“Good for him.” Shaw’s gaze never veered from the road ahead.
He and Frank boarded a commercial airliner that carried them to JFK where they switched to a British Airways jumbo that skipped them across the pond that night. Frank watched a movie, had some drinks and dinner, did some work and napped.
Shaw spent the entire six hour and fourteen minute flight staring out the window. When they landed the men cleared customs, collected their bags and walked toward the exits.
“Shaw I’ve got a car. You want a lift into town?”
“Just get me another job, the sooner the better.” Shaw kept walking, head down, bag swinging at his side.
Frank stared at him for a bit, then found his ride and was driven off.
Shaw got into London an hour later on a bus. He didn’t go to the Savoy. He wasn’t working. He couldn’t afford the place on his own dime. He checked into a far more modestly priced room in a far less desirable part of town. He had just thrown his bag down in a chair, slipped off his jacket and jerked off his tie when his phone rang.
David Baldacci
