Disclaimer: The villains and the town were creations of mine. Reacher, Punisher and some others that will be mentioned belong to their respective copyright holders.

JACK REACHER & THE PUNISHER: FOR DAMN SURE

A diner somewhere...

A small town between New York and Boston

The evening

Reacher said nothing.

He had nothing to say and no one to say it to.

He was sitting in a booth near the window. He was enjoying a mug of fine coffee. These small diners were often gems. Never too crowded. This evening, the place had very few customers. A young woman was having dinner in one corner. White, young, early 20s, pretty, long brown hair. There was a guy, white, bearded, middle aged, a trucker's cap, dressed in a jean jacket. He looked burly. The food was good and inexpensive. The service was friendly without being annoyingly cheerful. And the coffee was good. This wasn't the best coffee Reacher had ever had, but this was damn good coffee.

And the apple pie it that came with was just as good.

Jack Reacher was man of simple pleasures. He enjoyed good food, good coffee and freedom. He liked going where he wanted, when he wanted. That came from his previous lives. He grew up a military brat along with his older brother, Joe. They would go all over the place, from one base to another. Stan Reacher, Joe and Jack Reacher's father and Josephine's husband, being a proud member of the United States Marine Corps, travelled a lot because of his career.

Reacher always thought that he and his brother Joe were like clones, physically. Big guys. Big hands. Strong. But Joe was the intellectual one, the sensitive one, the one who cared about things like playing fair in fights. The one who felt bad whenever he beat somebody up.

Jack was the troublemaker. The one getting into fights and making sure he won. He never much believed in fair fights. He believed in winning. He believed in dancing over the fallen adversary's body. He believed that still.

Then, Jack Reacher joined the army. He became a member of the military police. A very good one. He became a Major, was demoted and gained his rank back. He'd put away a lot of bad people, sometimes going to extremes to do so. He won his share of medals. He took a share of lumps. He had the scars to prove it.

During that time, Stan Reacher died. Then Josephine died. She forced promises out of her sons. Jack Reacher's was to use his strength to do the right thing, always, no matter what.

Then, in the 1990s, the Army was downsizing, and Reacher was let go. Reacher decided to do something he'd never done as a soldier: travel around the United States. He knew nearly nothing about the country he came from. So he decided to explore it. No baggage. No car. No house. No worldly possessions. He was a free man.

Then Joe died.

Jack Reacher was the last of his family. He literally had no more ties to the world. All he had was a desire to go anywhere, do anything he wanted. And people usually left him alone. For one, he was a big man. White. 6'5" tall, 250 pounds of hard muscle. He didn't have a particularly pleasant demeanor. He looked unkempt. His dirty blond hair was longish and he needed a shave. He'd find a place where he could shower, shave and buy a change of clothes. Maybe in that order. Maybe not. And he would throw the clothes he was wearing in the garbage. No baggage. Nothing to his name except a foldable toothbrush. That has been his life for the past 15 years or so.

As he was drinking his coffee and pondering the possibility of having another piece of pie, he heard the sound of engines. Choppers. He glanced out and saw six of them closing in. He heard a gasp inside the diner. It came from the young woman. She got up hastily, she paid too much for her meal and stepped out.

She was running to her car parked nearby. The six bikes circled the woman and her vehicle.

This didn't look good.

Soon, one of the bikers climbed off his chopper and grabbed the young woman by the arm. She didn't seem to be enjoying that. He was bigger than she was. She struggled. He rewarded that with a slap. And another.

The other five men were watching the scene with a mix of boredom and amusement.

Reacher had seen enough. He put his mug down and stood up.

Reacher was good at many things. Keeping out of trouble was not one of them. Tolerating bullies was not one them. Some motorist who had just parked his car close to the incident had stepped out to try and confront the man. A short, round man. One of the five passive men grabbed the good Samaritan by the shirt and tossed him back first into a car door. The short round man went back to his car and drove away. Reacher was outside at that moment. He walked towards them.

He took a mental snapshot of the scene. Six men, in leather. They seemed to be wearing colors. On the back of their jackets, there was the same logo: a smiling stylised drawing of the devil. The Crimson Demons. Cute.

There was something else. A primal instinct. He was being watched. Maybe it was just the tension from what was about to happen. Maybe not. He'd check on that later.

"The fuck is your problem, asshole?" the bully asked as Reacher was closing on him.

"You're the one beating up a woman half your size to impress your buddies," Reacher said, "So, I'd say you have a problem. And that you're the asshole."

They all looked at Reacher with some measure of amazement. They always reacted like that, Reacher knew. Bullies. Like they were offended someone would not fear them. The girl looked at Reacher as if she were terrified for him.

"What the fuck did you just say?" the head biker said.

"You heard me the first time," Reacher said, "I even used small words so you could understand, dumbass."

More disbelief. The girl's eyes were impossibly wide. He must have seemed suicidal. Another biker was walking towards Reacher. Two more were moving towards him.

"Look, fuckhead," the second biker said, "I think you need to-"

Reacher took two strides to get to him and head butted him in the face. Perfectly timed and placed. Reacher had used his upper body strength to propel it. Middle of the face. It smashed the nose . It came in with tremendous force. He took a step to his right and did the exact same thing to another biker closing in. Same effect. Bones and cartilage were crushed. Blood flew out.

The third one on Reacher's left extended his arms as if to grab or strangle him. Reacher caught the man's wrists, pulled the man towards him and, for the third time, used a head butt. Same effect as the other two.

Nobody would expect three head butts in a row. That was why he did it.

Noses were ruined. These guys would probably be out for a while. Maybe with concussions.

The other two that were not busy brutalizing the girl rushed Reacher. Reacher ran toward one of them and hit the guy in the throat with his forearm. He turned around, blocked an incoming haymaker punch with his left forearm and sent a right uppercut in the Adam's Apple.

They both fell, still alive, but their breathing seriously impaired.

Five down. One to go.

"Look out!" the girl's voice screamed.

Reacher moved quickly to his right and ducked. The biker who was holding the woman had let go of her and sliced the air with what looked like a bowie knife. He wanted to go for a reverse slash move. Reacher's right forearm blocked the biker's left forearm. He then grabbed the biker's wrist, twisted and yanked. The biker was bent over. His arm was now hyper extended. Reacher brought his knee up below the elbow, while pulling the arm down. The limb made an ugly snapping noise while bending 90 degrees the wrong way. He went down, screaming, cussing.

It was over.

So was the weird feeling from earlier. It was probably nothing.

When Reacher went to the girl, he noticed her behavior. No shakes. No tears. No thanks. When their eyes met, he read a few things, but not gratitude.

Reacher said nothing. Neither did she. Then, he understood.

"This wasn't a mugging," Reacher said, "You know these guys. You owe them money. You were gonna let them slap you around, then try to cut a deal with them."

She said nothing.

"They're not just a bunch of thugs on bikes," Reacher said, "They're part of a gang. A big gang. They probably run gambling, drugs and girls in this town. Maybe beyond."

She said nothing. Reacher looked her over.

"You're too healthy to be a junkie," Reacher said, "Gambling, maybe. Or maybe, you're one their girls. Or you were about to be one of their girls to cover you debts."

Her eyes were filled with anger. But she said nothing. Reacher looked at the unconscious bikers.

"You think I made things worse by beating those guys up," Reacher said.

"Fuckin' right you made things worse!" the girl said, "Jesus Christ, I'm so fucked."

"You looked like you needed help."

"Did I fuckin' scream for help? Fuck. Fuck!"

"Look, I can help you. I can protect you."

"You've done enough, thanks."

She was going to his car. She didn't mention the cops. He was about to and he anticipated the answer.

"How about the cops?" Reacher asked.

"You serious? They own the cops."

She was soon behind the wheel. She started her car. She looked up at him.

"You should get the fuck out of town," she said, "No reason for both of us to get killed."

And she drove off before Reacher could reply.

He looked again at the fallen bikers. Then, he started walking.