The Cab Ride

Harvey sprinted out of Kings Cross Station and hailed a cab.
“Where to, guv?” asked the cabbie.
“The Savoy. Get me there in ten minutes and I’ll give you double the fare”, said Harvey, getting into one of the famous black cabs, slightly out of breath.
“We’ll be there in seven. What’s the hurry, guv?” asked the cabbie, expertly maneuvering his cab through the evening London traffic on Kings Cross Road.
“I’m late. My wife is waiting for me”, said Harvey, adjusting his bow-tie and rearranging the roses in the bouquet.
“What for?” chuckled the cabbie.
“Well, it’s our anniversary”, said Harvey, matter-of-factly.
“Excellent. Well, congratulations to you and the missus”, said the cabbie, swerving to avoid a slow car as they barrelled down Farringdon Road.
“Thank you very much. Drive carefully, will you?” said Harvey, alarmed by the close shave.
“Don’t worry mister. Are you an American?” asked the cabbie.
“Yes, I’m an American. And what is your name?” asked Harvey, mildly irritated as they took the right turn on to Fleet Street.
“The name is Liam, sir”, he beamed.
“Well, Liam. You’re a chatty fellow, aren’t you?” said Harvey. Before Liam had a chance to answer, their cab was speeding past Strand and screeched to a halt outside The Savoy. “Anyhow, here we are. Thank you for getting me here quick. How much do I owe you?”, asked Harvey.
“Thirty pounds, guv”, said Liam.
“As promised”  said Harvey, handing over sixty pounds.
Without waiting for a response, Harvey bolted out of the cab and into the hotel. Liam called out after him, but Harvey was already in the lobby by then. Liam shrugged and pocketed the money, smiling to himself. The meter read fifteen pounds.

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