Relocate?

He wasn’t going to be any part of that sort of setup. He quickly pulled on his dress blue service uniform, stuffed everything else in the room that was his back into his duffle bag and walked out of the room. He didn’t ask for a cab at the concierge desk but walked out onto the street and managed to reach a bus stop as a bus was pulling up. He had no idea which direction it was going. He didn’t really care. Three stops later, he got off. He was near the waterfront in a seedy part of town. He was more comfortable here than he’d been at the Del Coronado. He had no trouble finding a fleabag hotel, where he spent the night, changing into civvies to go out to find dinner.

He found more than dinner. In a hole-in-the-wall bar on the waterfront, he found companionship. He was in a funky mood, and the straightforward propositioning from a brute of a sailor in the bar matched his mood. He didn’t tell the guy he was a sailor too. He let himself be taken to a hotel even seedier than then one he’d checked into, and he blew the sailor and got blown by the sailor. And he laid on his back and opened his legs, and let the sailor pound his channel, making him forget the lie Lew Harris had been asking him to live and fucking the Navy officer out of his system.