Bridge Job Blues

Midnight in the city is a different sort of dark. Travis kept to the alleys, hands sunk in battered leather, boots whispering across slick concrete. The city’s hush was always full of noise if you knew what to listen for—police bands, the purr of engines, the song of opportunity. And tonight, Travis owed two different men the kind of favor that didn’t keep till morning. His first stop was the payphone near 13th. Kat’s voice was clipped, as always. “You get the cab yet?” He lied. “I’m staring at it now.” “You’ve got twenty minutes. Divano’s boys drift too close and you’re toast.” He hung up, palms sweating. The cab in question was idling under a broken lamppost, its yellow coat smeared with city grime. The driver was Bubby—a familiar face in this town, a man with maps for veins and secrets under his hat. They called him a witness, but tonight, he was just another fare. Only this ride would be the last he ever picked up. Travis ducked low, crossed the street, and tapped the driver’s window. Bubby startled, glasses glinting. “Need a lift, pal?” “Yeah. Take me to the West Bridge.” “Closed tonight. Police cordon. Accident, they said.” “I’ll tip big.” Bubby hesitated, eyes darting to the radio. Traffic news crackled: ‘All units, be advised, West Bridge is closed—repeat, no traffic—’ Travis slid into the back seat, the city’s weight pressing on his chest. He caught Bubby’s eye in the rearview. “Let’s make it quick. You know the back route.” They pulled off, wheels screeching. But halfway down Maxwell, another car peeled from the curb—Divano’s men, faces hard in the mirror. Bubby’s hands shook. “You in trouble, son?” “I just need the bridge.” The chase was on. Lights flashed. Divano’s sedan tailed them, bumpers kissing. Bubby gripped the wheel, sweat trickling. “We’ll have to take the old pier road.” Police sirens wailed in the distance. Travis checked his pistol, thumb flicking the safety. “Floor it.” They shot through a red, the cab fishtailing. In the mirror, Divano’s boys leaned out a window, brandishing something dark and mean. Bullets sparked off the trunk. Bubby cursed and yanked the wheel, ducking into side streets, neon bouncing over the dash. At last, the bridge loomed—gates down, blue lights spinning. No easy crossing. Bubby’s nerves frayed. “We can’t—” “We don’t have a choice,” Travis said. “Go!” The cab burst forward, ramming the barricade. Sirens screamed. Divano’s car skidded behind, police lights flooding the night. The bridge rattled beneath them, metal groaning. On the far side, Bubby’s hands shook so hard the cab nearly stalled. Travis tossed a fat roll of bills into the front seat. “Forget my face. Stay off the air tonight.” Bubby nodded, eyes wide, the city and its secrets crowding in on every side. Travis stepped into the shadows, debts paid for now, but in Liberty City, nobody’s slate stays clean for long.

Comic