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sight of an old woman, watching. Eva dodged left and headed down a side street. A man in his slippers stood on the sidewalk talking to a woman in a dressing gown. A front door stood open behind them, an untidy cluster of doorbells screwed haphazardly into its frame. As she walked past, Eva overheard a snatch of their conversation.
    “He went running out of the house just after midnight last night. Kept shouting ‘my eyes,’ sounded as if he was in pain. Disappeared around the corner and then collapsed. Heart attack, the doctor said.”
    “What are you going to do with his things?”
    Eva continued down the road, as the reason for her contract took shape in her head. What price her part in the concealment of a murder? Four hundred credits.
    The world was slipping down into Hell, and everyone was helping it on its way. Everyone accepted a little bit of money, and a little bit of blame, and that way they could all walk around with a conscience that was just a little bit off-color. Just a little bit, but add all those bits together…
    Another reason why Eva had to escape.
     
    If Eva had believed in fate, she would have had to admit it was finally coming round to her side. Her headache had almost cleared, and the diversion to pick up the darts had resulted in her arriving at the place she had been aiming for all along. She walked into Mehta’s Information Shop deep in thought and headed to the back of the retail area. First deal with the darts, then lose her card, then finally back home. After that, she would begin her escape in earnest.
    A stack of blue mail tubes lay on a shelf near the back. Eva picked one up and reached in her pocket for the four darts. She examined one before dropping it into the plastic container. A short fat needle, the red “feathers” at the back sliding smoothly into the metal barrel for concealment. Her phone vibrated once more.
    “Hello.”
    “Drop them in quickly. You’re drawing attention to yourself.”
    “Do the red feathers pop out at your signal, to help make them visible to collectors?” said Eva.
    “Classified information, Eva.”
    “Why don’t you just make them disintegrate?”
    “That’s not technically feasible. I think you’ve been listening to too many conspiracy theories. Just drop them in the tube and address it to 4A53.FF91.2E22.B7C2.”
    Eva scrawled the figures on the tube with a black marker pen that had been thoughtfully left on a nearby shelf.
    “Okay. Deposit the tube in the secure slot. We would like to thank you for your efficiency. Your account has been credited with four hundred credits, plus seventeen credits for the postage. Good-bye, Eva.” The line went dead.
    Eva dropped the tube in the correct slot to a faint popping sound and then made her way to the front of the shop. It was time to resume her intended schedule.
    She picked up five magazines from the shelves near the entrance doors and carried them to the checkout, pulling her e-card from a pocket as she did so. The young girl behind the counter scanned the card and the magazines. She recited each purchase as it appeared on the screen.
    “ Literary Examiner, Women’s Things and Research Scientist. You know you have bought these three magazines here every week for the past five years? If you took out a subscription you could save forty percent of the cover price and have them delivered direct to your door.”
    “Do you know you have told me that same thing every week for the past four years and nine months?”
    “Sorry, Eva.”
    “Call me Ms. Rye. You don’t know who I am.”
    “As you wish. That will be five credits for the magazines and seventeen credits for the postage. That makes twenty-two credits.”
    Eva placed her e-card on top of Women’s Things, her heartbeat accelerating. This was the crucial moment. The young girl scanned the card, Eva picked it up, together with the magazines. Then, trying her best to keep her voice natural…“Oh.” She held up a copy of Women’s Things