The Betrayal of Prague: An International Vigilante Justice Thriller (Atlas Hargrove Book 3) by R.B. Schow

Author:R.B. Schow [Schow, R.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: River City Publishing
Published: 2021-12-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jirina Issová

Prague was not immune from having secrets. Some of the darker secrets went away, others refused to die, and then there were those pesky little secrets that kept finding the light of day. Those types of secrets had the power to stain a city. Suicide Bridge was one of those secrets.

When the Nusle Bridge was built in 1973, it was named after the first Czechoslovakian Communist President, Klement Gottwald. But after dozens of people began jumping to their deaths, and after the bridge’s reputation began to wane, the powers that be finally settled on a new name, Nusle Bridge. With the name of the road being Nuselinský Most, it just made sense. But by then, the locals had another name for it: Suicide Bridge.

The utilitarian concrete structure stood more than 120 feet tall and was responsible for nearly 400 suicides since its construction. Most bodies hit the asphalt streets in the neighborhoods below; some landed on parked cars or sidewalks in front of local businesses. The mixed settlement below was once called The Valley of Tears due to the depressing living conditions in the bridge's shadow. Having bodies rain down from above did nothing to lift their spirits, which was why some of those old feelings remained.

As much as people tried to put these facts out of their minds, it was not uncommon to hear people hit the pavement or find their mangled bodies after a midnight jump. One local businessman to witness his unfair share of death was Victor Maticka. He owned a newspaper and tobacco shop below the mid-point of the bridge. In interviews, Maticka claimed more than a few bodies hit the sidewalk and that some of them had even landed on parked cars near his shop. Since the early 1970s, when the bridge was first tested and then opened, at least twenty people died each year from jumping. In an attempt to stop this sad tradition, the city built suicide fencing along the bridge. This slowed some of the jumpers, but it did not stop all of them. To the determined soul, such obstruction was nothing more than a nuisance to their final plight.

The night before “the incident,” the police would field a late-night call, one they would consider a prank. The caller would be a young girl, hysterical but sounding slightly tipsy. She would tell the police that men in a lifted pickup truck with oversize tires were stopped in the middle of Suicide Bridge. The police would ask if the girl was drinking, to which she would reply, “They are swinging a naked girl by the legs and arms, and…oh my God! ...they just launched her over the suicide fence!” The call would be cut short just then, but the policeman who took the call would understand. He was accustomed to people phoning in false reports of jumpers on Suicide Bridge, so he would wonder if this was another such call. He would dial the girl’s phone number to check on her, but she wouldn’t answer.

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