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Worth Dying For: (Jack Reacher 15)
 
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Worth Dying For: (Jack Reacher 15) [Format Kindle]

Lee Child
4.2 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (5 commentaires client)

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Descriptions du produit

Extrait

CHAPTER NINE

Reacher checked the window. There were four tires in total, big knobbly off-road things, all of them on a Ford pick-up truck. The truck had a jacked suspension and lights on a roof bar and a snorkel air intake and a winch on the front. There were two large shapes in the gloom inside. The shapes had thick necks and huge shoulders. The truck nosed slowly down the row of cabins and stopped twenty feet behind the parked Subaru. The headlights stayed on. The engine idled. The doors opened. Two guys climbed out.

They both looked like Brett, only bigger. Late twenties, easily six-six or six-seven, probably close to three hundred pounds each, big waists made tiny by huge chests and arms and shoulders. They had cropped hair and small eyes and fleshy faces. They were the kind of guys who ate two dinners and were still hungry afterward. They were wearing red Cornhuskers football jackets made gray by the blue light from the cabin’s eaves.

The doctor’s wife joined Reacher at the window.

"Sweet Jesus," she said.

Reacher said nothing.

The two guys closed the truck’s doors and stepped back in unison to the load bed and unlatched a tool locker bolted across its width behind the cab. They lifted the lid and one took out an engineer’s ball-peen hammer and the other took out a two-headed wrench at least a foot and a half long. They left the lid open and walked forward into the truck’s headlight wash and their shadows jumped ahead of them. They were light on their feet and nimble for their size, like football players usually were. They paused for a moment and looked at the cabin’s door, and then they turned away.

Toward the Subaru.

They attacked it in a violent frenzy, an absolute blitzkrieg, two or three minutes of uncontrolled smashing and pounding. The noise was deafening. They smashed every shard of glass out of the windshield, they smashed the side windows, the back window, the headlights, the tail lights. They hammered jagged dents into the hood, into the doors, into the roof, into the fenders, into the tailgate. They put their arms through the absent glass and smashed up the dials and the switches and the radio.

Shit, Reacher thought. There goes my ride.

US"My husband’s punishment," the doctor’s wife whispered. "Worse this time."

The two guys stopped as suddenly as they had started. They stood there, one each side of the wrecked wagon, and they breathed hard and rolled their shoulders and let their weapons hang down by their sides. Pebbles of broken automotive glass glittered in the neon and the boom and clang of battered sheet metal echoed away to absolute silence.

Reacher took off his coat and dumped it on the bed.

The two guys formed up shoulder to shoulder and headed for the cabin’s door. Reacher opened it up and stepped out to meet them head on. Win or lose, fighting inside would bust up the room, and Vincent the motel owner had enough problems already.

The two guys stopped ten feet away and stood there, side by side, symmetrical, their weapons in their outside hands, four cubic yards of bone and muscle, six hundred pounds of beef, all flushed and sweating in the chill.

Reacher said, "Pop quiz, guys. You spent four years in college learning how to play a game. I spent thirteen years in the army learning how to kill people. So how scared am I?”

No answer.

"And you were so bad at it you couldn’t even get drafted afterward. I was so good at it I got all kinds of medals and promotions. So how scared are you?”

"Not very," said the guy with the wrench.

Wrong answer. But understandable. Being a good enough guard or tackle in high school to get a full-boat free ride to the big school in Lincoln was no mean achievement. Playing even a cameo role on the field in Memorial Stadium made a guy close to the best of the best. And failing to make the National Football League was no kind of real disgrace. The dividing line between success and failure in the world of sports was often very narrow, and the reasons for falling on one side or the other were often very arbitrary. These guys had been the elite for most of twenty years, the greatest thing their neighborhood had ever seen, then their town, then their county, maybe their state. They had been popular, they had been feted, they had gotten the girls. And they probably hadn’t lost a fight since they were eight years old.

Except they had never had a fight. Not in the sense meant by people paid to fight or die. Pushing and shoving at the schoolyard gate or on the sidewalk outside the soda shop or late at night after a start-of-summer keg party was as far from fighting as two fat guys tossing lame spirals in the park were from the Superbowl. These guys were amateurs, and worse, they were complacent amateurs, accustomed to getting by on bulk and reputation alone. In the real world, they would be dead before they even landed a blow.

Case in point: bad choice of weapons. Best are shooting weapons, second best are stabbing weapons, third best are slashing weapons. Blunt instruments are way down the list. They slow hand speed. Their uncontrolled momentum is disadvantageous after a miss. And: If you have to use them, the backhand is the only way to go, so that you accelerate and strike in the same sudden fluid motion. But these guys were shoulder to shoulder with their weapons in their outer hands, which promised forehand swings, which meant that the hammer or the wrench would have to be swung backward first, then stopped, then brought forward again. The first part of the move would be a clear telegraph. All the warning in the world. No surprise. They might as well put a notice in the newspaper, or send a cable by Western Union.

Reacher smiled. He had been raised on military bases all around the world, battling hardcore Marine progeny, honing his skills against gangs of resentful native youths in dusty Pacific streets and damp European alleys. Whatever hardscrabble town in Texas or Arkansas or Nebraska these guys had come up in had been a feather bed by comparison. And while they had been studying the playbook and learning to run and jump and catch, he had been broken down and built back up by the kind of experts who could snap your neck so fast you never knew it had happened until you went to nod your head and it rolled away down the street without you.

The guy with the wrench said, "We’ve got a message for you, pal."

Reacher said, "Really?"

"Actually it’s more of a question."

"Any difficult words? You need more time?" Reacher stepped forward and a little to his right. He put himself directly in front of the two guys, equidistant, seven feet away, so that if he was six on a clock face, they were eleven and one. The guy with the wrench was on his left, and the guy with the hammer was on his right.

The guy with the wrench moved first. He dumped his weight on his right foot and started a short, compact backswing with the heavy metal tool, a backswing that looked designed to bounce off tensed muscles after perhaps forty degrees or a couple of feet, and then snap forward again through a low horizontal arc, aiming to break Reacher’s left arm between the shoulder and the elbow. The guy wasn’t a total idiot. It was a decent first try.

But it was uncompleted.

Reacher had his weight on his left foot, and he had his right foot moving a split second after the wrench, driving the same way at the same speed, maybe even a little faster, and before the wrench stopped moving backward and started moving forward the heel of Reacher’s boot met the big guy’s knee and drove right through it, smashing the kneecap deep into the joint, bursting it, rupturing ligaments, tearing tendons, dislocating the joint, turning it inside out, making it fold forward the way no knee is designed to go. The guy started to drop and before he was past the first vertical inch and before the first howl was starting in his throat Reacher was stepping past him, on the outside, shouldering him aside, deleting him from memory, forgetting all about him. He was now essentially an unarmed one-legged man, and one-legged men had never featured near the top of Reacher’s concerns.

The guy with the hammer had a split-second choice to make. He could spin on the forehand, but that would give him almost a full circle to move through, because Reacher was now almost behind him, and anyway his crippled buddy was in the way of the spin, just waiting helplessly for a face to face collision. Or the guy could flail on the backhand, a Hail Mary blind swing into the void behind him, hoping for surprise, hoping for a lucky contact.

He chose to flail behind him.

Which Reacher was half-expecting and wholly rooting for. He watched the lunge, the arm moving, the wrist flicking back, the elbow turning inside out, and he planted his feet and jerked from the waist and drove the heel of his hand into the knob of the guy’s elbow, that huge force jabbing one way, the weight of the swinging hammer pulling the other way, the elbow joint cracking, the wrist overextending, the hammer falling, the guy instantly crumpling and dancing and hopping and trying to force his body to a place where his elbow stayed bent the right way around, which pulled him through a tight counterclockwise circle and left him unsteady and unbalanced and face to face with Reacher, who paused less time than it took for the hammer to hit the floor and then head butted him hard in the face, a savage, snapping movement, solid bone-to-bone contact, and then Reacher danced away toward the wrecked Subaru and turned and planned the next second and a half.

The guy who had held the wrench was down, rolling around, in Reacher’s judgment stunned not so much by the pain, most of which would be still to come, but by the awful dawning knowledge that life as he knew it was over, the momentary fears he might have experienced as an at...

Revue de presse

"His is an ironclad storytelling ethos, a gift for narrative that grips like the proverbial vice...Reacher, as ever, is sui generis - a violent force for good set down by the author to eliminate evil and move on. But what counts is Child's ability to keep the reader turning the pages. If anyone can put down Worth Dying For after the first few pages, then they shouldn't really be reading thrillers at all." (Independent )

"As a warrior who lacks a car, credit card, phone or weapon of his own, and has no continuing human ties or home, he is even more of a lone, denuded outsider than Lisbeth Salander, the heroine of Stieg Larsson's Millennium trilogy. Both are avengers who play on our atavistic instincts: when we cheer their lethal justice - if we do - we're acknowledging the pull of a primitive hatred that demands death and can't wait, scornful of the protracted pussyfooting of the law." (Sunday Times )

"Worth queuing up for." (Sun )

"Explosive as ever." (Daily Mirror )

"Just like Lisbeth Salander, Stieg Larsson's super violent super-genius, Reacher always find a way...Another cracking story from Child, who just seems to get better and better." (City A.M. )

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 1975 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 530 pages
  • Editeur : Transworld Digital (30 septembre 2010)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B0040GJJR0
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.2 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (5 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°12.115 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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Commentaires en ligne 

4.2 étoiles sur 5
4.2 étoiles sur 5
Commentaires client les plus utiles
3 internautes sur 3 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 DICK HILL DELIVERS ANOTHER TOPNOTCH READING 22 novembre 2010
Par Gail Cooke TOP 1000 COMMENTATEURS
Format:CD
Can't imagine any more plaudits that could possibly be heaped upon the always excellent Dick Hill. He has been named both a Golden Voice and a Voice of the Century by AudioFile magazine, and is a three time winner of the Audie Award. It goes without saying that he's in great demand not only by audio book publishers, but also by discerning listeners who look for his name on an audio edition.

With experience as a stage actor and writer Hill has been the voice of Jack Reacher from the beginning with his narration of the 1997 Killing Floor. There's no other way to say it - he is the voice of Reacher, totally inhabiting this character's persona. And, that's not an easy task considering the scrapes Reacher gets into.

WORTH DYING FOR takes us deep into Nebraska (although Reacher is headed for Virginia to meet Susan). Nonetheless, as luck, fate, and the fellow from whom he hitched a ride would have it he's dropped off in a small corn country town with one motel.

Things take an immediate turn for not any better when he runs into a drunk doctor in the motel bar. He agrees to drive the M.D. to a home to treat a woman's broken nose. When Reacher finds out how her nose suffered such a calamity, of course, he decides to teach her husband a lesson.

Gallant but not a very good idea because this puts Reacher up against some mean, powerful men, the Duncans, who run the town and its cowed citizenry. As it turns out the Duncans also have some folks to fear, and there is the decades old case of a missing child.

Virginia and Susan will just have to wait - if Reacher gets out of Nebraska alive.

- Gail Cooke
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Addictive, brilliant, ruthless 29 octobre 2011
Format:Poche
This reader does not know if Lee Child is a popular writer in France. He annoyed some readers by ending his masterpiece "61 Hours" with `to be continued'. In this sequel, nothing about this adventure is mentioned, except for Jack Reacher (JR)'s severe muscle stress and pain in arms and shoulders from his narrow escape from a deep WW II underground storage facility in South Dakota at the very beginning.
Thumbing his way to Virginia, JR overnights in a motel in a remote Nebraska county long terrorized by the Duncan family who run a transport company. For decades they have monopolized moving crops to market, charging crippling fees. In the first 100 pages, JR dispatches three of their 10 ex-American football player enforcers and bodyguards to hospital and lengthy rehabilitation. But why is so much muscle needed for a seasonal job? The Duncans are bleeding the county's farmers white, but surely they must have another line of business, source of income? How else can they afford year-round protection?
The Duncans soon prove to be part of a long supply chain involved in the import and trade in forbidden items or controlled substances into the USA, moved further south by other criminal gangs. What the substance is, is for readers to find out. But a delayed shipment's arrival from Canada attracts three pairs of out of state criminal gang enforcers to rural Nebraska. They are Italian, Arab and Iranian.
JR is at his best in this book, outpunching and outsmarting his direct opponents, relying on logic, induction, deduction, probability and combat experience. He also slowly solves the disappearance, 25 years earlier, of the adopted 8-year old daughter of the woman who cooks him a solid breakfast when he is forced to go on the run in flat, cold, thinly-populated Nebraska. Fabulous piece of writing, every word and sentence in the right place.
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 The best Reacher since Die Trying. 26 février 2013
Format:Poche
Now and again (usually when I run out of new sci-fi to read) I take a break and dive into the occasional thriller. I’ve read a few Jack Reacher stories and mostly enjoyed all of them but the second in the series (Die Trying) always stood way above the others. That was until I read this one. Reacher is his usual self doing his usual righting-wrongs thing in his usual even-handedly violent way but the narrative is in no way trite or overly formulaic. Yes, it’s shallow easy reading and not even slightly cerebral or thought provoking, but the break-neck pace and gripping plot makes for an almost un-put-down-able read; brilliant stuff.
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3.0 étoiles sur 5 Convenu 15 mai 2012
Par per
Format:Poche|Achat vérifié
Toujours le même Jack Reacher. On se lasse de ses prouesses. Quoiqu'il arrive on sait "qu'il s'en tirera". Psychologie réduite à sa plus simple expression. Les méchants sont gros et incultes, et viennent de tous les pays du monde. Reacher est le seul intelligent. Les armes sont décrites avec plus de détail.
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4.0 étoiles sur 5 A heroic lonesome road trotter 15 mars 2012
Par lilanreader TOP 1000 COMMENTATEURS
Format:Broché
He was on his way to meet Susan, somewhere in Virginia, but we shall never see her in the story. His name is Reacher, a heroic character, some lonesome road man trotter, with as main moral qualities his courage, a sense of responsibility, human understanding. His physical qualities : his strength,and his talent in fighting. His intellectual qualities : fast and logical reasoning. He'll give proof of these qualities in a lost place in Nebraska, on his way, where he meets with a bunch of mean characters, a family sticking together and terrorizing the county people all around. Step by step, search after search, fight after fight, he will discover the tragedy of a mother, whose little daughter disappeared mysteriously about 30 years ago. (A mystery the reader is lead to discover). Reacher's leitmotiv is "human nature", and indeed, he stands for a very humane figure in the narration, yet with superhuman features!
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