“The police car flexed and leapt toward a shop front. Adrian jumped on the brake. The ABS bit into the bitumen and the car stopped just short of the window, the immaculate outlines of Jaguars and Porsches lit up through the glass.

Adrian threw the car into reverse, made his way off the footpath and back onto the road. He banged it into first and we took off down Clarendon Street, past the Casino. My stomach bounced around inside my brittle ribs, rebounding off the other organs.

The traffic lights were amber when the speedo needle climbed past one fifty.

“Seatbelts on, people!”

Adrian hit the lights and siren. A Volkswagen came to a hasty stop part-way into the intersection and the Interceptor shot through unmolested. At Spencer Street Station, we turned around.

“Out of my jurisdiction,” said Adrian, jamming his beer can into the cup holder and slamming the stick into first.

“I’ve got to get out,” I said, but that first time I spoke, the voice may have been in my head. When we reached the City Road McDonalds, we were doing a hundred and ten kilometres an hour.”