Gridlock: A Ryan Lock Novel by Sean Black

them, Lock suddenly spun the wheel, and accelerated at the same time. The driver of the Honda followed suit, careening down the empty lane, as people stared at them through their car windows.
    ‘Get down,’ Lock shouted to Raven, pushing her seat back, so she could squeeze into the footwell in front. ‘Damn it!’ Ahead of them in the breakdown lane a hulking recreational vehicle loomed up through the windshield. Lock jammed the brakes on, scoping out the possibilities for evasive action.
    To the right of the RV the cement wall next to the emergency lane was too steep for them to go round. On their left was a solid wall of traffic.
    Looking behind them again, Lock could see the driver of the Honda closing in tight on them. He was scowling, angry, his shoulders hunched as he crouched over the wheel; a raging bull, everything about his body language signaling aggression.
    ‘Okay, we’re going to stop in a moment and when we do you’re going to stay as far down in the footwell as possible. You got me?’
    Raven nodded, her face pale with fear.
    Lock’s Range Rover was still moving as he reached down and yanked on the parking brake, throwing off his seatbelt at the same time. The vehicle shuddered to a sudden halt and he clambered out. Staying low, he ran to the corner of the car, then popped his head up to take a peek.
    The Honda had stopped too, and the driver was starting to get out, only his left arm and hand visible.
    Lock stayed low. Then the driver spotted him and they stared at each other for a long moment. Lock noted the driver’s right hand was still moving inside the Honda. The movement made up Lock’s mind for him. Pushing off on his back foot, he sprinted towards him. As his vision tunneled he saw a black shape in the driver’s hand.
    Lock jumped, tackling the driver high around the top of his chest, the kind of tackle that in most contact sports would have earned you some pretty serious time on the bench or even a lifetime ban.
    The driver gave a shout of pain, his shoulder slamming against the edge of the open car door, then Lock was on top of him, searching for the object in the driver’s right hand and coming up with a black digital single-lens reflex camera with a telephoto lens, the strap wrapped around his wrist.
    ‘What the hell, man?’ the driver protested, as Lock got to his feet. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
    In the distance, Lock could hear the sirens. All around them people seemed to be on their cell phones. He guessed that they weren’t calling home to check on what was for dinner. He knelt down next to the driver. ‘Where does it hurt?’ he asked, feigning sympathy.
    ‘Here,’ the driver said, rubbing at his shoulder.
    ‘There?’ Lock asked, slamming a fist into the wounded area. The driver howled. No words. Just a guttural noise of torture.
    Across the concrete barrier, a patrol car was steaming towards them down the car-pool lane on the opposite side of the freeway, against oncoming traffic, lights and siren blazing.
    Lock stepped in close behind the driver. ‘What’s your name?’
    The driver started to glance round but Lock nudged a knuckle into the base of his spine hard enough to get his attention. ‘Name.’
    ‘Raul Dominguez.’
    The patrol car was pulling up close by, so Lock chose his words with deliberation. ‘Okay, Raul, listen to me carefully. Until this psycho is captured, I will assume that anyone pursuing or stalking Raven Lane is a threat to her life and I will respond with the level of force appropriate, including deadly force, to ensure her safety.’ He paused for effect, his tone low and even. ‘So, I want you to pass that message on to anyone else who thinks they can make a quick buck taking her picture. The glint from a camera lens and the light that bounces off a rifle scope aren’t all that different. And that’s what I’ll be telling the judge. Do you hear me?’
    Raul stared straight ahead. ‘Assault me for doing my job, that’s some bullshit