I cleared a space to sit down and turned my back on the poster of my face that had been freshly stuck up on the wall. I didn’t think it looked anything like me anymore, with my new black look, but it was best to keep my head down, just in case. I was also puzzled by the phone number underneath my picture: it didn’t seem to be the usual anti-crime number and I wondered if Oriana de la Force or Vulkan Sligo were running their own publicity campaign to find me. A middle-aged guy in jeans and a striped T-shirt was the only other person waiting in the shelter. I didn’t like the way he kept looking at me and I was relieved when my bus arrived. As we pulled out, I glanced back at him, still sitting on the bench, talking on his mobile. I turned away and put him, with so many other paranoid thoughts, to the back of my mind. It was pretty dark by the time I got off at the Long Reef stop and walked the few hundred metres or so towards the cluster of buildings I could see down the road.
