The Bridge Chronicles Trilogy
Page 56
Bridge regarded the money he took in from Gangland with suspicion. For one, it came to him in the form of corporate credit scrip, something he refused to use because of the ability for anyone in any corporation to track his purchases. He had the Bottle City Boys set up all sorts of fake transactions with the money, maintaining three apartments he never used, all under barely concealed names. If the corporation that had sent the assassin out after him sent another, they’d find it impossible to track him by normal means. His trade in Gangland passes on top of the money he made the old way provided more than enough untraceable cash to improve his standard of living, as well as his now-ruined shoes.
He had reached the credits of the highlights on his HUD, and froze the image on the cast picture of Stonewall. Frozen in a pose of masculine threat, running across a street under fire with an automatic shotgun in hand, Stonewall presented such a compelling figure of rebellious leadership, the ex-soccer star turned revolutionary gang leader. The image dissolved into the real life image of Stonewall as Bridge shut down his viewer. “Good to see you, brother,” Bridge said to the ex-soccer star.
“You too, ese,” Stonewall replied with a smile.
“You seen the show yet?”
“Not yet, no. How’d we look?”
“Fucking awesome. I totally believed the whole thing, especially the explosion. That bit was genius.”
“That was real. El Diablos still ain’t very good with explosives. They lost two in that fuckup.”
Bridge grimaced. “I told them to go easy on that shit. How’d the rubber bullets work out? I saw you took one in the shoulder.”
“Hurt like a motherfucker, but I’ll live.” He pulled his shirt aside, revealing a purple and yellow bruise on his dark skin. Bridge winced. “The blood packs worked perfect, though. Bullet hits the skin, blows up and makes it look like you’re bleeding. Hell, it looked real to me, and I knew it was fake. Made the doctor’s job confusing, though. They kept triaging the wrong casualties.”
“Heh, well, we had to make it look like each death was real. Other than the real deaths, that is. How many did you lose?”
“Calico took one of those rubbers in the eye. Docs couldn’t get to him in time.”
The words stuck in Bridge’s throat, but he managed to push them past his teeth anyway. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, brother.”
“Yeah.” Stonewall shuffled his feet sadly, pushing a rusted spring from the floor into the water with a tentative toe. “You think they bought my Bridge hater act?”
“Oh yeah, hook line and sinker. Thames actually offered me a new bodyguard in case you came after me. I declined, of course. Last thing I need is one of his eyes and eaӀ"0" wrs following me. The maps I give you guys work out all right?”
“I’m here, ain’t I? The sewers in and out are wide open. The half you said would be, that is.”
“Yeah, the Bottle City Boys did good work, thanks to that backdoor Freeman gave them. For all the CLED knows, every sewer tunnel in and out of Gangland is impassable to human beings. As long as you’re careful, you can move an army in and out of the zone without anyone being the wiser.”
“How long we gotta be their circus monkeys, Bridge?”
“Long as it takes, brother. You got what you wanted, Stoney. You got a completely independent commune for your Families, a place to start over with your own rules. You saved your tribe.”
“Yeah. Saved them from destruction by a corporate-controlled police state so they could die slow providing bread and circuses for the doped-up masses. Be careful what you wish for, eh?”
“Exactly. Look on the bright side. You now have a platform for spreading your message around the world. The ex-soccer superstar turned revolutionary. You can’t buy press copy like that. Well, you couldn’t. I could. The first webisode goes live midweek. You got your speech written?”
“Yeah. I’m going to talk about the inherent exploitative nature of capitalism or something.”
“Riveting. All right, what can I get you guys?”
They talked business for a few minutes. Bridge would use the now-secret subway tunnels to provide Stonewall with all the stuff he’d need that he wanted to keep secret from Chronosoft such as the special rubber bullets.
With business concluded, Stonewall turned around to go, then stopped and turned back. “You think this will work, Bridge? You really think this will undermine the whole LGL concept?”
Bridge pondered the question. His reply lacked conviction. “I don’t know, brother. But you and me both studied enough history to know how corruption eats away at a system like this. The whole thing was set up with corruption at the center. The system is designed to eat itself, and I say let it. All we’re doing is providing the tasty sauce.”
“You are one sick fucker, you know that, Bridge? How do you live with yourself?”
Without waiting for an answer, the gang leader disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel. He likely never heard Bridge’s whispered response over the trickle of foul water.
“Not very easily, brother. Not very easily at all.” Angela’s face floated in his mind, a stabbing reminder of what he had to live with. He turned his back on the memory and vanished into shadow.
<Ӏ me/div>
About The Author
Gary A. Ballard was born, raised and still resides in the state of Mississippi. He began writing at the age of 11, completing a number of really bad, thankfully unpublished novels during his teen years. Graduating from Belhaven College with a degree in Fine Arts, he has painted, photographed, drawn, and written the world as he sees it. Working as a web designer since the early days of the World Wide Web, Gary is well-versed in social media, graphic design and Internet marketing. His first novel in the Bridge Chronicles series, Under the Amoral Bridge, was published in 2009 and has received critical acclaim. He currently lives with his wife and three insane dogs, while writing the next chapters in the Bridge Chronicles series.