Hazardous Materials by Matthew Quinn Martin

Author:Matthew Quinn Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star

“FREEZE! DON’T MOVE a muscle, asshole!”

A light as bright as the sun pinned Jarrod, drilling into his mind. He shook it off, twisting away from it.

“I said . . . don’t . . . fucking . . . move!”

Jarrod stumbled forward. His foot hit nothing. Beneath him was only empty air and a sliver of river far, far below. “What? Where?”

“I said, freeze!” The voice belonged to a policeman. His tactical flashlight was trained on Jarrod’s face. So were the five others behind him. So were their guns. “Down! Now! Hands behind your head!”

Jarrod obeyed, lying down on the cold stone slab. He could see Manhattan’s illuminated skyline as they cuffed him. It hit him that he was on top of the Brooklyn Bridge’s west tower. He was being arrested on the top of the bridge’s west tower, to be exact. The East River churned beneath him, and Jarrod fought with every ounce of nerve to keep from throwing up. He failed, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the shoes of the nearest cop.

“Ahh! Thanks a fucking lot, pal. Should just roll you off the side.”

Jarrod almost wished they had then, and he wished so even more as they inched him down the steep curve of the bridge’s main support cable, pistols pointed at his head the whole way down. Just wait till the folks find out about this, he thought. “Couldn’t come home for Thanksgiving,” one of them might say. “Too busy trying to throw yourself off a bridge? Too busy ‘taking care of something’ like your brother?” He could hear the recrimination. He could see the tears. And he knew that if he died on that bridge, it would be the only way—in their eyes, at least—that he’d ever be like his brother.

The cops bundled him into the back of a police van, and he caught one last glimpse of the bridge. The crisscross pattern of its cables, lit up by floodlights, looked strangely familiar. Comforting and familiar, like the vector lines of the Polybius.

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