Alicia grimaced. “He’s just gotta know he ain’t that good. There’s people I’ve worked with are that good. Drake. Mai. Dahl. I mean, the whole damn team. But these guys? Talk about amateur hour.”
“And now I know why,” Crouch said. “Greg Coker.”
“An old friend of yours?” Alicia wondered. “What’s he doing here?”
But before Crouch could even open his mouth the sound of squealing tires shattered the peaceful cocoon around them, and three black shapes swerved in close.
“You gotta be kidding!” Russo cried. “We just kicked their asses twice and they’re still coming?”
Alicia surveyed their surroundings. Three black Nissan Qashqais were running alongside and behind them. “Christ,” she said. “Even their cars are slow.”
As if in retaliation for the slur the nearest Qashqai veered toward them, connecting with a solid impact of metal. For a moment both cars ran side by side, connected. Alicia glared into the crazed eyes of the guy she’d already decked three times. The Qashqai leaned in hard, trying to force the limo into a line of parked cars, but their driver was no slouch. Accelerating and twisting the wheel at the same time, he swung in front of the other car, leaving it to sway under its own momentum. The limo surged ahead, instantly blocked by another black Nissan.
Crouch turned to look through the back window. “What on earth is Coker doing here?”
Russo also turned around. “Greg Coker. I’ve heard the name. Can’t place the man.”
“A heavy rival, all my life in the Army. Coker and I used to work together—” Crouch let out a lengthy sigh. “Such a long time ago I can barely remember the dates. Jesus. He was always a competitive one, but sly about it. Pleasant on top, a cauldron of rivalry underneath. Not deceitful, just contentious. Funny thing was, he didn’t mean to be so challenging. He just couldn’t help himself. Like a small child, Coker always had to come out on top. Anyway, after a few years he left the service, became privately employed. We kind of lost touch after that, but—”
“But!” Lex blurted, unable to keep a lid on his impatience.
“The name keeps cropping up. Time after time. This job, that job, another job. Coker always on my tail or just in front. It always felt a little strange, but I put it down to the job and the tight circles we all run in. You know the score. Sooner or later, we all come across the same bunch of men and names time and time again.”
“But Coker was different?” Healey asked as the next Qashqai decelerated in front of them.
“Hard to say,” Crouch mused. “I’m wondering now if he hasn’t been flying along on my shirttails the whole time.”
The limo narrowly missed ramming the lead Nissan, but the evasive maneuver allowed the other two cars to catch up. Boxed in on three sides they had nowhere to go. Alicia decided enough was enough. She grabbed hold of the front headrest and pulled herself forward. “Hey, driver, this is Mexico City. Don’t you carry a gun in the glovebox?”
The driver didn’t look back. “No guns. I do have a riot stick.”
Alicia narrowed her eyes. “That’ll do the trick. Pass it here. Time to end this fiasco.”
She climbed across Healey who blushed, then Russo who gave her a stony stare, and jammed her finger on the electric window button. As soon as it lowered sufficiently she leaned out and up so that her face practically pressed against the other car’s rear window.
“How ya doing’ shitheels?”
Surprised faces glared at her, lips forming big ‘O’s. But that was nothing compared to what came next. Alicia brought the riot stick around with great force, shattering the glass, sending splintered shards spinning across the rear interior of the Qashqai. Her knees were braced and she was all ready to leap through the new gap, but at the last moment the Nissan swung away and entered the oncoming flow of traffic, slewing broadside.
“Next!” Alicia cried, waving the baton feverishly.
Again the driver stamped on the gas, making the limo lurch forward. Within seconds they were coming up alongside the next Nissan. Crouch shouted that he could see Coker in the front passenger seat.
“Get alongside him,” Crouch cried. “Alicia, wait!”
The Englishwoman grunted. “Hmm. That sounded suspiciously like Alicia, heel!”
Healey sniggered. Even Russo grunted. “Move over, big guy,” she said. “You’ve got twenty seconds, boss.”
Crouch waved frantically as the limo pulled alongside the lead Nissan. Coker’s face was already turned toward them, stony, forehead a creased canvas of worry lines and eyes as deep as ancient mysteries. Crouch gestured for the man to lower his window.
“Greg! What the hell’s going on?”
In answer, Coker spun toward his driver. Their car instantly changed direction to smash into the limo’s front end, sending it swerving into a parked car. The impact jolted everybody and left their side mirror lying on the road.
Alicia coughed loudly. “That went well.”
Russo glanced back. “No sign of the cops.”
“Won’t be long,” Crouch said. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”
“Ya think?” Alicia pointed ahead. Coker’s car had pulled away, pulling off some dangerous maneuvers to melt into the traffic ahead. Only one Qashqai now remained and it was practically glued to their rear.
“On my shout,” Alicia addressed the driver, “swing sharp left.”
“Shiiiiiit,” Lex said. “Girl’s gone mad.”
Alicia half-turned. “Says who? You?”
The following Qashqai nudged their rear, its occupants laughing. Slower cars flashed by to the left and right. A crazy motorcycle delivery driver tried to squeeze by them both and lost his pizzas in the crush. Alicia leaned out as far as she dared, which meant only her knees held by Russo remained in the car, and held up the riot stick.
“Hold on to yer balls, guys!”
She flung it hard, end over end, straight at the windshield and though the glass didn’t shatter this time it did crack at the impact point and cause the driver to react instantly. The Qashqai squealed to a sudden halt.
Alicia grabbed hold of the door handle. “Stop the fucking car. Let’s go!”
The limo ground to a halt as the black car shuddered in place. Alicia was first out, hitting the ground at a run just as the Nissan’s doors were flung open. She grabbed the first man around the neck and hurled him into decelerating traffic. Cars, vans and buses braked all around, and the high-pitched sound of stressed metal stung the air. Passersby lined the sidewalk, some scrabbling for cellphones. Alicia flung the next man onto the Qashqai’s front end, holding his shoulders in a vice-like grip to stop him falling off.
“What the hell do you want with us, asshole?”
“Just checkin’ your passports, love,” the man said in a decidedly British accent.
“Funny.” Alicia saw two more men exiting the car but sensed Russo and Healey coming around her flanks. She gripped her prisoner around the throat. “Maybe you should rethink that answer.”
The sun blazed down. Pedestrians screamed or watched excitedly. Angry motorists shouted from safe distances. Coming closer now, Alicia heard the approaching whine of the local constabulary.
“Damn it.”
Time for one last squeeze. One final connection. “Tell me or you won’t talk for a week.”
The guy spluttered, flailing weakly. “Dunno, love. Really I don’t. I’m just a relocated local. Coker spread the pesos around and told us to rough you lot up. Give you a few black eyes.”
Alicia snorted. “Didn’t really work out for you, did it? What’s he want with that kind of intimidation?”