Reuben entered Joe’s Café with helmet in hand and backpack slung over his shoulder. A man was behind the counter wiping the coffee machine – short and paunchy, with grey wispy hair arranged untidily over his shiny head.
‘Yes, mate?’
‘A double-strength espresso, please.’
A stiff Bourbon would be preferable, but hopefully the extra caffeine would give him the jump-start he needed, as his adrenalin had deserted him. He sat at a corner table and ran over the plan in his mind. He’d phoned Lucy before he left home on the pretext of checking his next appointment time, to make sure she was at work, then parked the Barbiemobile in the small car park behind the café. It presented a clear view of the parole office car park next door. For the hundredth time, he mentally listed the contents in his b
