At the gates, there was much deliberation between Brian, his mother and the two goons. To her credit, the mother made the decision to not cause a scene, but made sure Jerry saw her tapping her watch.
Jerry set Logan on the ground as they met Ellie. He broke the awkward silence.
"Hasn't he grown, mommy?"
Logan's suspicious glare kept Ellie in her shell. She didn't say a word, but timidly offered Logan the gift.
"It's your present, Logan, you should take it," said Jerry.
Logan shook his head and held Jerry's leg tight.
"Don't you have anything to say to your mommy, Logan?"
Logan glanced at Ellie.
"Are you feeling better now?"
Ellie's tears started.
"Yes. Yes, I am."
Jerry picked his grandson up.
"Let's go for a walk."
The three of them strolled through the park, towards a wall that overlooked the Golden Gate.
A deeply saddened Ellie stared out the taxi's window.
"I've missed so much of his life."
Jerry rubbed her leg.
"There'll be plenty more."
"But we have no bond."
"Bonds can be formed at any time."
He passed Logan's contact details to Ellie. She read them and then put the page in her purse.
"I'd do anything to have him back in my life."
The statement surprised Jerry. Maybe there was hope at last for his daughter.
"If you can't do it for love and happiness, what else can you do it for?"
Ellie snuggled up to her dad. He threw his arm around her shoulder, pulled her in tighter to him, and kissed her on the head.
"What are your plans for the next couple of days?" he asked.
"Father Marcado and I are taking the kids to the zoo."
"That's nice."
"Yeah. Although the last time I was there, I had to watch an otter eat its own crap."
"Really?" laughed Jerry. "Poor fella must have been real hungry."
"What are you going to do, Dad?"
"Me? What I always do. Eat. Sleep. Gamble and drink. It's the lifestyle of many a king."
"Do you think anybody will jump off the bridge today?"
Jerry wasn't as surprised at the question as he should have been.
"Not if I can help it, sweetheart."
He kissed Ellie again and she snuggled up tighter to him.
It was mid-afternoon, outside of Chou's restaurant.
Jerry got in Chou's car. It took him a while to reacquaint himself with the driver's position. He looked over the controls. Touched a few things. He was about to start the engine when he remembered to put on his seat belt. He gripped the wheel and breathed, nodded to himself and somewhat sheepishly started the car, and then rolled down the window and acknowledged a concerned Chou, who stood at the restaurant door.
"You no license! Crappy driver!"
Jerry waved Chou's concerns away.
"But I got a badge. Don't worry, I'll bring her back without a scratch."
"You better. You mess up, I take Slim Genie. She looking real good, Jerry-man. Better than my shitty car."
"You'll be taking that horse over my dead body."
Jerry blasted the horn and departed. Chou shook his head.
"Stupid, Chou, so stupid," he muttered as he went back into his restaurant.
Jerry was a picture of nerves as the rain lashed down on the windshield. While this was affecting his visibility, so was the poorly lit road.
He looked ahead for any road sign. Nothing but trees. Nothing but the radio to keep him company.
"It's a wet and nasty night all over the Ranges as a cold front moves in from the Pacific. Looks like she's gonna be a long, cold, windy beast. Stay in and wrap up warm."
In a basic log cabin, Bill closed the window, moved to the fireplace and started a fire. He walked to the table in the kitchen area and took a seat in front of his open laptop. The weather distracted him, but he began his work. A photo of his family beside him.
Back in Chou's car, the windshield was bashed by the wind and rain approaching tropical-storm level. Jerry's nerves just barely held as he switched on the light and picked up a map from the passenger's seat. His eyes alternated from the road ahead of him to the map. He then concentrated on the side of the road, searching for a road sign. Once he saw it, he put on the turn signal.
Bill drank a beer and watched TV, his shoes off and feet up on the sofa, enjoying the cheesy sitcom. A strong gust of wind rattled the shutters and gained his attention.
Another gust brought a worried expression to his face.
The weather calmed. Bill took a drink of beer and turned back to his show. The penetrating sound of his car alarm drowned out the ridiculous dialogue of the C-list actors.
Spooked, he found his feet and walked to the sink. He opened the cupboard below it and took out a double-barreled shotgun, checked that both barrels were loaded, and cautiously inched to the front door.
He lifted his keys up off a table. He held the gun out, switched on the exterior light, and opened the door.
He walked onto the porch and took a look around. A vacuum in the weather pattern brought a spookily still atmosphere. When he was satisfied it was all clear, he slowly headed towards his car.
He disarmed the alarm. A light wind stirred a few leaves.
"Hello?"
No answer. Bill checked the car lock, which had not been tampered with. He walked to the rear of the vehicle, where he noticed a fresh dent in the rear bodywork.
"What the fuck--"
Thud. Jerry blindsided him, knocking him unconscious with a rock.
Back in the log cabin, Bill was tied and bound to the chair. Jerry stood over him and repeatedly slapped his cheek.
"Billy-boy, wake up. Wake up."
Bill came around, confused by the situation.
"Your wife wanted me to come here and kill you. But I'm not a murderer. Hell, I'm a protector of life. Devoted everything to it. Sacrificed so much. But now I'm thinking of numero uno. So you're leaving, and I'm stepping into your shoes. Gonna be the husband Lindsay never had, the father little Clay and Fred deserve. Not the sorry son-of-a-bitch that you are."
"You can't do this."
"Oh, yes I can. Why? Let's see...because I fuckin' deserve it. Don't underestimate my influence. I'll have your life so fucked up, you'll be begging me to get out of the country. So, let's save each other more hassle and just fucking agree to what I want. It's my job to get what I want! And I always get the cheese!"
"Like playing God, Jerry?"
"I deserve to be happy. And I've taken a shine to your wife - sorry, ex-wife. We're soul mates. And she has the greatest tits!"
Bill laughed in spite of himself.
"You're not her type."
This threw Jerry off his stride.
"Type? Type?"
"You're a waste of a life. I checked up on you. A failure in everything you do. You're not strong enough, Jerry. You think she was gonna jump off a bridge?! Maybe your daughter, from what I hear. Not Lindsay."
Bill smiled and shook his head.
"What the fuck are you smiling about?"
"You think I liked hitting her? She doesn't want any other way!"
"Meaning?"
He slapped Bill on the head.
"Meaning?"
Another slap.
"Meaning?"
He went for another slap. Bill managed to leg-sweep Jerry and downed him. In the same motion, Bill shifted his weight to topple his chair over his captor.
The chair smashed to pieces. Freed of his bonds, Bill lashed out at Jerry, who retaliated. The two men rolled around the floor taking shots at one another.
They eventually found their feet. Jerry used all his strength to force Bill against the kitchen table and used the momentum to lift him on top of it. Two punches seemed to knock him unconsci
ous.
Jerry got off Bill, walked to the sink, and ran cold water onto his hand. The relief was immediate.
There was a sudden movement behind him. He quickly turned to see Bill not only on his feet, but grabbing hold of the shotgun that Jerry had left beside the door.
"Now I'm gonna fuck you up like I fucked her up."
Jerry entered negotiator mode, while inching towards his adversary.
"Bill... Bill... We can talk about this. Put down the gun."
As quick as a flash, he grabbed a steel pot and hurled it in Bill's face, buying himself enough time to run to the door and exit.
On the porch, Jerry held the door closed with all his strength, hoping he'd be able to shut Bill inside. He had mixed thoughts on how to progress.
Bill tried to exit. Jerry doubled his efforts. A brief tug-of-war did not bring a solution. Then nothing: no sounds, no movement. Jerry stared down the country lane leading back to the road, then at the surrounding woods. Still no movement from inside. He put his ear close to the door...
Boom. A shotgun blast removed a chunk of the door, inches from Jerry's head.
"Bill, let's talk!"
And with that Jerry left the porch and sprinted towards the lane. Bill appeared through the doorway, took aim, and fired the second barrel at Jerry, who dove behind Bill's car for cover.
"Bill, really, let's talk! I still want your wife, but now we can come to a better arrangement!"
Bill held the shotgun up high, ran towards Jerry and battered him with the butt. Jerry picked up a rock and winded Bill by jabbing him in the ribs with it.
Another struggle. Both men were now back on their feet and strangling one another, their expressions feral as they did their best to overpower each other. Their momentum carried them over to the edge of the woods, where neither realized there was a steep drop. They lost their footing and tumbled down the slope, losing their grip on each other.
Branches snapped. Bones were broken. At the base of the hill, Jerry came to a stop first and let out a sickening cry. Bill wasn't too far behind, but his body went completely limp as his head collided with a boulder.
The animal instinct was still with Jerry. He crawled over to Bill, picked up a rock, grabbed him by the shoulder, and forced him onto his back. He raised the rock, eyed Bill's jawline, gritted his teeth, and then...nothing.
He froze. Finally realized that Bill wasn't moving. He checked for a pulse on Bill's neck.
Yep, he was definitely dead.
Jerry dropped the rock, calmed his breathing, and found his feet. Ignoring the dead man, he forced his aching body up the hill.
Back in Chou's car, a million thoughts raced through his mind as he passed a sign for San Francisco. The bad weather had passed and offered the area a peaceful night.
The car entered San Francisco's city limits. Soon enough, it was crossing the Golden Gate. Jerry's eyes took in its beauty. He recognized the spots where he had helped bring people back from the edge.
In the projects, Chou's car came to a stop. Jerry dragged himself out of the vehicle, went to the trunk and retrieved a can of gasoline. He doused the car's interior, dumped the rest over the roof, and then threw the can onto the back seat.
Nearby, a fire was burning in a trash barrel, a homeless man sleeping next to it. Jerry took a flaming piece of wood from the fire, walked back to the car, and set it alight.
He walked down an alley, his soul completely lost. Chou's car exploded behind him.
At the break of dawn, Jerry limped along a residential street. Shattered. Running on fumes. His face pale. The thoughts that occupied his mind would not settle. The smell of gas on his clothes was overpowering.
He approached his house. The finish line in sight. The morning sun was rising, bringing warmth to all.
He was home. Jerry managed to close the front door behind him and took a few steps inside. He glanced up the stairs, subconsciously willing his bed to make its way to him. But those clothes...
He lifted the lid of the washing machine and tried to take his jacket off. From the effort required, it might as well have been a hundred-pound barbell to his aching body. When he finally mustered up the energy, the jacket was removed and deposited inside the washing machine. He unbuttoned his shirt, took it off and threw it in, too.
He reached down and stumbled while removing his shoes. Put them in the machine along with the socks. He unfastened his belt buckle, strained to take off his pants and add them. He was left in just white boxers and an undershirt.
He found the box of washing powder and tipped the contents in, obsessively made sure he emptied the last resilient particles in there, then set the cycle. The machine came to life.
Jerry shuffled to the foot of the staircase and willed his body to take the first step up. His arm reached out and he grabbed hold of the banister. He tried. He tried so hard to take that first step. But his body was going nowhere. He stared up at the ceiling, again wanting his bed to come to him. But it wouldn't, and his body wasn't cooperating. He tried again to take that step...failed. He waved the whole thing away. Mentally done with it.
He inched into the living room. His eyes fell onto the sofa. He couldn't help but smile. He forced his way to a closet, opened the doors, and took out a comforter and pillow. He walked to the sofa and put down the pillow. Took the comforter, flapped it out, and folded it up for maximum coziness. A genuine smile. He readied his body to collapse into position...
Knocking on the door brought proceedings to a halt. He barely had enough strength to stare at the door, never mind answer it.
More knocking.
Harder knocking.
He didn't even have the energy to tell them to fuck off.
Doorbell. Doorbell.
Knocking again.
Jerry finally relented, edged to the door, reached out, grabbed the handle and pulled it back...
"I have to talk to you, Jerry Craig!"
Ming marched on in and stood two feet away from him.
"Is this the way it's always going to be? Is it? I don't know of any other just-married couples who see each other less than Darryl and I. When I agreed to marry him, he told me one or two late nights a week. Not six! I want to build a home. And I know it takes two to build a home. I can't give everything. I'm picking blinds he doesn't even like! I don't know what to do. If this is what it's like now, what's it gonna be like in a month? A year? What about when we have kids? I'm not gonna be one of those stay-at-home husbands who gets sent a bunch of flowers every month!"
Stunned, his mouth agape, Jerry was still holding the door open.
"Don't even talk to me about trying to arrange a honeymoon," continued Ming. "It's never-ending!"
"Ming. Get the fuck out of my house."
"Whatever!"
Ming stormed past Jerry, but turned back to continue the verbal assault.
"You haven't heard the last of this. There are laws about treating homosexuals like slaves."
Jerry was about to close the door, but suddenly remembered something.
"Ming, who takes who up the ass?"
"Screw you, Jerry Craig!"
He flipped Jerry the bird and stormed off before the door was closed.
Jerry inched to the sofa, his oasis, collapsed on top, pulled the comforter over him, and closed his eyes at last.
The games at the packed-to-capacity Coliseum were in full swing. The gladiatorial prowess on display was cheered enthusiastically.
Jerry was seated in the Emperor's throne. Proud as he surveyed his empire, he was fed grapes by female servants. The wine cup was filled by his empress, Lindsay. To his left, Ellie and the beaming Logan watched the gladiators. Jerry glanced down to his right, where Chou counted his gambling bankroll. Beside him, a pampered Slim Genie neighed with delight.
"You know, Chou-maximus, I believe you are the first Asian member of the senate."
"Life good, Jerry-maximus. Slim Genie gonna be best ever."
>
"Yes. Yes, she is!"
A roar from the crowd. The two gladiators stood in the arena, ready to deal death to a group of captives.
Everyone awaited Jerry's decision. He stood, walked to the box's edge. A servant, Bill, offered Jerry a huge, well-done-to-burnt fillet of steak.
"You know something, Bill? I didn't want to kill you."
"The Emperor's wishes are all that matters."
"Indeed!"
The gladiators removed their helmets to reveal Helms and Darryl. The captives, Jerry's ex-wife, Brian, and his mother, stared at Jerry with disgust etched on their faces. They knew there was no point in seeking the Emperor's clemency.
Jerry punched the air in front of him with his clenched fist, for all to see. The spectators' anticipation was heightened.
His thumb pointed downward, to the crowd's delight.
"Off with their heads!"
The deed was done. Jerry, satisfied, retook his throne. From below, Darryl stared at him. Their eyes locked. Darryl's eyes narrowed as he plunged his sword deeper into Brian. His lingering stare upset Jerry, who looked away...
"Dad. Dad? Dad!"
A door closed. A bag was dropped on the floor. Footsteps approached.
"Dad! Dad!"
Jerry snapped out of the dream and took a few seconds to gain his bearings. Ellie was crouched in front of him, her bags beside the front door.
"You're home?"
"Forever."
She hugged him.
"I've found the strength. I'm gonna fight for Logan. I so mean it this time."
"Did any of the otters eat their own shit?"
"No, Dad!"
The hug intensified.
"You hungry?" Jerry asked.
"Dad, it's like eleven at night. I'm going to bed. But I'll be up early to make breakfast and tell you my plans."
She kissed Jerry, picked up her bags, and ascended the stairs.
He ran his fingers like a comb through his hair. Yawned. Stretched. Smelled his undershirt before yawning again.
Bridge Over Troubled Water Page 7