As the impatient gaggle of the waiting surged forward, Tammy felt that familiar, firm grip on her hand, pulling her through the sea of people, and onto the bus.

He didn’t speak as he led her roughly to a window seat, and no flicker of emotion passed over his face as he lowered his mouth to her ear, and pressed the sawn-off barrel of a shotgun to her ribs.

“Don’t even think about it…”

If any of the other passengers could have seen what was going on, they’d have been surprised to see a mocking smile play across Tammy’s lips, and her hand slowly reach behind her, brushing against her husband’s leg as she took the barrel of the gun and twisted it to point harmlessly into her seat.

“Why, hello again Romeo…”

For the rest of the journey, they discussed art, politics, and how important someone has to be before they’re assassinated, not murdered.

Reaching their destination, the choking fug of exhaust fumes engulfing them once more, neither noticed the man in sunglasses on the other side of the street.