[Too bad he's only okay at lockpicking - but he'll take the praise and the kiss. He can get into doors, mostly. Safes and anything more complex and they're probably out of luck.

Her plan sounds solid enough, so he sticks the lockpicks in his back pocket, then pops the kickstand back up so he can walk the bike.]

An' if the cops somehow come up this way at least we'll have our ride with us.

[He's still paranoid. It wouldn't be hard for someone to link last night's fight to the restaurant earlier because of their jackets - and while often the pigs turn a blind eye to gang stuff, once gang stuff starts leaking out into restaurants with fancy food and rich people, they're a little less likely to ignore it.

But for now, it's quiet. They walk past shops with tourist knickknacks and something that must be a housewares store given the decor and ceramics in the front window - stuff that might be decent but too large to walk away with.

At the end of the street, on the corner, under a street lamp, is a watch shop. Johnnie eyes it, and then glances over his shoulder.]

'Course this fucker's shop is right where it's the brightest fuckin' spot on the whole street. Maybe there's a back door.