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wildest expectations. Screaming, cheering kiddies rushed about laden with tokens, while others fought for places around the gushing dispensers. Their happy cries were ear-splitting and the attendants and guards could do nothing to stop their wave of exuberance. It was slightly less crowded on the service road, but I stillhad to drive slowly, hand on the horn, to make my way through the stragglers. Two guards were pushing kids back through the shrubs when I drove up.
    ‘Got some trouble with the dispensers?’ I asked sweetly. The guard’s snarled response was lost in childish cries of delight, which was probably all for the best. He unlocked the door and all but pushed me and my toolbox through.
    There were four peoplethere, struggling ineffectually with the machines. They could not be cut off since I had taken the liberty of shorting the switchbox. A bald-headed man was working on an armoured cable with a hacksaw and I made tsk-tsking sounds. ‘That is a recipe for suicide,’ I said. ‘You got a four-hundred volt line in there.’
    ‘Can you do anything better, buster,’ he snarled. ‘They’re your damned machines.Go to work.’
    ‘I shall – and here is the cure.’
    I opened the sizeable toolbox, which contained only a shining metal tube, and took it out. ‘This will do the job,’ I said, turning the valve at the top and hurling it from me. The last thing I saw were their eye-popping expressions as the black smoke billowed out and filled the room – blocking out all vision completely.
    I had been expecting it,they had not. The toolbox was in my arms as I took four measured paces in the darkness and fetched up against the side of the safe. Any noises I made were drowned by their shouts and screams and the constant chugging of the token dispensers. The safe opened easily, the lid of the toolbox fitted neatly against the lower edge. I leaned in, felt the mounds of bills, then swept them forward into thewaiting container. It was quickly filled and I snapped it shut. My next task was tomake sure that the right person took responsibility for this crime. The card with its inscription was in my top pocket. I slipped it out and laid it carefully in the safe, which I then locked again to make sure absolutely sure that my message would be received and not lost in all the excitement. Only then did Ipick up the now heavy toolbox and stand with my back to the safe, turning and orientating myself.
    I knew that the exit was there in the darkness, nine easy paces away. I had taken five when I bumped into someone and strong hands grabbed me while a hoarse voice shouted in my ear.
    ‘I got him! Help me!’
    I dropped the box and gave him exactly the help he needed, running my hands up his body tohis neck and doing all the right things there. He grunted and slid away. I groped for the box – for a panicky moment I couldn’t find it. Then I did, clutched the handle and seized it up and stood …
    And realised I had lost all sense of direction during the fracas.
    My panic was as dark as the smoke and I shook so hard that I almost dropped the case. Seventeen years old and very much alone – withthe unknown world of adults closing in upon me. It was over, all over.
    I don’t know how long this crisis lasted, probably only seconds, although it seemed infinitely longer than that. Then I grabbed myself by the metaphorical neck and shook myself quite hard.
    ‘You wanted it this way – remember? Alone with everyone’s hand turned against you. So give in to them – or start thinking. Fast!’
    I thought.The people screaming and banging all about me were no help or threat – they were as confused as I was. All right, hand outstretched, go forward. Any direction. Reach something that could be identified by touch. Once this was done I should be able to work out where I was. I heard a thudding ahead, it had to be one of the dispensers, then I bumped into it.
    While at the same moment a draught ofair touched my face and a familiar