THE BRIDGE
By
Robert
Petyo
Kyle swept his arm
across the small table, knocking the tablet and a file box to the floor.
“Calm down,” Tommy
said.
Kyle bent and picked
up the tablet and ripped two sheets from it. After gazing at them like they
were rare jewels, he crumpled them, spun and tossed them and the tablet against
the wall.
“Chill out, man.”
Tommy stood from the folding chair and grabbed the laptop from the desk so Kyle
wouldn’t trash that, too.
“No way we’re going
to find ten thousand,” Kyle said.
“Just keep at it.”
“We can’t pay back
that money to Foley. No way. We’re dead men.”
“Stop that. Now just
calm down and take another look.”
He slapped his hands
against the sides of his head. “I’ve been trying for hours, but nothing’s
working. We don’t have anything worth that kind of money. We can sell your car.
That’s about it. But that’s a piece of shit worth five K at the most.”
“How about your
baseball cards?”
Kyle picked up the
file box that had cards scattered on the floor around it. “I don’t have any
cards worth that kind of money. No way. We’re dead men.”
“Throwing shit’s
not
going to help.” He set the laptop on the coffee table that doubled as their
dining room table and stepped toward the mess on the floor. Kyle had been
looking through his childhood collection of cards, hoping to find a jewel that
would be worth ten thousand. That’s how much they borrowed from Foley to buy
the small boat that they were going to dock in Philly and turn into a sandwich
shop. Tommy had big plans. Ever since he started working in that small downtown
deli he dreamt of running his own diner. Then, when he met Anderson who sold
him on the idea of a diner boat, everything started looking good.
But it was all a
scam. Anderson didn’t own the boat.
“We’re dead men,”
Kyle repeated.
“Stop that. You’re
always
overreacting. Calm down and think rationally. Foley’s going to be pissed, but
what can he do about it? He’ll just have to wait until we come up with the
money.”
“You don’t
understand. Foley’s got connections. That’s probably where he got the money to
begin with.”
“What?”
“Foley used to sell
me drugs.” When Tommy chirped, Kyle quickly added, “Back when I was still using.”
Kyle had stopped
taking drugs a year ago when he moved in with his older cousin Tommy. At least,
that’s what he told Tommy, who felt like a father figure for the wild child. Tommy,
who had fought and recovered from his own demons, now did all he could to
straighten Kyle’s life out. Just as Tommy’s father had done with him.
Kyle said, “Foley’s
hooked up with bigger suppliers. That’s probably where he got the money from.”
“What? You’re mixed
up with gangsters?”
“No. I mean, I don’t
work for them.” Kyle shrunk down in the chair like he was trying to shrivel
away. “I got away from that kind of stuff because of you, remember? You told me
to straighten my life out. I’m trying.”
“Yes. And I respect
you for that. But why did you go to a drug dealer for the money?”
“Where else were we
going to get the money from? No credit. No bank is going to give us ten
thousand.”
“Okay.” Tommy said.
“How about this? We just tell Foley the guy scammed us. Let him go after
Anderson. Maybe he’ll sic his gangster buddies on him. But we’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, he’ll have
his boys slap that guy around. But they’ll come after us, too. You got to
understand how these druggers operate. We’re dead men.”
“Okay,” Tommy said.
“We’re in trouble.” He didn’t add ‘thanks to you.’ “But there’s got to be
some
way we can come up with the money.”
“No way.” He
struggled out of the desk chair, toppling it. “I can’t take this anymore. I
think I’m going to go jump off the bridge.”
“Stop that.”
“There’s no way
out
for me.”
Tommy bowed his head
and peered up under thick black eyebrows. Kyle was always demonstrative and
hyperactive. At first, Tommy attributed it to the drugs, but Kyle insisted he
was no longer on drugs. Was he lying? Was his hyperactivity all an act? Or maybe
he was still mixed up with the dealers? After all Tommy had done to try to
straighten him out, Kyle failed him. “The bridge, huh? Do you want me to give
you a ride?” he finally asked.
Kyle’s mouth hung
open as he grunted like he had a piece of meat stuck in his throat.
“You still have that
insurance, right?”
“Yeah.” Kyle bowed
his head in embarrassment. “My dad got the policy when I was born. Insisted
that I needed it. I guess it’s been driven in my skull. Dad even made the payments
till my job kicked in and I could pay it myself. When I lost the job and
started helping you I still managed to make a few payments.”
“What’s it worth?”
“Fifty thousand
death benefit.”
“What would happen
if you committed suicide?”
“What?”
“Say you disappear
and they decide it was a suicide, will they still pay out?”
“I’d have to double
check, but I think so.”
“And who’s your
beneficiary?”
Kyle had no family.
His mother had divorced his father and moved out of his life years ago. And his
father died last year. No sisters or brothers. Only his cousin Tommy. “You
are,” he said.
Tommy smiled.
Kyle said, “Believe
it or not, we’re family. I figured I’d help you out at the diner until I could
get something going with my drug guy.”
“Kyle, stay away
from the drugs.”
“I know that scares
you, but it was what I was thinking about. I was considering getting into the business.
Not using. Selling. But then this ship thing came along. I really thought maybe
we’d be partners in our own floating sandwich shop. Your dreams won me over. You’re
on my policy.”
“So here’s what
we
do,” Tommy said. “We arrange for you to disappear somehow. Maybe even set up a
new identity for you. I tell the cops you asked me to drive you to the bridge,
and I left you there thinking you just wanted some time alone to think about
our problems.” He started nodding as he got excited. “The cops’ll dredge the
river. Eventually they’ll figure you had been washed all the way down to the bay.
Everybody will think you committed suicide. I’ll go into mourning for a while,
then I’ll cash in the insurance and pay off Foley to get him and his gangster
buddies off our back. Then we hook up again. Get a fresh start somewhere else. No
drugs. No cheap diner. A new life. With fifty thousand dollars.”
Kyle grinned as he
looked at the cards scattered on the floor.
*
Heller’s Orchard
Bridge was a two-lane structure that spanned the Susquehanna River. It had been
a busy thoroughfare until the new interstate highway bridge was completed a few
miles downstream ten years ago. Now the bridge, barely used, was falling into
disrepair.
Tommy parked the car
in a dirt field about a hundred yards up the slight hill that descended to the
bridge.
“Why are we even out
here?” Kyle asked as they walked toward the bridge. “Just let me disappear and
we’ll go from there.”
“I want to make sure
that everything’s right with our story. In case the cops check. We walked onto
the bridge and spent some time talking. You said you wanted to be alone for a
while and I returned to the car. I sat there waiting and you just disappeared. After
waiting a while, I call 9-1-1.”
Kyle nodded. “I cross
the bridge and slip into that small drug store on the other side.”
“Right. Stan’s
already waiting there. He’ll give you a ride to the bus station where you get
on the bus for Pittsburgh. You have the stub, right?”
Kyle patted his
pants pocket as they started across the bridge, walking side by side on the
narrow walkway edging the road.
“The tickets are
waiting for you at the station,” Tommy said. “When you get to Pittsburgh, the
stop is right by the motel where I made you reservations. The name is Bradshaw.
You also have a post office box in that name at the branch that’s only two
blocks from the motel. I’ve already mailed identification papers for your new
identity. They should be sitting in that box when you get to Pittsburgh.”
“You did a lot of
work setting this up,” Kyle said. They had reached the midway point across the
bridge and he looked out over the low railing at the murky water below.
Tommy patted his
arm. “Let’s just say I have connections for this kind of thing.”
“Really? And you
were always the strait-laced one.”
“Well, I don’t deal
with guys like Foley, if that’s what you mean. My buddy’s a low-level lawyer,
but he knows the right people to talk to get what I needed. I think this is all
going to work. I have your insurance papers back at the apartment. Just give me
a week to properly mourn, then I’ll cash it in. I’ll pay off Foley and head out
to Pittsburgh. We’ll hook up and make plans from there. We’ll have enough money
to make a fresh start.”
“Yeah. I’ve already
got
money for a fresh start.” Kyle grabbed Tommy by the lapels and pulled him
toward him, spinning so that Tommy’s back was to the railing. “Without a strait-laced
brick like you around my neck.”
“What?” He struggled
to break free, but Kyle’s grip was too tight.
“I cashed in the
policy. Only about ten thou but it’s a start. The money’s already in a bank in
Pittsburgh waiting for me.”
“But—” Tommy
managed
to grab Kyle’s belt on both hips.
Kyle twisted and
wrapped one arm around his neck, keeping the other snagged in his shirt. He
shuffled Tommy toward the railing like they were in an awkward dance.
“What are you
doing?” Tommy twisted so that his elbow banged against the top of the railing. When
he tried work his hands up to Kyle’s neck, he lost his balance. Kyle twisted
and rapped his head against one of the pylons. He shoved him over the railing.
“I’m protecting
myself,” Kyle said as he checked in all directions, confirming that no one was
around. He leaned over the railing. “Foley’s going to be waiting for his money,
and he’ll be looking for you, not me. I’ll disappear into my new life.”
But he was talking
to the flowing river. There was no sign of Tommy in the water. He hurried
across the bridge and entered the souvenir shop. With Tommy dead and a new
identity set up for him in Pittsburgh, Kyle would be free of Foley. Once in
Pittsburgh he’d use his money to start anew, without prissy Tommy getting in
his way. Eventually Foley and others would decide that both he and Tommy were
dead, probable suicides because of the money they owed gangsters.
Kyle would be free.
But after a few
minutes of planning his next moves, he realized that there was no sign of Stan waiting
for him in the shop. There was no one to take him to Pittsburgh. And he
realized there were probably no reservations or a post office box out there,
either. No fake IDs. No nothing.
Tommy
had the same
idea he did. He was going to kill him, pretend it was a suicide, and cash in his
insurance money, start anew, without a drug dealing cousin holding him back.
