Evan awoke, having slept soundly as the Greyhound bus made its way along the dark highway. He was on day two of a three-day journey and had already changed buses three times. There’d be two more transfers before he reached his destination.
So far, his disguise had proven to have an added benefit. People tended to avoid sitting next to a skinhead with a gruesome skull tattooed on his face. So, unless there were no other seats open during a specific leg of the trip, the one next to him remained empty.
As he rode, he spent lots of time thinking about his situation. He was still stunned the police had identified him, and he spent hours pondering what he’d done wrong to allow them to figure it out.
He assumed the spray can he dropped, when the woman shot him, allowed them to track him. Leavi
