Quotes About Confrontation

You threatening me now?" "More like the weather report. A public service. Like a tornado warning. Prepare to take cover.

He also said, if you can't acquaint an opponent with tease, you must acquaint his head with the sidewalk. He was a man of sound instincts.

You can't find him, can you?" I said. "You're useless, Kliner. You're a useless piece of shit. You think you're some kind of a smart guy, but you can't find Hubble. You couldn't find your asshole if I gave you a mirror on a stick.

Afterward the last one looked best off. He was still moving. So Reacher stepped down and kicked him in the head. Just once. The irreducible number. But hard. To discourage further participation. Then the lobby door opened and Brenda Amos walked in.

Zec back toward the living room. The kettle's whistle died away, like an air raid siren winding down. The house went quiet again. "It's over," Reacher said. "You lost." "It's never over," the Zec replied. Hoarse voice

mano a mano

Without breaking stride Reacher head-butted him full in the face. Left, right, bang. A perfect ten, for style and content, and power and precision.

There was a knock at the door. Neagley herself, Reacher figured, right on cue, checking if Sinclair had killed him yet. Or Bishop, checking if he had killed Sinclair. He opened up, standing to one side, out of the line of fire. Long

They were doped up? Then you were lucky." Reacher shook his head. "You want to fight with me, your best choice would be aspirin.

The way to take out a gang is to hit the leader first.

Attacking me was like pushing open a forbidden door. What waited on the other side was his problem. His risk. If he didn't like it, he shouldn't have pushed open the damn door.

The car kept on coming. The train kept on coming. Vectoring in. Collision course.

I don't see how his welfare suddenly becomes my responsibility, just because he chose to attack my welfare first.

Then the lights seemed to dim as Chief of Detectives Griezman walked up to their table. Six-six and three hundred pounds. Billowing gray suit the size of a pup tent. The floor creaked. Griezman said, "I am very sorry to interrupt." Reacher

That's the problem with denial. Reality doesn't care what you think. It just keeps rolling along.

Rosemary Barr stood in front of him, facing him, very

Twelve-gauge lead shot settles most disputes at the first time of asking.

Which all might have worked, if Reacher had stayed down a step. But he didn't. They charged and he stepped back up to where he was before, and he kicked the nearest guy in the face. And then he twisted and hit the left-hand guy with his elbow, and twisted again and hit the right-hand guy with the same elbow coming back. Gravity and New Hampshire granite finished the job.

Way to his left the backhoe rolled forward. The big slack tires gave and flexed. The three guys stood back-to, pressed up against the rear of the building. Rifles at port arms. Then the counterman rolled around the corner and inched along the end wall. He got to the next corner and took a cautious look. He raised his rifle.

Better to hit her now. She thinks her job is done. She's coming down off a high. Her adrenaline is low. She'll be braver in the morning." Bishop

He pushed off the wall and parted the crowd, chest out, as straight and slow as a funeral march. No one blocked him. He made it to the street door. In front of it was a tight knot of six men. In their thirties, probably, and none of them slender. But desk workers. Their suits were shiny on the ass and the elbow. He could read their body language. They were set to let him pass, and then they would about-turn fast and spill out behind him, on the damp and shiny cobblestones. Reacher

We'll find you,' Emerson said. 'You won't,' Reacher said. 'Nobody ever has before.' Then

The guy didn't move. He was five inches down in height, maybe thirty pounds in weight, maybe a whole foot in reach. Evidently unarmed, because otherwise his weapon would have been out and in his hand already. Evidently unsettled, too, by Reacher's gaze, which was steady, and calm, and slightly amused, but also undeniably predatory, and even a little unhinged. Not a good situation for the guy to be in.

I'd killed one guy and blinded another. Now I'd have to confront my feelings. But I didn't feel much at all. Nothing, in fact. No guilt, no remorse. None at all. I felt like I'd chased two roaches around that bathroom and stomped on them. But at least a roach is a rational, reasonable, evolved sort of a creature. Those Aryans in that bathroom had been worse than vermin.