have hell to pay.
Ten minutes ticked by. Twenty. There was no sign of any public transport. No sign of his foster mother. Another five minutes crept past. It couldn’t be long until she appeared. She had to be close. Jed couldn’t keep still. He started looking around for bolt holes. Anywhere he could hide if he saw her coming. Then the bus wheezed into sight. It dawdled along the street and ground to a halt next to him. He had severe reservations about its state of maintenance but he couldn’t afford to wait for the next one. Not without inviting disaster. So he climbed on board, paid his fare, then hustled to the back and tried not to draw attention to himself through the long, stop-start trek to 7th and Decatur.
Jed jumped down directly across the street from the Greyhound station. He was glad he was no farther away. He didn’t like the feel of the neighborhood. Not at all. It was only a couple of blocks from the old Skid Row. He had heard stories. Seen movies. Some guys were hanging around on the sidewalk. A dozen of them. They were skinny. Half of them were smoking. All of them were watching him. Like jackals, he thought. Or hyenas. Like he was their prey. There was another bunch of guys in the parking lot out front of the station. They looked a little older. But no more welcoming. Jed lowered his gaze. He snaked his way around both groups and followed the signs to the terminal entrance.
Things got better once Jed was inside. The terminal building was spacious and bright. There were people standing in line for the ticket counter and others were sitting and sprawling on the rows of blue wire seats, but no one was paying him undue attention. He skirted around the edge of the room and made for the array of self-serve machines. The one he picked was slow. Its screen was smeared with some kind of oily residue but he still managed to navigate the menus and pick his destination and class of service. He took ten $20 bills from the wad he’d taken from his foster home and fed them, one by one, into the cash receptacle. He supplemented them with four quarters of his own. Started to panic when the machine seemed to freeze. Then relaxed when his ticket nosed its way out of its slot.
Jed ignored the vending machines and moved straight across to the food counter. He studied the menu. He was starving. He wanted everything on it. This was going to be his first meal as an independent citizen and he felt like he deserved a major splurge. The place had the same kind of choices as a McDonald’s, as far as he could remember. It was a while since he’d had fast food. His foster mother didn’t like him eating it. Or she didn’t like paying for it. He wasn’t sure which. But either way, it didn’t matter. He didn’t have to worry about her preferences anymore. But he did have to think about his cash reserve.
In the end Jed had taken the entire stash from his foster mother’s drawer. He had come to the conclusion that it would be illogical not to. Either he was entitled to the money, so it would be stupid to leave any behind. Or he was stealing it, in which case he was dooming himself anyway. After paying for the ticket he had $300 left. Accommodation for that night wouldn’t be a problem. Or for the next. He would be on the bus. He would sleep there. He had no choice. But he would need somewhere to stay on Thursday night. A hotel room, maybe, or a bed-and-breakfast. Those were probably expensive. He would need food and drink along the way. And he would need onward transportation on Friday morning. Quite a long distance. He wasn’t sure what form that was going to take, yet. He hoped he could find some random driver going the same way and pay him for a ride. If not he would have to take a cab. Either way it would cost. Probably a lot. So he decided to be sensible. He ordered a burger and fries, and a bottle of water for the road. He paid with a ten-dollar bill of his own. Slipped his ticket into one back pocket. Slid the rest of his money into the other. And waited for his food to come out.
It took Jed five minutes to finish eating. Then he spent twenty minutes watching the scrolling subtitles on a pair of silent TVs on the wall. One was showing news. The other was showing sports. He wasn’t much interested in either. He just wanted something to do until half an hour before his bus was due to leave. He figured thirty minutes would be about right to find its departure point and be on board early enough to get a good seat. When the time came he dumped his tray on a rack next to an overflowing trash can and then made a quick pit stop in the bathroom. When he came out again he saw a guy, standing by the wall, waving. Jed recognized him. The guy had been behind him in line at the food counter. He’d also eaten alone, a couple of tables to the side. Jed was about to walk by when he realized the guy wasn’t trying to attract some other stranger’s attention. He was waving specifically at him.
At first Jed thought they were about the same age but when the guy moved closer it was clear he was older. Maybe twenty or twenty-one. He was thin and tanned and he had a mess of blond hair that looked crunchy with salt, like a surfer’s.
“Hey, buddy.” The guy held out his hand. He was holding something. A bus ticket. “This is yours. You dropped it.”
That couldn’t be true. Jed had put his ticket away carefully. He was sure about that. He patted his pocket to confirm. And his heart stopped. His pocket was empty. His ticket was gone. He checked the other side. For his money. All his cash … which was still there. He was OK. There was no problem. But it was still a moment before he could breathe again.