Bridge Over Troubled Water

by Alfonso Vaughn

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Alfonso Vaughn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this novella may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  ISBN – 978-0-9904729-0-2

  Twitter: @alfonsovaughn

  For Triple C.

  The water was deep and murky. Two sea lions danced in unison all the way to the surface.

  Dawn. The island of Alcatraz floated in the distance, a silent reminder to citizens to walk the straight and narrow.

  The beast that is the Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco's main artery, glistened in innocent morning light. Busy with both pedestrians and road traffic, the hustle was pierced by an ambulance's siren. The ambulance crossed the bridge, squeezing through as the traffic moved aside.

  It passed the reformed derelict wasteland of Crissy Field in seconds and screeched onto Geary Boulevard, causing another vehicle to swerve and crash into a parked Jeep.

  The ambulance stopped in front of the Bank of America, joining a mass of emergency and media vehicles that blocked the road outside the building.

  Reporters, SWAT, and uniformed police officers were positioned around the bank. Curious onlookers gathered as close as they were allowed to get.

  Inside, fast-food packaging littered the floor. Dozens of hostages sat around the main hall, their wrists bound under their legs with cable ties. Fear and anxiety was now replaced with fatigue and frustration. Some sat in pools of their own urine, or worse. The flies, attracted to the smell, couldn't even be swatted away.

  Lenny marched through the sea of hostages, holding aloft two cans of air freshener that he constantly sprayed. He kept moving, past the front entrance where one of his partners in crime, Kobe, spied out the door. Kobe leaned back in and moved to the leader of the bandits, Todd - a greasy weasel in his forties.

  "He's coming," Kobe said.

  "Everyone get ready," Todd replied.

  The hostages' relief was immediate - an end in sight. All eyes fell on the door. Prayers muttered.

  The door opened and Jerry Craig walked in, chewing gum. Solemn, careworn, and in his sixties, if you saw him on the street, you might be inclined to give him some money so he could go buy himself a Happy Meal.

  As Jerry strode towards Todd, he lifted his shirt to show he had no concealed weapons.

  "Stop right there, Craig."

  Todd's tone showed that he knew his power was dwindling.

  Frustrated, Jerry stopped. Todd signaled for him to be searched, so Lenny fell to the task.

  "You really think I'm gonna bring a weapon?" Jerry asked. "They wouldn't send me in if that's what they wanted."

  "What about our demands?" yelled Todd.

  Jerry took in all the hostages' faces before he reluctantly, disdainfully focused back on Todd.

  "Your demands are not going to be met. I told you six hours ago they weren't going to be met. It was obvious twenty-four hours ago that they wouldn't be met!"

  Todd reached down for the nearest hostage, dragged her up, and rested his handgun on her temple. Cocked the weapon.

  "You're not doing this right, Jerry."

  "I was prepared to do it right at the start. God knows I was. I have men, outside, ready to squeeze off the first fucking round just to get this over with!"

  "Maybe I should squeeze--"

  "Don't bullshit me, Todd," Jerry interrupted. "Right now I know you better than I know my own daughter. And you know I have a hard-on for hostages: let them go, and I'll take their place. Let these people go home to their families and stop acting like goddamn mercenaries."

  An obese bank manager chirped in.

  "You're not helping!"

  Jerry spun around to him.

  "Shut up!" Then he focused back on Todd. "Let's get this ball rolling. Give me the women and kids. They're sitting in their own piss and shit, Todd!"

  "And we get?"

  "I promise the reports will read that you were bank robbers of the utmost decency and honor. I will stand in court and make you guys out to be the most confused, society-bashed victims that ever existed. I'll have handkerchiefs going around that jury's box in seconds. But I need the women and kids."

  Kobe nodded his approval to Todd.

  "Okay, Jerry. I'll give you the women and kids. Untie them."

  Todd released the female hostage from his grip. Kobe and another robber, Steve, drew their blades and started cutting the cable ties.

  Jerry clapped his hands and marched towards the door.

  "Let's go, let's go!" he yelled. "Go home and be with your loved ones. They might've forgotten what you look like after this circus."

  The women and kids found their feet, moved as fast as their legs would take them to the door, and the exodus began. Jealous glances from the male hostages left behind.

  Jerry strode back through the bank towards Todd.

  "They all deserve to go!"

  A bead of sweat flowed down Todd's face. His mind raced.

  "What else do we get?"

  Jerry nodded.

  "You get the right to live. But this is over! Understand? Finished!"

  Todd pondered. He looked at Lenny, who was growing more and more anxious. Jerry pressed him.

  "You rolled the dice and lost. This can't end any other way. You know this!"

  Jerry stood right up close to Todd and lowered his voice.

  "Listen, let the rest go, plead temporary insanity, get a sympathetic judge and jury, who knows what will happen? You can't get out of here any other way."

  "Let them go," Todd muttered.

  Kobe and Steve cut the rest of the cable ties.

  "I knew you were smart, Todd. Let's go, people!"

  As the remaining hostages fled, Lenny grabbed hold of one of them and put a gun to the man's throat. Panic filled the room as Jerry rushed towards them.

  "Lenny. Lenny. Let him go."

  The confused robber struggled to focus as he looked around the bank and then at Jerry.

  "I can't be a prisoner. I've been one my whole life."

  The other hostages cleared out.

  Jerry stepped closer to Lenny, tried to find his eyes.

  "You're not a killer."

  Lenny's grip tightened on his hostage. A tear ran down his cheek.

  "I can't go back inside."

  "Let him go, Lenny. Take me. Don't do this. Take me."

  "It won't do no good. I don't have anything left."

  "Your wife, Zara. Your son, Dylan. They need you. Your mother needs you. Who the fuck will take her to the hospital for her checkups if you're dead?"

  "Stand down, Lenny," ordered Todd.

  Lenny shook with a mixture of adrenaline and anxiety. Jerry inched closer to him.

  "Lenny, you're a war hero. Why would you ruin that with this crap? Put the gun down, let the hostage go, and let's all walk right out that door. I promise I can get you help. I promise you that all you've been through will be taken into account. How could we judge you? We were never brave enough to go through what you have."

  The reasoning seemed to have effect. Lenny let the hostage go. The man ran straight for the door and the tension let up. Jerry stole another inch towards Lenny, his arms reaching out to the broken ex-soldier.

  "Give me the gun, Lenny."

  Lenny placed the gun under his chin.

  "I can see the light."

>   "No!"

  Jerry rushed him. Too late: Lenny fired. His lifeless body collapsed to the floor. Jerry fell to his knees and stared at the corpse as the SWAT team swarmed the room.

  The spectacle had finally come to an end. A subdued Jerry leaned against a car and watched as Lenny's body was wheeled away. Darryl, Jerry's boyish-looking protege, dressed as if for church, arrived and handed him a coffee.

  "He wasn't a hostage."

  "Wasn't he?"

  Jerry looked away. Didn't want to hear it.

  "You handled it right."

  "Until the end? Would you have done it any differently?"

  "Maybe if I was in there..."

  "Know when you'll get permission to come into my zone?"

  "Never?"

  "That's right. Never."

  "If you carried a radio and mic I could have offered some advice."

  Jerry dismissed Darryl with a laugh and waved his comment away just as Captain Helms stormed over. In his fifties, the Captain's once-athletic body carried more weight than it should have.

  "Craig, you asshole."

  Jerry's cell rang. He stood up straight, signaled "one minute" to the irate Helms, walked away, and answered the call.

  "Talk to me."

  Though exhausted, an expression of enthusiasm lit up his face.

  "Put two grand on her to place. And five hundred to win. Of course, you owe me for the two-thirty at the Fields. Yeah, well, I'll take it."

  He hung up, walked back to the waiting Helms, patted him on the shoulder, and moved to the car's passenger door.

  "It'll all be in the report, Captain. I'm tired. Gonna sleep for three days solid. Now why is my chauffeur standing still?"

  He got in the car and slammed the door shut. Darryl could only shrug at Helms before getting into the driver's seat.

  In the car, Jerry took in the beauty of the Golden Gate Bridge through his window. Darryl glanced over several times before eventually turning down the radio.

  "Leave it. It's relaxing."

  Darryl turned the volume back to its original level, but couldn't help asking the question that was on his mind.

  "Why did you hardball Todd?"

  Jerry sighed.

  "Because they were finished, trapped. The situation had gone full circle. They didn't want to be there any more than you or I."

  "And you got the cheese."

  Jerry smirked, not too tired to stroke his own ego.

  "That's because I always get the cheese."

  They shared a smile.

  "You need a better line," Darryl said.

  "I got the hostages, that's all that matters. When we dry behind your ears, you'll get the cheese too. And I'm not talking about the cheese from your boyfriend's cock."

  "Fiancé."

  "Is that what you call him?"

  "It's what he is."

  "Hope lover-boy likes late, lonely nights. He's in for a lot of 'em."

  "Ming can handle it."

  Jerry ignored the comment and looked ahead as his attention was drawn away.

  "What the hell is this? Slow down."

  On one of the Golden Gate's lanes, a teenage skateboarder lay sprawled on the concrete. He groaned but found his feet as his friend laughed at him from the safety of the sidewalk. The skateboarder wiped himself down.

  "It isn't funny, dick! I screwed up my arm."

  Darryl's car stopped. Jerry lowered his window and popped his head out.

  "Hey, Tony Hawk, get off the road."

  "Fuck you, man. I'm injured, here."

  "Boy, if I have to step out of this car..."

  The skateboarder moved to the sidewalk and flipped Jerry the bird.

  "Go choke down some prune juice, grandpa."

  The car inched up to the youths. Jerry showed his badge. Their attitudes changed, although the contempt was still there.

  "Why aren't you two at school?" Jerry asked.

  "Extended lunch."

  "Well, I suggest you get back there. I'm gonna get in touch with the Bridge Authority. If I hear you're still around, I'll be back to escort you to school myself."

  Both teenagers reluctantly nodded and moved on. Jerry shouted after them.

  "And don't do drugs. Your brains are small enough as it is."

  The teens waved acknowledgement and kept walking as Darryl's car drove off. The skateboarder looked back and turned his wave into another bird once the car was a safe distance away.

  "Lousy pig bastards. Why aren't they at work?"

  His companion didn't give a shit about the police schedule.

  "So back to what I was telling you, dude: Melinda, tank top, back of Best Buy, got the puppies out. Grade-A tits. And the nipples, holy shit. That girl is definitely gonna be a porn star!"

  The skateboarder's attention was focused on the gathering crowd of people farther up the bridge. He slapped his friend's arm.

  "Holy shit, man. Must be a jumper!"

  They ran towards the bridge's railing and squeezed past a dozen people to get the best vantage point.

  All eyes were on the potential jumper, a man in his mid- thirties standing on the pipe, inches away from the edge. The expensive suit could not hide his broken spirit. His destroyed eyes stared straight down at the bay.

  The skateboarders studied him closely.

  "Yo, man, you gonna jump?!"

  "What did you do, fiddle with kids?"

  A few disgusted onlookers stared down the youths. Oblivious, they reached for their camera phones and recorded the event.

  "Come on, man. Do something!"

  "YouTube will so dig this."

  Temporarily distracted by the comments, he looked up at the boys with their camera-phones, then stared back down at the bay below.

  He inched closer to the edge. The public's gasps grew louder.

  A California Highway Patrol car skidded to a halt. Two officers got out and ran to the rail.

  The skateboarders were oblivious to their presence.

  "Four seconds of fame!" one shouted.

  The first officer took a commanding position at the rail and spoke to the man on the pipe.

  "Sir... Sir... We need you to move away from the edge."

  "Leave him, he wants to do it," offered the skateboarder.

  The second officer approached the boys, his hands held out for their cell phones.

  "Shut your mouth, kid. Give me those."

  He snatched the phones from the youths, put them into his pocket and turned his attention back on the man.

  "Sir! Sir!"

  The officer mounted the rail.

  The man shifted his feet. His eyes turned to the officer.

  "What do you know?" The man's eyes turned back to the bay. "When it gets to the point where you can't look at yourself in the mirror, what do you do?"

  The skateboarder rolled his eyes.

  "Well? Go ahead and jump, already!"

  The second officer grabbed the youths, dragged them to the patrol car, and threw them in the back. He turned to rejoin his colleague by the rail, but stopped when the youths started shouting for their release and banging on the car's windows. The officer opened the back door, leaned in and smacked both youths firmly around the backs of their heads.

  "Okay, man, okay!"

  "Don't make me come back here," said the officer as he slammed the door shut and made his way back to the situation.

  His partner turned to him.

  "I don't know what to tell him. We need a counselor, or a doctor or something."

  The officer swallowed hard and focused back on the man.

  "Sir. I really need you to move away from the edge."

  The man ignored the officer. He faced skyward and closed his eyes, a look of relief on his face.

  "Tell my wife and kids I love them."

  Then he stepped off.

  Four seconds of complete silence.

  Then the echoing
splash.

  Some in the crowd let out screams, while others moaned or gasped. The officer at the pipe snapped out of his trance, grabbed a hold of his radio, and called the incident in.

  The main meeting chamber at City Hall was as unremarkable as one would expect.

  Mayor Wally Tischer and the Board of Supervisors sat engulfed in a beaten atmosphere. Some focused on the pages of stats and suggestions in front of them, others concentrated on the muted TV relaying the incident at the Golden Gate.

  Tischer leaned forward in his chair. If it weren't for his ability to speak clearly in public, he might be selling second-hand cars.

  "We're going to hit a hundred suicides before the year is out."

  From down the table, a supervisor spoke up as he doodled on a piece of paper.

  "If we had installed the barrier, like we agreed..."

  "Got a spare fifty million dollars?" Tischer shot back. "We promised the city that barrier when times were good. Now all budgets have been slashed."

  No reply. A second supervisor, known for her bulldog reputation, broke the silence.

  "You can't stop determined people doing it. The barrier would have been a waste of money."

  The first supervisor stopped his doodling and shot a glare that would halt water.

  "A waste? You like our city's tag of 'world's premier suicide spot'?"

  The bulldog replied with indifference.

  "I like the tag of running an efficient city. That fifty million dollars should stay in people's pockets."

  The doodler's eyes narrowed.

  "These people are mentally, emotionally unstable. They need our support."

  Tischer sighed.

  "The help-lines aren't helping," he said. "Neither are the increased patrols. Even if we start the barrier project right now, it's going to take years to complete."

  "It'd be useless anyways," came the bulldog's reaffirmation. "As I was saying."

  The doodler stopped himself from speaking the first response that came to his mind and decided to keep it civil.

  "What price do you put on your life?"

  The bulldog slapped the table hard.

  "As usual, you're not seeing the bigger picture! What about the after-attempt care? The specialized units needed? These people become a drain on the system. Look at the figures. It's cheaper to just let them jump."