Iron Mike ripped along Ninth Street, then cut down to Madison to make a beeline for the docks. The lights were with them most of the way, and when they weren’t, Mike slowed just enough to gauge the traffic, then sliced his way through it. Though they didn’t see any Lone Star pursuit, over and above the squeal of tires and the scream of the Yamaha's engine, they heard the continuous sirens of Lone Star vehicles baying like bloodhounds.