People were taking everything. Not just cans of vegetables and meat; not just staple supplies; but pet foods and bottles of lavatory cleanser and fluorescent plastic sandals. They seemed to have forgotten why they were there, and what they had come for. Now they were even ripping the plastic edging from the shelves, and smashing the refrigerator cabinets. Mike, as he managed to usher everybody into his office, saw one man in a flowery Hawaiian shirt beating his fist against an empty spice rack until his fingers were spattered with blood; and another sight that was to stay with him for days afterwards – a pretty young girl in khaki jeans clutching five or six crushed French loaves, and wetting herself, all down her thighs.

Mike pushed Tony into the office ahead of him, slammed the door and locked it.

‘Jesus Christ,’ shuddered Tony. ‘Have you ever seen anything like that in your life? They’ve gone bananas!’ Mike went over to the telephone, and dialled 625 3311, for the police. The telephone rang for a long time before it was answered, and outside the office window the screaming and the smashing grew louder and even more frightening.

‘Come on, come on,’ breathed Mike ‘What’s the matter with these people? We’ve got a riot on our hands.’

At last, a dry voice said, ‘Police. Is this in connection with tonight’s emergency?’

Mike hesitated. ‘It’s a riot, if that’s what you mean. Up at the Hughes supermarket on Highland.’

‘Okay,’ the voice told him. ‘Hold on for a moment, and I’ll have you connected with the emergency squad.’

Mike held his hand over the receiver while it rang on a special extension. Through the office window, he could see a middle-aged woman trying to climb up on to the cookie shelves, to reach three or four scattered bags of Pepperidge Farm ginger-nuts. Another woman leaped on her back, clawing at her T-shirt, until it ripped apart. The two women fell into the aisle, fighting and scratching, and knocking over two other women as well. Mike saw blood and torn-out hair and bare breasts scored with livid red furrows.

‘For God’s sake,’ he said into the telephone. He loosened his necktie, and unbuttoned the first couple of buttons of his short-sleeved shirt. One of the checkout girls, Wendy, was starting to sob.

At last, a snappy police sergeant said, ‘Yes? Emergency squad.’

‘I’m the manager of the Hughes supermarket on Highland,’ said Mike.

‘Okay,’ said the sergeant, ‘Hughes supermarket. I’ve made a note of that. We’ll get there when we can.’

‘When you can? We have a riot here! People are getting hurt!’

‘Listen, mister, we have a riot in every supermarket in the city. Four supermarkets on Santa Monica boulevard are burning. All I can say is that we’ll get there when we can.’

‘But what am I supposed to do? They’re stripping the place!’