He felt a sudden rage at his own fear and his weakness. He really should try to get someone else in on these jobs, even if it meant splitting the take and having to do more. Was that perfume still hanging in the air? Leaking out of the bloody car. Bastards have everything they want. He swung the bag and turned as the weight pulled his arm up. The bag rose to its full height overhead, came down with a thump on the hatchback window and fell through.

The car alarm shrieked. He yanked the bag out of the hole and swung again. It hit dead on. The hole in the glass was the size of a television screen now. The perfume coming out of the hole in the clouded window stung high up in his nose. He grabbed the leather jacket and threw it to the ground. His fingers scrabbled at the limit of his arm’s reach for the Walkman. He leaned in until his feet came off the pavement. A camera too. Must have been under the coat. The alarm’s shrieking seemed to be lighting up the whole street, knifing into his brain. The tennis racquets came out handy enough. He used one to tap out more glass. Headlights turned into the street. He scooped up the jacket, stuffed the Walkman and the camera into it and held the racquets over the bundle. Someone shouted from far off as he entered the alley. It swallowed most of the alarm’s shrieking. He kept going. This bit was a kick in itself. He was proud of how he could still run. The close, thick air rubbed against his face. He was grinning. The alarm began to fade behind him.

Minogue was massaging his feet in the kitchen when the beeper went off. He closed his eyes, rubbed his face and swore before plucking it from his belt and clicking it off. It was half past one.

Kathleen tripped down the top of the stairs, her dress over her arm.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Minogue looked up from the pager.

“Yes, indeed.”

He went upstairs and changed while Kathleen filled a plastic bag with a sandwich, a banana, two biscuits and two tins of soda water.