Jack Reacher

Move!

It's life or death now, James.

By that, I mean you're doing one or the other

up in Rockview.

This here is District Attorney Rodin.

Want to know what he's wondering?

Whether you're gonna walk like a man or cry like a pussy

on your way to the death house.

See, the D.A. likes the needle,

whereas me,

I like to see a man like you live a long life

with all your teeth knocked out.

Passed around till a brother can't tell your fart from a yawn.

Now, I don't know what kind of man you are,

which of these two fates you prefer,

but Rodin here is a generous fellow. He's willing to let you take your pick.

If you save us and this city a long and costly trial,

waive your right to counsel and confess, right now.

Sixteen hours.

Has to be some kind of record, Detective.

What the hell is this?

Who the hell is Jack Reacher?

Jack Reacher,

born Jack, not John, no middle name, is a ghost.

No driver's licence, current or expired. No residence, current or former.

No credit cards, no credit history. No P.O. box, cell phone, e-mail.

Nothing.

Can you at least tell me who he is?

Well, I can tell you who he was. Blood military.

Born and raised on bases abroad.

Mother was a French national, father in the Corps.

His first trip to the United States was to attend West Point.

Four years later, he ships out for good.

Iraq. Afghanistan. The Balkans. You name it.

Served with distinction.

Silver Star, Bronze Star, Legion of Merit.

Defence Superior Service Medal? Had to look that one up.

And a Purple Heart. He spent the bulk of his service

in the Military Police. By all accounts, a brilliant investigator.

Apparently, a troublemaker, too.

Demoted to Captain.

Worked his way back to Major.

Then two years ago, he musters out.

After a literal lifetime in the military, he just up and quits. And then,

for only the second time in his life,

he enters the United States and simply disappears.

Dead, maybe?

Not according to Social Security and a bank account in Virginia.

His pension is deposited monthly

and someone is making the occasional withdrawal. All wire transfers.

I can't find out where without a federal warrant.

Well, he can't drive or fly.

At least not under his real name.

-Any warrants? - Record's clean.

Come on! A guy this hard to find? Gotta be wanted for something.

His record is clean.

So,

how do we find this Reacher?

Obviously, you don't find this guy unless he wants to be found.

Excuse me, sir. There's a Jack Reacher here to see you.

Can I help you?

James Barr.

So, now you've seen him. How do you know him?

Why wasn't he in protective custody?

That was an oversight.

More like some Corrections flunky threw him to the wolves.

Just as likely.

But it's done and we can't undo it.

So what happens now?

Well, now he's in a coma.

We'll try him when he wakes up. If he wakes up.

Okay? Now it's your turn, Reacher.

Why did he call you as a witness?

I don't believe he did.

Well, I believe he asked for you by name.

Any chance I could look at the evidence?

No way. Not till you answer some questions.

Nice meeting you.

- Hey. Hey. Hey! - Mr Reacher.

- Mr Reacher! - Hey, stop! Stop right there!

We had a deal.

I take you to Barr, you tell me what you know.

I know you say he shot five people, I know he's in a coma.

I know there's a bus station three miles away

and I can walk there in 24 minutes.

So you're just going to walk out on your friend?

- He's not my friend. - Why'd he ask for you, then?

Well, same reason he shot five people, he's crazy.

Hey. Hold on.

Don't do that.

Well, this is a new low, even for both of you.

You do not talk to my client without me present.

You know that.

We weren't talking to your client. He's in a coma, for Christ's sakes.

- You're Barr's attorney? - Helen Rodin, Jack Reacher.

- Jack Reacher? - Helen Rodin.

Yeah, she's the District Attorney's daughter.

It's a good story, actually.

I'd like to hear it.

How'd you find him? How'd they find you?

You can't be talking to this man. Two strikes in one day.

- It's not what it looks like. - He came to us.

- You went to the D.A.? - Is there a law against that?

None you're currently breaking.

Come on, before this gets awkward. Now, hey.

Say, "See you in court." For me.

Goodbye, Detective.

- Weird meeting you. - Likewise.

Let's go.

So...

So, you're Jack Reacher.

- So you're the D.A.'s daughter. - Oh, Jesus. Please.

- Is that even legal? - Fortunately.

- How does that happen? - I'll tell you after deposition.

You don't want to depose me.

Oh, well, you're my only defence witness.

- I'm not a defence witness. - Your friend James thinks you are.

He's not my friend. Why does everyone assume that?

Well, why else would he ask for you

and why would you come here to help him?

I didn't come here to help him. I came here to bury him.

Linsky.

Who the hell is Jack Reacher?

- So why are you so hard to find? - I'm impossible to find.

Why is that?

Well, you could say it started out as an exercise and became an addiction.

Are you on the run?

My bus is leaving. You better hurry, counsellor.

How do you know James Barr?

- Why are you representing him? - I'm a lawyer.

So is a public defender, with just as much chance of clearing Barr.

I'm not trying to clear him,

I am just trying to keep him off death row.

- By proving he's insane? - Well, that's one option.

And sticking it to your father because...

No. Not my father. The Office of the District Attorney.

Because the Office of the District Attorney never bought you a pony.

D.A. Rodin's never lost a capital case. You know why?

Impeccable tailoring.

- He never picks a fight he can't win. - Worked for the Red Baron.

Every murder suspect in this town is given a choice.

Confess or face death.

Against a D.A. who never loses.

My firm has reason to believe more than one innocent man

has gone down without a fight.

Oh, I get it.

You're an idealist.

No. I'm a pacifist.

It's a noble crusade.

But this is not the fight. Trust me. James Barr's guilty.

You haven't even seen the evidence.

Is this a privileged conversation?

Of course, it's a client conference. Nothing you say here can be repeated.

There are four types of people who join the military.

For some, it's a family trade.

Others are patriots, eager to serve.

Next, you have those who just need a job.

Then there's the kind who want a legal means of killing other people.

James Barr was one of those.

He made sniper.

Trained hard. Two thousand rounds a week.

And with every shot, he's taught to visualise

the base of a man's skull through his reticle.

The sweet spot where the medulla meets the spine.

Visualise that puff of pink mist.

Finally, he's deployed to Iraq.

He's put on overwatch.

All day long he stares through a scope at civilians.

Women.

Children.

Day in, day out, for two long years

without ever once being cleared to fire a single shot.

Then comes the draw down.

For James Barr, the war's over.

Two thousand rounds a week.

A quarter million rounds in his career, not one at a human target.

You've been hungry. You've been horny.

You've had an itch you can't scratch.

Imagine that feeling. Days. Weeks. Years.

Imagine that feeling times 200,000, plus 50,000 more.

Imagine it's 130 degrees on the deck and tomorrow you're going home

and you know if you don't scratch that itch now,

you never will.

You need a release.

You need a target.

And the who of it never once enters your mind.

He covered his tracks well,

just like sane people do.

He almost got away with it, too. But I caught him. And he confessed.

So why didn't he go to prison?

What Barr didn't know that day was the four civilian contractors he'd picked off

just spent the weekend at what they call a rape-rally.

It was 28 women, ages 54 on down to 11.

Those were just the ones I could find before the case was shut down.

See, the deeper I dug, the uglier it got.

And after seven long years of "Mission Accomplished,"

someone in the corporation just wanted the whole thing to end quietly.

So they chalked it up to the fog of war, made the murders go away.

This is classified information.

And that's why the privilege.