He raced to the end of the alleyway and, to his annoyance, saw that it opened out into a wide parking lot. He looked left and right, scouring the space for an escape route. He saw a dark sliver between two buildings on the other side of the space, half hidden behind two large industrial bins. He angled the Bajaj toward the opening and twisted the accelerator all the way around. The police car flew out of the alleyway, its blue and red lights reflecting off the walls of the neighbouring buildings and the whoop of the sirens echoing loudly.

Milton had no idea what was at the other end of the passage. It might be a dead end, and, if it was, he and Sakura would be spending the rest of the day at the local police station, and what would happen after that would be anyone’s guess.

No time to worry about that.

He aimed for the space between the bins.

The police car rammed the back of the Bajaj, causing it to veer wildly to the left and then the right. Milton grappled with the handlebars, keeping the front wheel lined up with the opening of the passage. He knew what the driver was trying to do: spin the Bajaj so that it toppled over. The vehicle clipped one of the industrial bins, the impact helping Milton to reorientate it and line it up for the passage. They leapt forward, disappearing into the passage a moment before the tyres of the police car squealed as it was brought to a sudden stop.

The alleyway was only just wider than the scooter, and Milton eased up on the accelerator. There was no way that the police cars could follow them now, so he risked a glance over his shoulder and saw, to his relief, that Sakura was still nestled on the rear bench, held in place by the seatbelt across her lap.

19

Milton manoeuvred the Bajaj to the end of the alleyway before bouncing across a road and following the alley on the other side. He took a series of turns through the backstreets until he reached a small parking space at the rear of a run-down office block. There were only a few cars parked there, and he slotted the scooter between two of them, neither of which looked as if they had moved for a while. One of them—a venerable dark blue Nissan Skyline—had a thin film of dust across its bodywork.

Milton got out of the Bajaj, grateful to stretch his legs, and then checked on his passenger. Sakura was unconscious. She was pale, and, when he pressed his index and middle fingers to her neck, he could feel that her pulse was slow. He patted her cheek, but she did not stir, then he carefully pulled one eyelid open and saw that her eyes had rolled to the back of her head.

She was in a bad way.