Bridge Over Troubled Water

by Alfonso Vaughn

Jerry took a sip of coffee and pondered the offer.

  "You'd do that for me?"

  "Of course I would. You saved my life."

  On the grounds of the Dolores Mission, Jerry and Father Marcado sat on a bench and watched Lindsay and Ellie as they were deep in conversation at the stone wall that overlooked the bay.

  "She apologized this morning," Marcado informed Jerry.

  "Good. If she's too much bother..."

  "She's always welcome here. You give to the city, so we will give to you without question."

  Marcado looked at Jerry's exhausted and broken body.

  "You'd be more beneficial to Ellie if you were operating at a hundred percent."

  "I'll get a couple of days off soon, Father."

  Ellie and Lindsay walked towards them.

  "Things are starting to brighten up," Jerry said. "For the first time in years, the darkness is retreating."

  Marcado patted Jerry's arm.

  "Good. Good."

  The girls approached. Ellie's smile made Jerry's face light up.

  "What say I take you two girls to lunch? Of course, that invite is extended to you, Father."

  Marcado stood up.

  "The Lord's work is never done. Is it, Ellie?"

  Ellie understood the implication.

  "And I promised the kids a story. Sorry, dad."

  Jerry's last hope for continued enjoyment fell to the more than willing Lindsay, who turned to him.

  "I suppose my mom can watch the boys for a few more hours."

  Lindsay found it difficult to drive as Jerry tried his hardest to distract her with his combination of jokes, over-the-top facial expressions, and, inexplicably, his hand animals. His attempt at a hare should have sent Lindsay running for the mountains, but she didn't mind. She laughed at all the right times.

  At a swanky restaurant, the humor had effectively played its part and now a deeper level of understanding was being reached. Not even the waiter delivering their main course could stop their conversation. She cut up her chicken, placed a sample of vegetables on top, and spoon-fed the curious Jerry. He washed it down with a healthy swallow of red wine, and then let her taste his steak. A dollop of pepper sauce fell off the meat and ran down Lindsay's chin. Jerry was only too ready with his napkin to clean up.

  Even though both had lived in the city all their lives; Pier 39 had a fresh feel for the smitten couple. They watched the street performers, rode on the carousel, and even battled it out on Mortal Kombat in the video game arcade. Lindsay won several times, and Jerry didn't want to leave until he had redeemed himself. He was unwilling to abandon the machine defeated, but when Lindsay took his hand and pulled it away from the machine via a raunchy tit rub, he changed his mind.

  What is it about love that turns most people stupid? That was the question for Pier 39's sea lion population as they had to endure Jerry and Lindsay mocking them with their mimed facial expressions. Even children on a school excursion thought the oblivious couple was strange. The teacher ushered her pupils on prematurely, given the perceived threat of having to deal with these two crazies, who were now taunting the sea lions with imaginary offerings of fish.

  They didn't care who had to endure their behavior at the bowling alley, either. Jerry heckled Lindsay's gutterball. She offered the lane so he could display his talents. They agreed on a suitable bet. He snatched the ball from the machine, lined up like a pro, and unleashed his weapon at the pins. Lindsay's head fell into her hands as Jerry scored a strike. He regally strode back to her and demanded his reward. She passed over the dollar bill with a hint of annoyance.

  The day wore on, and their date was extended to dinner. Their behavior at the fancy seafood restaurant would have been fine in the back row of a cinema, but it got so bad, and the stares and complaints from other diners so severe, the waiter had to have a word with them.

  Outside the restaurant, Lindsay wore Jerry's jacket while he tried desperately to hail the taxi.

  In Jerry's bedroom, the sex was passionate yet careful, as Lindsay's body was still healing from her husband's abuse. Although her eyes were closed in euphoria, Jerry's remained open, and he couldn't help noticing the many scars and bruises.

  After their lovemaking they cuddled, their fingers running over the bone structure of each other's bodies. A perturbed look appeared on Lindsay's face.

  "What's wrong?" Jerry inquired.

  "Nothing, I was just wondering..."

  "What about?"

  "Forget about it. It's not the time."

  "Your brain obviously thought it was."

  Lindsay smirked. "I was just wondering why Ellie didn't get custody of Logan."

  "Because she was a basket case."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Because I was a basket case, too! It was a dark time. I was drinking way too much, lost my driver's license, had two assault charges against me. Plus the other family had half the city in their pockets; I think their ancestors came over on the Mayflower."

  He kissed her.

  "I really needed today, thank you."

  "It was the least I could do."

  "For all my charming hospitality?"

  "For saving my life."

  Jerry sat up and stared at her.

  "I didn't rescue you so I could sleep with you, Lindsay."

  "I know, but I wanted to thank you."

  "What were the fucking donuts and flowers for, then?"

  His tone frightened her. She got out of bed.

  "I just wanted to show my appreciation. Forget I said anything."

  "You mean, you wanted to make the old guy feel better?"

  "No. I had a great day. And I needed it. You'll see me again."

  She started to dress. Jerry turned his back, made himself comfortable.

  "Well, why don't you just leave your number on the table and get the fuck out of here?"

  Lindsay glanced at Jerry, bit her tongue, walked out of the room, and slammed the door shut. Jerry rubbed his face, questioning what just happened. He punched the bed and got up.

  An agitated Jerry stood outside his house with his cell in his hand.

  What's the goddamn taxi number?

  Piercing headlights. A car approached. Jerry took out his badge, stood in the middle of the road and held it out.

  "Police emergency!"

  The car stopped. Jerry moved to the passenger door, opened it and leaned in. An old man sat behind the wheel.

  "Where to, officer?"

  Jerry, drink in hand, watched on in amazement as Chou fed Slim Genie sugar cubes from a Chinese take-away box.

  "Good energy for race," Chou explained.

  Buzz put a saddle on their prized asset.

  "Put your money on her to place," he said. "I'd bet my house on it. We've been playing a motivational CD to her at night."

  Jerry could not compute, nor quite believe, what he was witnessing. Chou used his free hand to pour beer down his throat. Jerry's mouth eventually opened to speak.

  "I am filled with confidence. Chou, let's go. We're getting in the professional's way."

  Buzz reached into his back pocket, pulled out a bill and handed it to Jerry with a wink.

  "Twenty on her to place," he said as he slapped his hand on Slim Genie and rubbed her hide. "Gonna do it for me, girl, aren't ya?"

  In the back stands, Jerry warmed his hands as Chou finished off his beer.

  "No problem, Jerry-man. Genie finish well. Good diet."

  The PA system rang out.

  "And they're off!"

  All the regulars' eyes fell to the track. Jerry's did briefly, but he got distracted by a man in the crowd who was drinking with a group of friends. Jerry needed a double-take. He couldn't identify him with absolute certainty yet, but his instincts were strong.

  He made his way towards the boisterous group.

  "Where you go, Jerry-man? Slim looking good!"

  He ignored Chou and kept wal
king. His vision was interrupted by high-and-low-spirited spectators trying to locate their company, or go to the bathroom, or go to the bar. Then he got a good look. His jaw dropped. It was him: Brian. He slowly approached the man, removing his watch and putting it into his pocket as the surrounding screams of encouragement for the horses got louder.

  The man mimicked riding a horse, but the way he slapped the imaginary ass and thrust his pelvis, it was clear he was talking about screwing someone from behind. His friends laughed and exchanged several fist-bumps, then focused on the race. But the man kept looking side-to-side in the stands, clearly a bit apprehensive about being there. He eventually turned in Jerry's direction. Their eyes locked. Jerry couldn't hide the rage.

  "Motherfucker!"

  He ran at Brian, who sprinted in the opposite direction. None of his jerkoff friends even noticed in the intoxicating environment.

  Brian had a good lead, but Jerry kept going, closing the distance. They barged into spectators, knocking a few to the ground. Security staff appeared at various positions and moved in to intervene. Brian tripped and fell hard onto the concrete. A few people went to help him up, but Jerry got to him first, pushed the potential Samaritans away and beat Brian's body anywhere he could land a punch.

  Brian assumed the fetal position and covered his head with his arms, the only viable option. Some of the bystanders debated whether or not to intervene. By the time one of them stepped forward, Jerry had grabbed Brian's hair and dragged him to his feet.

  "What did I say to you, motherfucker? What did I say?"

  He smacked Brian across the face; it wasn't so much a slap as an open-palmed punch. Blood appeared from his mouth and nose.

  "Why are you in this city?" Jerry demanded.

  Brian's hands came up defensively.

  "It's my birthday!"

  The answer pissed Jerry off even more. A strong right sent Brian back down to the ground. Jerry stomped on him until the security guards and two bystanders intervened and held him back.

  "You get him the fuck out of here," Jerry ordered.

  As Jerry was a regular, the guards took his side and dragged Brian away.

  "I swear to God, I see you again..."

  "The boy needs his father!" shouted Brian.

  Wrong answer. Again, Jerry tried to hit him, but was effectively restrained by his captors. He roared with a desire to take this rapist's head off.

  The head of security tried his best to restrain him.

  "Calm down, Jerry. He's outta here."

  Jerry eventually relaxed, took a few steps back, and straightened his clothes.

  The security guards frog-marched the near unconscious Brian out of sight, and the crowd went back to minding its own business. The show was over.

  Chou arrived.

  "We come second last. Too much sugar no good for Slim."

  "Get it right, Chou!"

  "Don't worry Jerry-man. Chou always work out problems with best solution."

  Jerry's cell rang.

  "No. No. No!"

  Chou had difficulty keeping the car on the road - a mixture of liquor and widespread fog.

  "I get pulled over, your fault. This car vital to business. Restaurant Depot, shitty deliverers."

  Jerry was still so pissed that he couldn't even answer. Chou continued.

  "Slim Genie good horse. New diet next week, organic vegetables laced with anabolic steroids."

  "Just keep your eyes on the road, Chou, and find the right goddamn diet for Slim."

  Chou's car arrived at the Golden Gate and made its way to a gathering crowd. Jerry exited the car. The cold, wet and foggy weather gained his attention.

  "You keep well, Jerry-Man", said Chou, snapping him back to reality.

  "Just buy regular horse food, Chou!"

  He slammed the door shut and headed towards the crowd. A journalist and cameraman ambushed him.

  "Gonna make it two in a row, Jerry?" inquired the journalist.

  "I'll try. That's all I can do, right? My job?"

  "Sure."

  "So why don't you go do yours? Fucking parasites making money off other peoples' grief! Something positive must be happening in the city."

  He stormed past them. The journalist was too vain to let Jerry have the last word.

  "This is my job!"

  "Take a long look in the mirror, dickhead."

  Jerry arrived at the rail. Darryl approached, passed Jerry the potential jumper's information.

  "No honeymoon?" Jerry asked him.

  "Not yet."

  Jerry looked at the crowd, about to say something, but Darryl stopped him.

  "I'm on it."

  He ran to the onlookers.

  "Move back!" he shouted, and signaled to some police officers. "Can I get these people away from here?!"

  Jerry arrived at the rail and studied the potential jumper, an African-American in his forties, plump, wearing a business suit. Jerry read the information on the sheet, crumpled it up and threw it away. He climbed the rail, descended onto the pipe and edged towards him. The fog crept over the pipe, smothering their shoes.

  "Hey."

  The man stared right through him.

  "I left my will on the dash."

  "Come on, Marcus. What's the problem?"

  Marcus focused back down on the bay. "My wife's a cheating bitch. My kids hate me. I live a shitty existence."

  "Well, fuck me. Join the club, buddy."

  Marcus's eyes fell back on Jerry.

  "I live on a non-stop conveyor belt," he said. "From my bed, to work, to dinner, to TV, to bed; then back to work...it never stops. I need it to stop."

  "So that's your conveyor belt, huh? Seems straightforward enough to me."

  "It never stops!" barked Marcus.

  Jerry continued, ignoring the interruption.

  "My conveyor belt? My conveyor belt isn't as straightforward. Not as flat and certain. You see, Marcus, my conveyor belt doesn't know where it's going. Up, down, side-to-side, round and fuckin' round. Diagonally. Flipping back on itself."

  "You're not helping!"

  "Know something, Marcus? Fuck you."

  Jerry turned to leave, but a second thought stopped him.

  "I can't get over you fucking morons complaining about your shitty lives. With the shitty events that shower your world with pain. Get the fuck over it, Marcus. There's dozens of people on this bridge, right now, with worse problems than you."

  Marcus looked up at the crowd of observers. Most nodded their agreement.

  "But you know what, Marcus?" Jerry continued. "We grit our teeth and get on with it. We might complain from time to time, but we don't cause a fucking scene over it. You know why? Because we're proud. We're proud of something that keeps us going."

  "What have I got to be proud about?"

  "Your three children. They're your life. You think this is fair on them? Your wife couldn't be that much of a bitch. And if she is, just get a fucking divorce."

  "I said for better or for worse."

  Jerry glanced down at the bay.

  "It ain't gonna get much worse, and you can make it better. It's in your hands, not mine. Not even God's."

  Marcus stared at Jerry - that last comment had hit home. A calm took over his body. His tone of voice was less desperate.

  "You're right, it is in my hands."

  Jerry let out a sigh of relief.

  "Can we get the fuck off this bridge now? I'm exhausted."

  "Sure."

  Marcus climbed back up onto the bridge, to the crowd's cheers and applause.

  Jerry was a bit confused - that was too easy. He shrugged it off and climbed the rail, then jumped down onto the Golden Gate's concrete, receiving back-slaps of congratulations from both professionals and the public.

  A "Jerry!" chant started. He was embarrassed by the attention, shrugged it off, and started to walk away from the scene.

  The news team a
pproached. The journalist spoke to the camera for a live-from-the-scene broadcast.

  "Police negotiator Jerry Craig, bringing another potential jumper back from the brink."

  Though Jerry tried to walk past the news crew, the journalist tapped him on the elbow.

  "Jerry, that's two for two. You must be proud of your achievement. How does it feel?"

  Jerry stared down the journalist.

  "Did you look in that mirror like I told you to?"

  The journalist tried to laugh him off.

  "You're doing a great service to this city, Jerry. Keep up the great work."

  "Get the fuck out of my way," snapped Jerry as he pushed past the journalist, who tried to sign off with his dignity in one piece.

  "For KGO-TV7 news, this is--"

  The journalist was grabbed by the arm, and found himself being dragged away by Jerry while the camera kept rolling.

  "Come on, hotshot. Let me enlighten you in the car."

  "In the car?"

  "You're giving me a ride."

  Outside the Dolores Mission, Jerry got out of the news van. He held the door open a second.

  "Give us some good news," he said to the journalist inside. "Encouraging news. Brighten people's shitty days on a regular basis!"

  He slammed the door shut and entered the Mission's grounds, heading straight for the parochial house.

  The foyer had a cold décor. Quiet. Jerry knocked on the wooden inner door.

  "Hello?"

  Footsteps approached. Jerry walked on in and pushed the door closed behind him.

  A nun turned the corner.

  "Mr. Craig. I just saw you on the television. A latter-day saint."

  "I'm not quite there yet."

  "Nonsense. You're an example to us all. If more good was done, those people wouldn't be in that position."

  "I'm here to see Father Marcado."

  The nun pointed to the reception area to her left.

  "I'll get him for you. Wait in here."

  She went back around the corner as Jerry entered the reception room and walked towards the table in the center.

  The religious paraphernalia played on his mind. The crucified Jesus entranced him.