ROFESSIONAL KILLERS were a unique lot.

Robie thought this as the bus motored along. The vehicle’s suspension was for shit and thus the ride was too. They would have to endure two hundred miles of this, but Robie was not focused on that. He stared through the gap, watching, waiting.

When you were on a mission you looked for things that other people would never focus on. Like entry and exit points. Always have at least two of each. Gunsight angles, positions from which others can strike back at you. Sizing up opponents without seeming to do so. Trying to ferret out intent by reading body cues alone. Never let anyone notice you noticing him.

Robie was undertaking all of these tasks right now. And it was totally unconnected with his plight. He had people after him, clearly. But just as clearly the girl had someone after her. And Robie now knew that he was not the only professional killer on board this bus tonight.

He was looking at the second one.

He slipped the Glock from his pocket.

The girl was reading. Robie couldn’t see what, but it was a paperback. She was intent on this, oblivious to all other things. That was not good. Young people made easy targets for predators. Young people were glued to their phone screens, thumbs ramming keys, firing off messages of importance, like Facebook status, the color of their underwear that day, girl problems, hair problems, sport stats, where the next party was. They also always had earbuds in. With the music roaring, they could hear nothing until the lion struck. Then it was too late.

Easy prey. And they didn’t even know it.

Robie lined up his shot between the seat gap.

The other man leaned forward in his seat.

They had been traveling for only a few minutes. They were passing through an even more derelict part of the city.

There was no one sitting next to the girl in the window seat. There was no one across the aisle from her. The closest person to her was an old woman who had already fallen asleep. Most in the bus had settled down to sleep, though they’d barely gone a half mile as yet.

Robie knew how he would do it. Head and neck. Pull right, pull left, the same method the U.S. Marines teach. Because the target was a child, no weapon would be required. No loss of blood either. Most people died silently. There was no melodramatic dying sequence. Folks just stopped breathing, gurgled, twitched, and then went quietly. People close by were clueless. But then most people were clueless.

The man tensed.

The girl shifted her book a bit, letting the wash from the overhead light hit the page more fully.

Robie eased forward. He checked his gun. The suppressor can was spun on as tight as it would go. But in the close confines of the bus there was no such thing as a silenced gun. He would worry about explanations later. He had watched two people tonight lose their lives, one a little boy. He did not intend to make it three.

The man set his weight on the balls of his feet. He lifted his hands, positioned them in a certain way.

Pull-pull, thought Robie. Head left, neck right. Snap.

Pull-pull.

Dead girl.

But not tonight.