No one on his route recognized him from the paper. Vic told himself no one would—Kyle knew Matt and, despite his dumb act, he’d put two and two together to realize the guy who got shot must’ve been Vic. None of the fares who rode his bus knew about Matt, or even bothered to see Vic as someone with a life outside of his job. None of them cared.
But for the first hour or so into his shift, Vic wasted too much mental energy shuffling through the minds of his fares, looking for an inkling of recognition or some off thought. Nothing surfaced. As the day wore on, Vic relaxed, checking at random to see if he were in someone’s mind. Halfway through his first shift, there was a teenage girl who should’ve been in school—she kept a wary eye on him throughout the length of her ride, scared he’d call
