Jerking another glance back over his shoulder, real alarm flashes in his eyes as he sees the headway I’ve made on him. But then, as a gap opens in the mass of bodies, he plunges through, towards the main doors…
… before, at the last moment, he cuts a sharp left, slaps up the counter-hatch of the cloakroom and dashes through, slamming the hatch down hard behind himself. Then, swallowed by a mass of coats and jackets, he vanishes from sight.
Fuck!
By the time I reach the counter myself, a startled-looking assistant is there, her hands pressed down on the hatch. Red-faced, “You can't go that way, sir!”
Ignoring her, I vault the counter, entering a strange world of damp and musty coats, expensive perfume and cologne, furs and leathers.
The world goes onto muffle as I dash into a dim, narr
