Kasumi showed her travel pass then pushed aside the indifferent youths blocking the entrance to the bus. "Watch out," a spiky haired rocker mouthed. "Why not ride that thing, instead of bringing it on board?"

She ignored his helpful commentary and lugged the folded commuter bike to the luggage rack. A young boy was sitting in it listening to his Walkman and appeared unaware that she needed the space. She raised her eyebrows and made sure his darting eyes caught her gaze.

He pulled one of the buds from his ear and shook his head. German electronica whistled optimistically from the earphone. "No room," he said returning the bud to his ear. She lifted the bicycle and pressed it into the left edge of the rack then let the ride of the bus bounce it painfully into the elbow and ribs of the seated youth. "Ah. Just enough room for a little one," she said. His face screwed up in anger, but he stepped down from the luggage rack and stalked away to the rear of the bus as it moved off along the street to the next stop.

"I like your pants," said a lecherous old man on the side benches. "Are you a superhero?" He nudged a similarly enthralled senior beside him. They both laughed heartily. She kept facing the luggage rack, but cursed her spandex leggings. The striped pattern had looked modern and bright in the shop, but it had taken a few weeks before she realized that the stripes merged inappropriately to highlight her rear end.

Normally she would take the bus or the metro to the Court House, but it was so late at night. She knew the public transit would cease at midnight and she would have to walk all the way home if she did not bring her bicycle.

At the next stop another group of people filed neatly onto the bus. Kasumi quietly willed them to get on quickly. At the end of the line, a fraught little man squeezed thru the doors as the driver closed them and drove off impatiently.

She could vaguely hear him muttering. "Aren't you interested?" he said. The driver nodded at the displayed travelpass without real interest and navigated the bus into the evening traffic. Kasumi could see the fretting man's neck was red and sweating around the blue collar of his shirt.

What is bothering him? she wondered. Maybe a school teacher with exams to mark? Maybe an accountant with an avalanche of tax forms to file? She kept staring as he pushed past toward the back of the bus. His eyes flitted left and right. A guilty secret? Maybe a bottle of something illicit in the paper bag in his hand? Maybe some explosive document in the thin briefcase held in the same hand?

But Kasumi reminded herself of one thing. Her vocation was not to judge; it was to defend. The notable man stood quietly at the back window, a cloud of emotion hanging over him.

:::

After another half-hour, Kasumi stared out of the front window trying to see if her stop was approaching. Although she often traveled on this route during the working day, things looked different in the evening. There were more lights and neon signs and even the crowds of people moved in a different way. She was already running late. At what point would her hastily planned journey no longer be worthwhile?

The vodka bottle tumbled to the deck of the bus. The man with the blue collar lurched to the front of the bus, bumping into the passengers on the left and the right. "Get out of the way," he grumbled.

Kasumi stared at him as casually as she could as he approached the front doors. He looked angry and scared, but maybe he was just running late. It was, after all, a terrible time of night to be returning home from the office. It was, of course, an even worse time to be going out to an office.

"You've left your coat," she said in a friendly tone. "Don't forget it. It looks like rain later."

His nostrils flared as he noticed her. He pushed the shirt collar up around his neck as if this was sufficient protection against the weather. He opened his mouth to talk, but no words came out. Then his eyes closed lazily, tuning everything out, and he strode to the front exit door.

His stare and his manner caught her attention in an odd way. Kasumi had a thought. What is he going to do next?

"Watch out," she shouted to the driver. The agitated accountant swung his hand against the perspex of the driver's cab. A long thin screwdriver was jabbed into one of the voice holes, then withdrawn almost as quickly. The driver had turned to Kasumi's voice then flinched. The screwdriver was poked thru the slot again, and then, with increasing frustration, scraped on the plastic glass.

Kasumi covered her mouth, frozen with fear. The other passengers were starting to shout and point. She felt the swell of people behind her pushing her toward the front of the bus as the accountant turned back to face her, his hand raised with the tiny weapon.

"Keep your hands off her," yelled one of the older men. The two feeble jokers tumbled into the body of the assailant and scuffled badly with him, a metal walking stick flailing outwards. More shrieks were accompanied by the accountant pushing the men away, his hands now empty. He stood momentarily in the doorway then stepped off the bus and sprinted away clumsily.

"Where's the screwdriver?" asked the bus driver. He turned agitated in his chair, still sealed behind the window of the cab.

"Don't touch it," said Kasumi rapidly. "The police will need it for prints." The sparkle of her legal brain briefly blotted out the pumping of her heart, but then she started to breathe more heavily. "Stay calm," she thought. "It's going to be a long night."