Thriller Audiobook Sample
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Night School by Lee Child, a Jack Reacher novel. Chapter 15 nearly put the phone down and mind Ah, thank you to the old lady and came back to the table, Reacher said. This guy has seen our guy in the bar. Nearly said How many times the guy said about three over. How long? A period about the last few months. Sometimes he wears a hat. What kind of hat? A sports team, I think. The NFL. Maybe something with a Red star. Do you know his name? No. What does he do in the bar? Nothing much is the army. Last time I saw him, he had no hat and his hair was too long. When was that? About two weeks ago. What was he doing two weeks ago, he was at a table near a window, drinking beer by himself. At that moment, the American was waiting to get on a city bus to head into town. He had things to do last minute, errands to run and a shopping list. Hamburg was a passenger port with fairies and cruise ships in and out, so travel supplies were not hard to find and suitable clothes for a long journey. All cash purchases, all from different places. A strict timetable but necessary. The clock was ticking. The bus arrived and the American got on. Reacher hauled the guy up off the coffee shop floor and pushed him out to the sidewalk. Naylor took his partner. They check Neely's map and headed down to a pocket park. The guy nearly had hit, limped and shuffled. His nose was broken from her second knee. It didn't make him any prettier or uglier. They made it to the park and took two benches nearly, and the dumb guy sat on one and Reacher, and the casualties sat on the other. They waited. The dumb guy kept. Very still, he seemed scared of nearly maybe not so dumb. The damaged guy got slowly, better. Reacher sensed him getting restless, sensed him glancing around, calculating the angles, weighing up his chances. At one point, a city bus roared slowly past close and huge and loud, full of passengers heading into town and reach, or since the guy store, as if the noise and commotion presented an opportunity. So he put his hand on the back of the guy's neck like a friendly gesture and he squeezed and the guy yelped silently. And then the bus was gone. They waited. The afternoon grew late. Then a blue car drew up the curb. The big Opel sedan, a General Motors product at the wheel, was a guy in an Army battle dress uniform. Beside him was another. Behind both of them was a Florida sailing plastic screen, a cop car. The passenger got out short, wide and dark. Manuel or Roscoe, late of the 110th. You don't mess with the special investigators, his phrase. A good friend, he said. I thought you were buried in a school somewhere, Reacher said. Is that what you heard? Everyone was talking about a man like you died. NSC got us for a secret thing. We're shaking a tree. A lot of extra crap is falling out. You're going to have to clean it up for us without mentioning our involvement. You can claim them as your own if you like, get another medal. Start with these two. They're selling scrap M nines, two skinheads in a bar. I won't get a medal for that. It's really about the bar. Could be the tip of an iceberg what happened to his nose? Nearly outstanding. We need background on the bar. Apparently all kinds of deals go down there, right it up as a separate report. Okay? And then feel free to go fishing. But not until we say there's one particular guy we're looking at and we don't want to scare him away. Assuming he plans to come back anyway, which he probably won't, Orosco said. You got it bus.