“Thanks.”
Larry stared at a burnt Cadillac nearby. Idly, he wondered if the occupants—or pieces anyway—were still inside until, a distant but distinct sound on the wind caught his attention. Intrigued, he thought he heard some gunfire above the sound of the three boats cruising upriver to the Point. Slipping off the fender, he walked toward the bridge edge closest to the city and considered the Liberty Bridge in the distance. He stood, taking in the sights with binoculars. He thought the city of Pittsburgh was probably once very pretty. Having never seen the city in person, he was interested in the congregation of boats below, as well as the men and activity clustered around the Point. He’d heard about the infamous “Point” in downtown Pittsburgh, since it was near where the Steelers and Pirates played, but thought it rather unimpressive.
“Pittsburgh’s a shithole now.”
On the other hand, he knew the activity at the river’s edge would be of some value to his nephew and he began to commit the scene to memory. By his best estimate, over 300 people were milling about and there were at least twenty-five boats accumulating in a fairly disorganized mishmash, tied up nearby. After further study, he designated at least fifty men as guards of some type. And, near the center of the action, he caught a tighter pack dancing in a frenzied, yet provocative sway and grind. Focusing, he spotted a few women, one in particular, conveying a heightened sexuality in her dance.
“Wouldn’t mind being over there…” Larry mumbled. He stared at the woman with the long, white blonde hair and took another swig of beer. Henry had followed him, though Larry had forgotten he was there.
“Shouldn’t be much more than another half hour at most clearing up this mess, sir,” said Henry.
“See to it.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks for the beer.” Standing near, Henry slipped the orange and brown bandana off his forehead and used it to wipe his face.
“You can thank Phoenix… his idea. Sorta.”
“Okay, I will.” Henry had a clear question building in his mind, “Larr… we been friends since the nineties, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something that might be a bit outta line?”
“Go on,” said Larry. He braced for the question having some idea of the content. Already, he’d received strange looks from many of the men. The incident with Luke overheard by the brigade leaders had called his authority into question.
To ensure this was a private conversation, Henry moved to stand in front of Larry. He glanced around and confirmed no one else was within hearing range. “What do you plan to do about that piss-boy Luke, huh?”
Larry’s radio squawked. He glanced down at the radio and lifted it to his ear only to look up and watch Henry drop his beer onto the concrete and kneel in front of him. Blood poured from Henry’s neck, as he convulsed.
“Larr—”
“Get down, now! Sniper!” yelled Larry to all bridge workers. He spun around to assess the area, as he dropped and rolled toward the bridge sidewall. Gathering the radio to his ear, he listened to Luke and the brigade leaders frantic commands and orders.
“Sniper fire! Eddie’s down! Shit, Cheese is down! Take cover. Take cover. Under the ramp. Four men down. Repeat. Roddie. Sammy. Damn. Four down. Taking cover. Copy? Copy?”
“Copy, Luke. Where? Where’s it comin’ from? Over,” yelled Reed.
Two men crouched near the fenders of a Camaro on the far end of the bridge. They collapsed in quick succession. A third went down not fifty feet from Larry. He radioed Phoenix.
“Phoenix! Do you copy?”
“Go, Uncle. We ready yet?”
“Taking sniper fire! Stay down. Luke and his team are hit! We got a bunch of snipers shooting at us! Over.”
“Say again. Over.”
“We got sniper’s hitting’ us on the bridge. Henry took one next to me. Luke’s team is taking fire. He’s got four men down. I got five hit and counting. Over.”
“Shit. Where’s it comin’ from?” asked Phoenix.
There was an excited undertone to his inquiry, rather than concern. Larry provided the general direction of sniper fire and Phoenix jumped out of the passenger seat. He had been waiting for something exciting to happen.
“’Bout fuckin’ time. C’mon, Sinclair!”
Clearing his mind of boredom, Phoenix let his uncanny assessment skills kick in as he ran to the bridge. At the onramp, he visualized both bridges and the position of the dead men lying on the West End Bridge. He calculated trajectories and instantly gauged the range to the Liberty Bridge on his left. His mind began fixating on the higher ridge elevation across the river between the two bridges. This was the likely position of any sniper or snipers.
“Fucker’s over there,” he thought, “But only one man. On that top ridge. Gotta be. One man could do it. Triangulation puts him there. Not enough shots for more than one.” Confident in his assessment, Phoenix yelled to Sinclair, who had just caught up to him. “Go back to the truck and get me those damn binoculars, you fuck!”
Sinclair spun and raced back to the truck, snatching the binoculars from the dashboard. He quickly returned and handed them to Phoenix who calmly studied the ridge. He located the possible semblance of a team hiding on a circular, man-made platform built atop an overhanging structure.
“There you are, my love… there you are.” Phoenix lowered the binoculars slowly and smiled. “Find Smithy. Now. Tell him to bring his guns and spotter guy… ah, Ricky. Now!”
Sinclair ran back toward the convoy.
“I’m gonna kill you, you prick!” Phoenix yelled toward the ridge. He carried his Judge pointed at the ridge across the river as he took a casual and bold stroll up the on ramp. He knew the handgun was of little use, but pointed it anyway simply to appease his frustration. He ignored his men cowering under the assault. Stepping onto the main span of the bridge, he gained further confidence and stood with his left middle finger held high up in the air in the direction of Mount Washington.
“I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” said Phoenix. Not satisfied with his outburst, he planted both feet and fired all five rounds toward the circular platform across the ridge. He knew the bullets would never come close, but did enjoy pulling the trigger on each round.
“Phoenix! Get your ass over here!” said Larry Reed.
Phoenix turned and looked over at his uncle tucked low and hiding behind the sidewall. Choosing to ignore him, he turned toward the ridge and prepared to yell one more time when he saw sparks bounce off the thick vertical suspension cables thirty feet in front of him. Realizing the bullet came from the ridge and was meant for him based on his position and where the bullet hit the cable, he calmly walked to Larry Reed and settled into a crouch next to the bridge sidewall. Crawling, they made their way down and off the ramp. At the bottom, Phoenix glanced back to see three more men collapse despite their decent efforts to remain hidden. One had tried to run to the next car in line only to have his head explode in a bright red spray.
“I’m gonna so kill that fucker,”
“Keep your head down, dammit,” said Larry.
“I’m gonna find them. All of ’em. They been nothin’ but trouble to me.”
CHAPTER 8.3-Finding Bird Parts
“Ma’am?”
“Yeah, GT?”
“Can I speak with you for a sec?”
“Sure.” Standing near the main camp in the Youngstown mill, Colonel Starkes burped CJ with expertly timed pats between his shoulder blades. Not surprised, she was rewarded with a decent-size blob of white puke bursting in a blast of air. It landed on the shop towel strategically placed on her shoulder. Mostly ignoring GT, she walked toward Nicole and Amanda who were talking raptly a few yards away. Seemingly like lost sisters, the colonel watched while they prepared lunch atop a makeshift table of steel plates. Glancing behind, she confirmed that GT followed. He was intense and energized.