Chapter Two

Todd shoved back his mug and pulled over his tablet, and started pulling up websites aimlessly.

The wifi was good, but the coffee was... off. Across the street was a Starbucks, which he'd virtuously avoided, going into the more local shop, regretting it almost immediately. The tables were sticky and rocked, the floor was littered with ends of sugar envelopes and wads of napkin, and the one staffer behind the counter, whether barista or no, looked bored. A bore-ista, Todd thought, and immediately regretted it.

He'd flown into Heathrow, taken a cab to Camden Town because the editor had told him that was where he'd stayed years before as a young reporter on assignment, and checked into the first hotel that looked not too expensive but not "grotty," as the cabbie had said. Todd suspected the cabbie could have been helpful but was afraid to reveal himself as ignorant as he was, so paid him off and walked in. The room was decent, if on the third floor, which he told himself he liked, even though it was on the far end from the elevator (or lift, he reminded himself).

No young reporter on assignment, Todd was now about a step and a half above writing articles on spec after years of newspaper work that ended with yet another downsizing by a new publisher. The separation package was decent, and mostly gone. This trip was the result of a lead and opportunity he'd been given by a friend, whose editor was all too happy to have another staffer of sorts that he didn't have to pay (much) for. While Quentin was in Australia, Todd was in London, trying to interview a former Ohio State student who was now a radical imam for a Somali mosque in London. Or a London suburb. Unless he was back in Somalia.

Quite a bit was unclear, as was the payment plan from the struggling news magazine, but the airplane ticket was paid for, and enough for a week's hotel and meals if he wasn't extravagant. The London Underground map was up on his tablet now, and he had been to England once before, some twelve years ago, and it looked like that would still be useful information. Tablets and wifi were not part of what he learned about Greater London before, and it appeared that they would help him learn whatever he needed in a hurry, with the exception of Somali language, Islamic cultural traditions, and frankly, anything else he really needed to write this piece. How much, Todd wondered, would they want back from him if he returned without a story?

The coffee was weak, a bit tinny in taste, in a way that he sincerely hoped wasn't soap but suspected it was. He could get up and walk across the street, watching for traffic that went opposite what he was used to (went a quick nervous thought), and collapse into the comfortable arms of an American corporate outlet for coffee, but just having that thought made Todd get up and head for the counter to ask for a refill. Maybe it was just that cup. And maybe he'd have a brownie, or whatever they call that in London.