He was in. Now there was just the small matter of getting it started. He yanked the wires out from under the dash, and several came away in his hand. He worked his way through them one by one. Testing each against another. The starter whirred, slowly at first. Nothing. He found the choke, pulled it out, pumped the throttle a couple of times. Then the wires again. There was a splutter and a cough and the old big six barked into life: a shattering sound in the cramped confines of the parking lot. He moved the choke in but not too far: he couldn’t risk it stalling. Now there was just the matter of getting through the gate. With enough of a run at it, he could hit it at about thirty. It ought to do it. He put on the waist-only seatbelt. He revved the engine, found first, let the clutch bite and shot forward, then reversed to get as far from the gate as he could. Then he shoved it back into first and floored it, his arms now extended and locked to push him back against the seat.

There was an explosion of grinding metal and glass. Despite his locked arms, his head hit the windscreen, which exploded over him, and for a few seconds he was gone. When he looked up, he was still on the wrong side of the gate, but had forced it open a few inches. He extricated himself from the driver’s seat, stepped over the crumpled bonnet and tried to squeeze himself through the narrow space the Jag had prised open. To whoever was watching through the cameras, it would look like a not at all grand theft auto.

The gates weren’t giving but Tom pushed and squeezed, eventually twisting himself through the narrow gap.

‘Freeze, you fuck. Don’t move!’

Two guards were standing at the top of the ramp, their big old Colts trained on him. He raised his hands. He still had the mask on. They mustn’t hear his voice.

Cautiously they approached, one a chubster, the other skinny with bow legs. ‘Okay, we’re calling this in. You stay right there.’

Tom gestured at his chest and mouth.

‘Hey, Sal, maybe he ain’t breathin’.’

Sal wasn’t so sympathetic. ‘Fuck him. Wait till the cops get here.’

The skinny one had his doubts.

‘He stops breathin’, we’ll get it in the neck. He can see we’re carrying. He ain’t goin’ nowhere.’

‘Okay, okay.’

Sal swiped a card on the reader and the gates lurched open.

Tom collapsed onto his knees, clutching his chest.

‘Jeez, will you look at what he done to the Jag-war?’

The skinny one stood over him and reached down with his left hand to pull off the vegetable bag.