But the gun stays in his belt, shoved
down the front of his pants like he’s afraid I’ll fight him for it.
Beneath the Bridge the shadows are opaque, and Nuri grabs onto my
jacket to make sure I keep up with him.
“Don’t want you to wander
off,” he says, his laughter echoing off the metal and concrete that
entombs us.
“Gee, thanks.” I swat his
hand away when he tries to ease it into my pocket. I’m not in the
mood for his games. “Tomas?” I remind him.
“They probably took him to
the Dump.” Nuri leads me over to where thick cabled struts reach up
to touch the underside of the Bridge.
Tall pillars hold up the structure,
attached to cables that creak when the wind blows, and way up
against the bottom of the Bridge, a wooden walkway spans the water.
Each pillar has a concrete shield wrapping its base, as tall as I
am and covered in scribbled graffiti. Nuri climbs up onto one of
the heavy shields and, perched on its thin edge, reaches down to
help me up.