Faster...faster...he looked over his shoulder at the blue lights closing on him, dodged sideways into an alley, and barged, backpack first, into the nearest tradesman's entrance. Slamming the door behind him, he leaned on it, wheezing and bent double. The sound of sirens receded into the distance.
Suddenly the lights flashed into life, and he realised he was in an empty kitchen. He slid sideways between two rows of shelves, hiding between the pots and pans, holding his breath as someone carefully made their way around the room.
"Must've just been rats, like, Steve. That back door's been left open again," called a Brummie voice.
"OK, just lock it up tight and get yourself home, Rocky," came the reply from further inside the restaurant.
The intruder pressed himself further into the recesses of the pantry area, praying to whatever gods would listen that he wouldn't be seen, but apparently they weren't paying him any attention, because as Rocky turned to leave he stopped and looked straight at him.
"You go ahead, Steve, I'll close up, right?" shouted Rocky, not taking his eyes off his quarry.
"'Night, then!" The front door slammed, leaving the two men, stares locked together.
Frying pan into the fire, thought the fugitive. This guy's gonna call the cops, and then when they realise I've just done the safe at Claridges, he'll get the Crimestoppers reward.
Rocky smiled broadly. "Don't worry," he said, cheerfully. "I think you might be just the man I've been looking for."
And that was how Mickey Stone met Ash Morgan.