Стивен Бойетт - Mortality Bridge

“Ive studied that notion too.” Now the angel’s grin shows yellowed smoker’s teeth. “But you get a piece a me, son, you aint gonna wonder whats real and what aint. These battered wings still kick up dust.” The mass of feathers rushes from behind the angel to clap in front. A dust devil whirls before him and evaporates.

Niko gently sets the jar and the gum machine bubble a safe distance from the road and from the angel. He gives both a final lingering touch and asks them for whatever blessing they can give and then reluctantly he turns away. He cracks his knuckles and touches his toes and works his head from side to side to loosen up his neck. As he stretches he figures that even in his prime, uninjured and in tiptop shape, he’d have his work cut out for him with this good old boy watching him with patent amusement.

“You bout ready there champ?” the angel calls.

Niko nods. Determined and bemused at how he’s come to be once more in this position. He heads toward the angel and tries to ignore the jackhammering of his heart. He surprises himself by saying, “Can I ask you something?”

The angel straightens from his fighting stance. “You sure dont look like the kind that stalls. But fire away, son.”

“This may be more a favor than a question.”

“Cant make you no promises, but lets hear er.”

Niko takes a deep and only slightly shaky breath. “In my wallet there’s a driver’s license. Taped to the back of it is an obolus. An old Greek coin.”

The angel’s brow furrows. “You wanna aim for the bullseye there, amigo?”

Niko glances back at the distant jar gleaming in the pleasant afternoon sun. “It’s for you. I mean if you. If I don’t.” He looks back again at the angel, surprised how hard this is to say. “It’s a tradition,” he tries again, “that you pay the ferryman when you. When.”

The angel stands up straight and brightens as he understands what Niko’s asking. “Oh hey, dont you worry bout a thing there. Thats all took care of. You did your job just fine and dandy. Tell the truth I won a good bet offa you.”

Niko purses his lips. Again he looks at the jar and the milky bubble beside it. “They’re okay?”

The angel grins. “Heck yeah, theyre fine. The both of em.” And at last the burden shifts.

But leaves confusion in its place. “Then—I don’t understand. What are we about to fight for?”

Once again the angel blushes. “Now I truly do apologize. I thought you knew.” And he flows back into fighting stance with wings held high behind him. All tension and poise and tautened spring and alabaster of him. “This time out youre fightin for yourself.”

Niko sounds the depth of his being for an emotional response to this and receives no echo. God he’s tired. “And when I win?”

“If you win,” the angel corrects, “then you just keep on walkin, bud. Grab that little bubble and that lightnin bug jar and head on down that road and over the mountains. Its a fair hike and youre apt to meet up with a lotta your past along the way. But I reckon youll know when you get there. Just keep on walkin and dont stop. And dont look back no matter what.”

Niko’s laugh is like a sigh. “Is that all.”

“Thats it, hoss. But I dont know why I’m tellin you, cause I’m about to give you so many lefts youll pray for a right. Now are we gonna get down to it or are you gonna talk me to death?”

Niko brings his arms to guard position and shifts most of his weight to his back leg. He feels coiled springs in his limbs, feels strength and old resolve awakening. “Let’s dance,” he tells the angel.

“Bout time.” The angel spits into his palms and rubs them. “Till one cant stand or one says give.” He straightens and then bows formally and properly.

Niko bows back and does not take his eyes off his opponent. It has been a life of worthy adversaries.

“Round one,” the angel says laconically. And saunters out with lazy danger in his every move as Niko, as always and as ever, comes out swinging.

Myths are things that never happened

but always are.

I AM DEEPLY grateful to the following: Scott Kelley for his many suggestions for the downtown chase sequence, for nifty Aikido moves, and for showing me the entrance to Hell. Jessie Horsting for valuable information on automobiles and addiction, and for pointing me toward solutions on confrontations with the devil. Ken Mitchroney, my buddy pal, for always riding shotgun. Richard Curtis, agent of change, who believed right from the start. The Petersen Automotive Museum for supplying the glorious 1933 Franklin Model 173 seven-passenger sedan.

I hope that readers familiar with Dante’s Inferno (especially the John Ciardi translation), the myth of Orpheus, and similar descent-motif stories—along with the legend of Faust, the blues legend of Robert Johnson and the Crossroads, and many related deal-with the-devil myths, folk tales, songs, and movies—will indulge my mashup of elements I perceive as mutual and archetypal. Wherever possible I have tried to acknowledge these sources in the text itself, albeit obliquely. “Where I steal,” said Michelangelo, “there I leave my knife.”

As this story is a combination of many myths and legends, so Hell itself is here a kind of remix that borrows, blends, and disregards (which in some ways is more difficult) elements of Dantean, Grecian, Roman, Miltonian, and Medieval Catholic hadeography (to use Niko’s word) as I felt appropriate to create my own private Hell.

Though I have taken pains to be geographically accurate, when the story required it I did not hesitate to alter or invent physical details and locations of landmarks, freeways, buildings, etc. It’s risky to be very detailed when describing Los Angeles, a city that will not hesitate to tear down a cultural icon to put up an apartment complex (as sadly happened with the Belmont Tunnel entrance to the old subway line). Some landmarks became dated during the protracted writing of this novel—and in some cases well before—but I elected to retain them either because they resonated with the novel’s themes or simply because I liked them better than their usurpers.

I hope to make custom Google Earth route maps available at www.mortalitybridge.comso that those who are curious can follow the aboveground chase scenes in realtime using satellite imagery. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before Google can supply us with maps of the remainder of Niko’s journey as well.

Steven R. Boyett ( steveboy.com) is the author of ARIEL, ELEGY BEACH, and other novels, short stories, and feature screenplays. As a DJ he created the groundbreaking and award-winning Podrunner workout music series. He has been a professional martial arts instructor, paper marbler, advertising copywriter, proofreader, writing teacher, website editor, chapbook publisher, and electronic dance music composer. As a DJ he has played clubs and conventions in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Las Vegas, and at Burning Man. He currently lives in the San Francisco Bay area.