Motel Northern Comfort

Later that evening

After an hour long walk, Reacher found a small motel. A bald white man in his 60s and a bad limp was behind the counter. The man was friendly enough. Reacher signed under a fake name. He paid two nights, cash. Then he went to his room. A small cube. There was king sized bed. A TV. Bathroom. It was clean. It has a roof and running water. The rest didn't matter.

He lied down on the bed. He turned on the TV. He flipped through the channels. Gossip. Scandals. A news story about a huge arrest in old quarry a few months before. Some crazy terrorist plot to poison the water reserves in New York City. The guy had no chance of ever seeing the light of day. Reacher listened for a while. Then he turned off the television.

That girl. He had a very bad feeling about what could happen to her. What could he do? He didn't know her. He didn't know the town. He didn't know if he could trust the local police. He had to do something. He'd memorized her license plate. Why? He was always a bit manic with numbers. Maybe he hoped to be able to track her down. How?

Someone knocked on his door.

"Mr. Ellington?" a voice called.

It was the fake name he used. He was always inspired by musicians or professional athletes when he picked a fake name.

"This is the police, Mr. Ellington."

Reacher thought of several possibilities to get out of this. He decided against them and he opened the door.

Two men in uniform greeted him. He saw the patrol car. The white men, good shape, clean shaven. Mid 30s. One had red hair. The other had brown hair.

"What is it?" Reacher asked.

"I'm police chief Ward. This is officer Mitch. We have a few questions regarding an incident at the diner earlier."

"Word travels fast."

Mitch, the red headed cop: "Well, this is a small town, sir."

Ward spoke after: "We'd like to speak with you at the station. Maybe we can sort this out."

Something wasn't quite right. They own the cops.

"What is there to sort out?" Reacher asked.

"We'd rather talk to you at the station house, sir," Ward said.

"Talk about what?"

"Look," Ward said, "There are people saying you attacked a bunch of guys and they're now at the hospital, hurt. You can be a hardass about it or you can cooperate. It's up to you."

Soon, Reacher heard other engines and saw two pickup trucks show up. One from the left. One from the right. He saw men get out of them. Not cops. Bikers. Five of them. With pistols and shotguns. Aimed at him. One of them had his arm in a sling. The one smacking the girl around earlier.

"Jesus Christ, chief," one of them said, "What the fuck was taking so long?"

"Trying to earn this guy's trust," Ward said, "Wasn't easy."

"He doesn't trust you?" the biker said, "He's not that fuckin' stupid after all."

"All yours, guys," Ward said.

The two cops got in their car and drove off.

"Remember me, you fuck?" the biker with the broken arm said, his pistol aimed at Reacher.

"Hard to forget," Reacher said.

"Yeah, same for me. And by the way, that bitch you rescued, she's gettin' a visit from some of my buddies. They're gonna hurt her. Bad. And for a long time. Then kill her. Thought you'd like to know."

"Good for them," Reacher said, "Everyone needs a hobby."

He knew he sounded cold and callous. But he felt anger. At himself.

"You're gonna come with us, hero," Broken Arm said.

"No."

"What?"

"You deaf, asshole?" Reacher said, "You keep making me repeat myself. I hate repeating myself to assholes."

The bikers chuckled. There was no way Reacher, unarmed, could take five armed men. This was not going to end well. But he won't be an easy kill.

Another biker, on Reacher's left, armed with a Remington shotgun, spoke up: "Let's just kill this motherfucker and get the fuck out of here."

"Witnesses," another said.

"We'll do them too. Fuck it."

"Ok, sounds good."

"Oh, yeah," Broken Arm said, walking closer to Reacher and raising his pistol. Maybe Reacher could disarm this guy and use him as a shield, take his gun.

Then something wonderful happened. Broken Arm's head was blown apart. The left part of his skull exploded, spraying brains and blood and he fell sideways.

Before any of the other four could react, they all took headshots. Four shots in four seconds. The half decapitated corpses collapsed and twitched in crimson puddles.

And just like that, no more bikers.

Someone had taken them out with a silenced weapon. Some damn good shooting. Center of foreheads for the last four.

Reacher felt some approach him and then turned around. And he saw the shooter.

It was White man not quite as big as he was. Maybe two inches shorter. Somewhat lighter in weight, not by much. Everything told Reacher that this man was in exceptional physical condition. His hard face looked like that of a 60 year old. Black hair. Black fatigues. Black silenced M-4 carbine. Black body armor. White skull painted on the body armor.

Every cop on the planet knew this guy. Every American soldier knew this guy. Reacher spoke first.

"Frank Castle. The Punisher."

Castle looked at Reacher for a second. Two seconds. And said:

"Jack Reacher."

"How..."

"Not now. You've been targeted by some bad people. You want help or not?"

Reacher looked at the dead bodies. He had bikers against him and some corrupt cops as well. He was bad at staying out of trouble. Bad at tolerating bullies. Bad at admitting he might need help. Never too late to learn.

"I'll take it," Reacher said.

"Let's go."

They went to a black van. Castle went behind the wheel. Reacher went to the passenger seat. In the back, he saw a surprise.

The young brunette from the diner.

She didn't look happy, but she was alive.

The Punisher drove away.

"You were there, at the diner," Reacher said, "You saw the fight."

"Yeah."

"You didn't interfere."

"No. You did before I could."

"You didn't back me up."

"Wrong. I had those punks in my crosshairs the whole time. Just in case one of them was armed. You had the situation under control."

That explained the feeling Reacher had during the fight. When he felt watched. It was Castle.

Reacher looked back at the girl.

"You knew they would come after us," Reacher said, "You followed her after the fight. The bikers probably had a team there. You took them out. You're keeping her safe for now. How did you know where to find me?"

"She told me that the only place where a stranger could crash would be the motel," Castle said, "It was a gamble. It worked out."

"Dana," the girl said.

Reacher looked at her.

"My name is Dana," she said.

"Well, Dana, I'm Reacher," Reacher said, "I guess you know this guy?"

"Everybody knows The Punisher," Dana said.

"I'm sorry about this mess, Dana," Reacher said.

"Yeah," Dana answered, "So am I."