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The Bridge Builder – Part 07

The scene started moving again.

The bullet flying toward Dragline’s chest embedded itself. Blood spattered, and Dragline and Luke fell simultaneously. Eddie screamed. William fainted and crumpled to the ground.

A bleak wind of ruin swept across the world. The bridge shook, and Victorique staggered. At her feet lay the bodies of Dragline and Luke.

The match continued on the present-day Brooklyn Bridge. The crescent moon shone brightly. Gradually, the summer breeze returned.

Victorique slowly opened her eyes and looked at her attendant. Kazuya, his arms spread wide, wearing a grave look, continued to protect the tiny Victorique.

But in Victorique’s eyes, Kazuya began to appear in the uniform of an island nation’s military. His cheeks were stained with mud and tears, and an alarming amount of blood flowed from his right thigh. Standing on one leg, with a pale face and an expression of despair she had never seen before, he gazed at something far beyond the sky.

Back to the past bridge of the Old World. Time rewound even further, to the early hours of Christmas night. Dead soldiers began to rise one by one like puppets and stood up, engaging in friendly chatter.

Madam Wheafley’s sonorous voice flowed from an old radio placed on the railing.

“Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant, so tender and mild.”

Young men in American, German, and British military uniforms gathered atop the bridge. In the center stood a young British military chaplain, conducting a Christmas mass. Everyone started singing along to the radio.

Mitch leaned on the railing, chatting animatedly. Using gestures, he explained, “Whole chicken… with spices and onions, simmering in a pot… That’s Southern-style soup…” and those around him listened with delight.

Dragline threw a punch into the air. “Man, that sounds great. I’ve never had a warm meal at home. Your place sounds nice.”

“Why haven’t you had one?”

“Dunno, really. I guess my folks were always busy with work and socializing. Since I was a kid, I’d cut my own slab of ham, have some boiled potatoes and hard bread.”

“Just hearing that makes my throat tight, champ.”

“Wash it down with water!”

“Man, if we were neighbors, I’d bring you some chicken soup. Yohoho!”

Eddie, who was half-listening, chimed in, “My mom makes good spicy red pea stew.”

Next to him, William practiced a hook he had just learned.

“Hit with a left hook to the right side,” Luke instructed enthusiastically. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“But why the left?” William asked.

Dragline joined the conversation. “Because the liver is on the right side. You learned that in science class, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“If you get hit in the liver, it knocks the wind outta you. Makes you drop easy.”

“I see. Boxing’s pretty interesting,” William said.

Mitch joined in, laughing, “I gotta say. Good thing Luke’s such a goof. Thanks to him, we’re having a great night. Yohoho!”

“Damn right.”

“Yeah. And it’s good seeing you again after so long.”

Luke cackled. “You’re all welcome.”

Adjusting his glasses, the British chaplain said, “Hey, you all should sing too.” The five of them exchanged sheepish smiles. “Feels like school,” someone said, eliciting laughter from everyone.

They all gazed up at the night sky. Beautiful snow kept falling.

“Silent night.”

“Holy night.”

The five of them joined.

“All is calm.”

Victorique sang softly, holding hands with Kazuya back at the present. Kazuya, not sure what was happening, sang along, “All is bright.”

The voices of young people, both living and dead, from the past and present, merged on the two bridges.

“Round yon Virgin Mother and Child.”

“Holy infant, so tender and mild.”

“Sleep in heavenly peace.”

On the past bridge, snow sparkled magically on Christmas night.

On the present bridge…

As the match reached its climax, three Italian mafiosi approached Eddie’s corner, brandishing their banana machine guns. Mitch was too focused on cheering for Eddie to notice.

Kazuya saw them and tried to stop them. “Uh, the match is almost over. Please, don’t interrupt.”

“We had a deal. You were supposed to pay us back tonight! Give us the money!”

“It’s still very early into the night.”

“Fuck! Want me to wipe my nose with your bills again?”

Mitch turned around with a start. Rage slowly spread on his face. “Is that why one bill was missing earlier? You son of a bitch! I risked my life for that money, and you just used it to wipe your nose?!”

He lunged at the mafia man and tried to punch them, but Kazuya intervened, and got hit on both cheeks instead.

“Ouch! Stop it, both of you! Wait until the match is over. Hey!”

Mitch grabbed one mafiosi by the collar and yanked him forward. The other two tried to hit Mitch, but Kazuya stopped them.

“T-Take this!”

Remembering some jujitsu his brothers taught him long ago, he threw one over his shoulder.

“Was it like this? Whoa!”

He blocked another one coming from the side with a sidekick, closed in from the right, lifted him by the knees, and rolled him over. Meanwhile, one mafioso had Mitch in a full chokehold. Kazuya jumped in, put the thug in a full nelson, and dragged him away.

“Now, Mitch!” Kazuya yelled. Coughing, Mitch nodded and ran up to the mafioso Kazuya was holding.

“You bastard!” He stomped on the mafioso’s foot.

“O-Ouch?” the Italian said.

“No, not there! The stomach!”

“I-I’m not used to this kinda stuff,” Mitch said. “You’re pretty good, kid.”

Suddenly, Kazuya’s right leg gave out, and he nearly collapsed, barely managing to hold onto the mafioso. His face turned pale with pain.

Victorique noticed and stared at him with nary an emotion on her face. Then, she slowly moved the pipe she was holding and pressed it against the stomach of the mafioso Kazuya was restraining. There was a sizzle.

“H-Hot!” the man yelped. Victorique silently looked away.

Holding the mafioso, Kazuya stumbled along, dragging his right leg. He turned to Victorique and said, “I told you. Detective work is too dangerous. You end up fighting the mafia. Victorique!”

The other two mafiosi got back up and charged. Mitch panicked, flailing in place. Kazuya stepped in front of him, dragging his right foot. He elbowed one in the jaw and chopped the back of the other’s neck. But he staggered and fell on his backside. He managed to get up using only his left leg.

The mafioso with a hole in his white shirt cried, “My brand-new double-tie shirt.” Then he shouted, “You little shit!” and charged at Victorique.

“Victorique! Watch out!” Kazuya hobbled over and tackled the mafioso from behind. The man turned and punched Kazuya in the jaw, causing Kazuya to drop to his left knee.

“Get outta the way!” a spectator barked.

“You’re ruining the best part of the match.”

“Actually, this Asian kid fighting the Italians is pretty entertaining too.”

Cheers rained down on Kazuya as he rose unsteadily to his feet, blood oozing from a cut on his lip. As the mafioso reached for Victorique’s shoulder, Kazuya yelled, “Stop!” He punched the mafia in the jaw, sending him crashing to the ground.

Nearby spectators applauded.

“Whoa!”

“Not bad, kid!”

Kazuya limped over to Victorique. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she answered.

Kazuya turned back to Mitchie and gave a nod.

Mitch beamed. “You gave me money back at the NYPD. And now, you’re helping me again.”

“Actually,” Kazuya said quietly. “I was on the Polish border front, so when I heard you talking at the station…”

Mitch’s expression turned to shock. “I see. So you’re one of the young enemy soldiers. Wait, are you okay? Did you hurt that leg just now?”

“No, this is an old injury from back then. It should be healed.”

Mitch stared at Kazuya’s downcast face.

“I almost didn’t make it,” Kazuya said.

“Same for all of us,” Mitch replied. “I’m glad you survived.”

Victorique turned around and pointed her golden pipe toward the ring. “It’s neck-and-neck.”

Kazuya quickly turned to face the ring. Mitch resumed cheering for Eddie Sawyer.

“Look, Kujou. The match is ending.”

Kazuya watched with bated breath. William Trayton and Eddie Sawyer were trading punches. Their swollen faces and sweat-soaked skin glistened. Eddie’s left hook sank into William’s right side. William’s mouth opened in surprise, and slowly he crumbled.

The venue fell silent. Only Eddie’s ragged breathing echoed in the spectator’s ears.

“One, two, three,” the referee began counting. “Five, six, seven, eight…”

Victorique narrowed her eyes.

Eddie stood there, battered and exhausted, looking down at the fallen William. His shoulders and back gleamed with sweat. His profile began to take on a regal expression.

Wearing a look of disbelief, the referee continued, “Nine… Ten!”

Even the stars in the night sky seemed to freeze, silently watching.

The bell rang. The referee rose, approached Eddie, grabbed his right wrist, and raised it high.

“The winner: Eddie Sawyer!”

The crowd erupted. Fireworks shot into the sky. Cheers and applause swirled in a wild crescendo.

Eddie gaped around the bridge. Then, his face broke into a joyful smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the referee went on. “Tonight, a new champion is born!”