Milton moved the Bajaj into the left-hand lane, ready to swerve into the first suitable turning that they reached. They sped past a low red-brick building with a tiled roof, a two-storey white house with a bicycle balanced on a veranda, and then a collection of other buildings separated from the road by a low wall with a crumbling façade. The sirens from the two police cars grew louder. He glanced in the wing mirror and saw that the leading car was gaining on him rapidly. The Bajaj was not fast, and the cruiser was only about a hundred yards away and closing quickly.

Milton saw an opening on the left and moved over to the right-hand lane to give himself the best chance of making the turn. He eased up on the accelerator to prepare for the manoeuvre and, after taking a quick glance to his left, he grimaced as the lead police car closed to less than twenty feet. The driver was preparing to undertake them on the inside lane.

Milton leaned to his left and jerked the handlebars in the same direction. The Bajaj started to tilt, more dramatically than the last time, but two of the wheels held the road and he made the turn.

Almost.

A small green and yellow cart with two large bicycle wheels on either side was right in front of them. A stove was lashed to the cart with a strap, and a selection of bottles had been arranged in the back. The cart’s owner—an elderly man dressed in flip-flops and a white shirt over a traditional sarong—stared at him with wide eyes before realising that Milton’s Bajaj was heading directly for him and his cart. The scooter caught the cart a glancing blow with a loud, splintering crash. The cart was upended, the bottles and the stove scattering across the road and sidewalk. The owner hopped out of the way with a sprightliness that belied his age and shook his fist as Milton wrestled the Bajaj back on course and raced down the narrow road that was now in front of him.

There was a screech of brakes from behind him. The police car had adjusted to the sudden change in route, and, as Milton looked in his mirrors, he saw that it was right up behind him again. The alleyway was much narrower than the main road, so narrow that the police car lost one of its wing mirrors to a metal fence as it continued the pursuit. Milton felt more confident, but it was still not ideal. He needed somewhere even more difficult to negotiate, somewhere he could go but the police cars could not.