PappadumJarrod had sprinted his heart out to get as far away as possible. He calculated he was probably halfway to doing a circuit and would take the next left. He slowed to a walk, his chest burning after what was surely his quickest 800m ever. He was heaving for air, so much so that he couldn’t hear the car coming along the next street, and he turned the corner just as a dark-coloured car slowed up beside him. Jarrod dropped his shoulders, resigned to the fact that he’d failed to get away. The back window went down. Viktor was sitting in the back seat. If it had been Stelios Banfelt from the Harlowe Croft movies, with a fluffy cat on his lap, it wouldn’t have been out of place.
“We’ll be in touch, Jarrod,” he said.
Jarrod kept on walking and didn’t look. He had personal trainer Malik’s
