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ORIGINAL ENDING
Fedir Kuchin fell backward with Shaw on top of him. And he hit him, once, twice, the blows accelerated, raining down on the dead man until there was no face left, only tissue that had been turned to pulp as Shaw’s knuckles cracked and his hands bled.
“Shaw! Shaw!”
Reggie tried to pull him off, but he used one big arm to knock her off her feet. Then seeming to realize what had happened, Shaw jumped up and raced to Katie. He straddled her, pumped her chest, then pinched her nose and blew air into her mouth. He pumped and blew. Pushing down on her chest, forcing air into lungs that refused to expand.
“Shaw, stop! She’s dead. Stop! Stop it! You can’t bring her back.”
Shaw was covered in the woman’s blood. Every time he dipped his lips to hers he collected more of it on him. When Reggie tried to pull him off, he turned and, enraged, flung her five feet in the air. She landed with a hard thud and stayed there, her chest heaving, tears pouring down her face.
Shaw slowly turned back to Katie James. But he didn’t push at her chest. He didn’t blow into her mouth. He just sat there on his haunches, staring down, rocking back and forth.
He reached down, gently lifted her up and held her.
Just held her.
CHAPTER 100
Katie James was buried near the town where she’d been born and where some of her family still lived. Shaw attended the funeral along with Frank. As soon as the priest threw the fistful of dirt into the open grave, Shaw turned and left. Frank waited for a few respectful seconds and then followed. Shaw’s long legs ate up the consecrated ground and he was already in the driver’s seat of the rental when Frank popped open the passenger door.
“Sure you don’t want me to drive?”
“Just get in.”
Shaw drove faster than he should have to the airport.
Frank looked over nervously from time to time, but seemed afraid to break the silence. Finally, he did. "Seems like this Pascal character is taking over Kuchin’s business. But it seems he’s getting out of the illegal crap and just ru
“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 di
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