Bagman: Danger Music
Slipping past the knockers was easy. They were trying to keep the gunmen inside, not to keep anyone out. I was flying high, now, adrenaline coursing with the coke. But I moved apace with the slow world around me, forced one foot in front of the other, crouched, listened.
Danger music, I thought. I need danger music. Cool and slow, but with a bass beat.
Plate glass, crouching figures inside, the white glare of halogen against polished chrome. I saw the two big guys, one of whom was keeping watch out the windows while the other discussed something with the smaller man. The one with the bag.
I poked my head up from behind the smooth fender of a Toyota, scanning the rooftops. Sharpshooters moving in, glint of steel from an open window.
Wouldn’t be long before they made their move. Time to make mine.
I crawled underneath the Toyota to a concrete drainage ditch that ran behind the diner and shimmied down it, getting in position near to the corner of the building, out of sight.