The driver rewards Tzahala's flirting with a pleasant, golden-toothed grin and a wink.<br/><br/>"Ha! I don't think any of the Lil' Havana Johns could handle me... and I don't have the patience to slow down long enough for them to catch up." Riverrunner licks her lips, as if her mind is already off on a marathon of its own; but when Tzahala switches back to business, the driver does as well.<br/><br/>The grey-zone is quiet, for the moment; but Riverrunner confides that she believes that's because the Jacks are putting extra effort into guarding their "payday," so they're probably driving into trouble.<br/><br/>"They're ballsy fuckers, though..." With a grimace, the dreadlocked woman presses a button on her dash, and brings up a GPS map. Maybe two miles ahead of them, in the heart of the greys, is a blipping dropped pin. "Here's the deal... we're pretty sure they've got the Doctor in one of their dives, just beneath I-95. That's where his reading last popped up, anyways. When we get close, I'm gonna flash my lights and cut my engine; that's your cue to jump out, and it'll be the raid crew's job to jump in and give you a window. They breach the front, you find you a back-door and bring the Doctor out. If they've got anyone else, and you can pull 'em, do it... but the Doc is our priority. With me so far?"