Manhattan Mayhem by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online

said, “Who’s asking?”
    She turned her back and then straightened again, one fast fluid movement, like a fake-out on the basketball court, but enough for himto see
FBI
in yellow letters on the back of her shirt.
    “Now answer my question,” she said.
    “I’m just a guy.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Looking at this building.”
    “The Flatiron?”
    “No, this part in front. The glass part.”
    “Why?”
    Reacher said, “Have I been asleep for a long time?”
    The woman said, “Meaning what?”
    “Did some crazy old colonel stage a coup d’état? Are we living in a police state now? I must have blinked and missed it.”
    “I’m a federal agent. I’m entitled to ask for your name and ID.”
    “My name is Jack Reacher. No middle initial. I have a passport in my pocket. You want me to take it out?”
    “Very slowly.”
    So he did, very slowly. He used scissored fingers, like a pickpocket, and drew out the slim blue booklet and held it away from his body, long enough for her to register what it was, and then he passed it to her, and she opened it.
    She said, “Why were you born in Berlin?”
    He said, “I had no control over my mother’s movements. I was just a fetus at the time.”
    “Why was she in Berlin?”
    “Because my father was. We were a Marine family. She said I was nearly born on a plane.”
    “Are you a Marine?”
    “I’m unemployed at the moment.”
    “After being what?”
    “Unemployed for many previous moments.”
    “After being what?”
    “Army.”
    “Branch?”
    “Military Police.”
    She handed back the passport.
    She said, “Rank?”
    He said, “Does it matter?”
    “I’m entitled to ask.”
    She was looking past his shoulder.
    He said, “I was terminal at major.”
    “Is that good or bad?”
    “Bad, mostly. If I had been any good at being a major, they would have made me stay.”
    She didn’t reply.
    He said, “What about you?”
    “What about me?”
    “Rank?”
    “Special Agent in Charge.”
    “Are you in charge tonight?”
    “Yes, I am.”
    “Outstanding.”
    She said, “Where did you come from?”
    He said, “The subway.”
    “Was there police tape?”
    “I don’t recall.”
    “You broke through it.”
    “Check the First Amendment. I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to walk around where I want. Isn’t that part of what makes America great?”
    “You’re in the way.”
    “Of what?”
    She was still looking past his shoulder.
    She said, “I can’t tell you.”
    “Then you should have told the train not to stop. Tape isn’t enough.”
    “I didn’t have time.”
    “Because?”
    “I can’t tell you.”
    Reacher said nothing.
    The woman said, “What’s your interest in the glass part of thisbuilding?”
    Reacher said, “I’m thinking of putting in a bid as a window washer. Might get me back on my feet.”
    “Lying to a federal agent is a felony.”
    “A million people every day look in these windows. Have you asked them?”
    “I’m asking you.”
    Reacher said, “I think Edward Hopper painted
Nighthawks
here.”
    “Which is what?”
    “A painting. Quite famous. Looking in through a diner’s windows, late at night, at the lonely people inside.”
    “I never heard of a diner called Nighthawks. Not here.”
    “The night hawks were the people. The diner was called Phillies.”
    “I never heard of a diner here called anything.”
    “I don’t think there was one.”
    “You just said there was.”
    “I think Hopper saw this place, and he made it a diner in his head. Or a lunch counter, at least. The shape is exactly the same. Looked at from right where we’re standing now.”
    “I think I know that picture. Three people, isn’t it?”
    “Plus the counter man. He’s kind of bent over, doing something in the well. There are two coffee urns behind him.”
    “First there’s a couple, close but not touching, and then one lonely guy all by himself. With his back to us. In a hat.”
    “All the men wear hats.”
    “The woman is a redhead.