One hundred and one

While his passengers slept, squeezed up together in the front seat, Saed succeeded in outrunning both the gangsters and the police.

The scarlet Ferrari fishtailed through the outskirts of Casablanca, roaring like a monster in a cage. Carving a path through the maze of backstreets, it managed to circumvent the city’s evening gridlock entirely.

As he neared the Marché Central, the shoeshine boy did a handbrake turn into a snug parking spot.

Blaine woke up at the scent of burning rubber.

‘Wwwwhat’s going on?’ he spluttered, opening his eyes.

‘Casablanca,’ Saed announced.

‘Already?’

‘How’s that possible?’ said Ghita, opening an eye.

Saed slipped the key from the ignition.

‘Ferrari,’ he said.