‘Where are you headed?’ ‘Someplace else. Often depends on the weather. I like to be warm. Saves buying a coat.’ The barman glared again, still from far away. ‘Let’s go,’ Reacher said. ‘A person could die of thirst in here.’
He considered himself a modern man, born in the twentieth century, living in the twenty-first, but he also knew he had some kind of a wide-open portal in his head, a wormhole to humanity’s primitive past, where for millions of years every living thing could be a predator, or a rival, and therefore had to be assessed, and judged, instantly, and accurately. Who was the superior animal? Who would submit?