The police officer had already slowed when he spotted the pipe slide out like some kind of medieval jousting lance and braked heavily when the van’s rear lights lit up. Pitt had the advantage with a lighter vehicle and he pressed his case by slamming the van into reverse the instant it lost forward momentum.
The police car rammed into the van’s rear bumper moments after being impaled by Giordino’s makeshift weapon. The conduit pipe rammed through the Charger’s grille and radiator before striking the engine block and crumpling like an accordion. A cloud of steam burst from the engine bay, unseen by the policemen inside whose vision was blocked by exploding air bags.
Pitt threw the van into first gear and stepped on the gas. A grinding sound erupted from the rear as the van struggled to move forward. The bumper finally broke free from the Charger, and the van lurched ahead. Giordino looked back to see the pipe jutting from the grille of the police car like the beak of a hummingbird, steam billowing behind it.
Giordino made his way back to the front seat. “Now you’re really going to cost those utility boys.”
“Just proves those two gringos really were crazy.”
Pitt tightened his grip on the wheel and scoured the road ahead with renewed urgency. Every cop in Tijuana would soon be searching for the battered utility van. Wheeling around the corner, he pressed the accelerator to the floor. They’d have to make a play for Ann—and quickly.
18
I DON’T SEE THE POLICE LIGHTS ANYMORE.” The pickup’s driver flashed Pablo a dirty smile. Years of drug use had left his mouth a cavern of brown gums and decayed teeth. “I think we lost them.”
“Do not draw attention to your driving,” Pablo said, “but get us to the airport without delay.”
The driver checked the route on the truck’s navigation screen: it angled across the city toward the airport on the northeast side of town. Glancing constantly in the mirror for police lights, he paid little attention to the small utility van that followed a short distance behind.
As they approached the city center, the streets became more congested. The pickup’s driver turned east, down a street called Plaza El Toreo, where the dirty sidewalks were swarming with people. As he dodged some jaywalkers, the pickup hit a large pothole, which sent the crate bouncing on the truck bed.
Following close behind, Pitt and Giordino saw the unsecured box move.
Giordino rubbed his chin. “What do you suppose is in there that’s causing all the excitement?”
“I wish I knew.” Pitt had to suppress his anger over leading the crew of the Drake into a dangerous situation without any advance warning.
Giordino pointed at the truck. “If you pull alongside the bed, I might just be able to grab hold of that thing.”
Pitt considered the idea. Driving a wanted vehicle, and with no weapons, they had little chance of overpowering the men in the pickup. Their options were limited, if not suicidal. “Maybe we could negotiate a swap for Ann,” he said, “if they don’t kill us outright.”
They had the advantage of being in a crowded city, one with a sketchy reputation. Giordino agreed it was worth the risk.
Pitt kept the van close to the pickup’s rear bumper, waiting for a break in the oncoming traffic so he could pull alongside. The vehicles reached a stop sign, which Pitt eased past without stopping. He was chagrined to look up and see a police car passing in the opposite direction.
He held his gaze ahead as the car passed, then tracked it in his mirror. The police car rapidly made a three-point turn on the narrow street, nearly flinging a boy off a motorbike.
“I think we’ve been made,” Pitt said.
Giordino rolled down his window. “Then let’s at least get something for our trouble.”
Pitt edged closer to the truck as lights erupted behind him.
The police car tried to fight its way across the intersection, but a semitrailer truck had turned in front of it, slowly navigating through a tight turn. Pitt looked ahead, waiting for a battered Isuzu to pass in the other lane before catching a gap in the oncoming traffic. Flooring the accelerator, he surged into the other lane and pulled alongside the truck. Giordino leaned out the side window and thrust his arms into the bed, grasping for the crate.
The pickup’s driver, alerted by the police lights in his mirror, saw Giordino lunge out of the van. He immediately tapped his brakes. Giordino just managed to duck back inside his window to avoid colliding with the truck’s cab. For an instant, the two vehicles traveled alongside.
“Almost got it,” he said to Pitt. “Give me one more try.”
Giordino sat nearly face-to-face with Juan, who was desperately lowering his window.
Pitt matched the truck’s braking, then looked ahead and saw a cement mixer rambling down the road directly in front of him. “Make it quick!” Pitt stepped harder on the brakes.
The pickup accelerated, and Pitt fought to match it before facing a head-on collision.
As the van again pulled alongside the pickup’s bed, Giordino was true to his word. Hanging half out the window, he snared a handle on one end of the box. With a hard pull, he yanked the box out of the bed, letting it dangle alongside the van. “Got it!”
Pitt had no room to accelerate past the truck, so he braked hard. But the truck also slowed, keeping him hemmed in the opposite lane with the cement mixer just yards away. A narrow side street appeared on his left, and Pitt stomped on the accelerator and turned the wheel hard over.