Read The Bridge Chronicles Trilogy for Free Online

gasped, “I assume there’s a problem?”
    “You goddamn right, dere’s a problem!” Nicky shouted from over Bridge’s right shoulder. Bridge heard Nicky’s pimp cane tapping the pavement, and there he was, dressed in the finest white Egyptian cotton suit, a purple and gold tie setting off the stark whiteness of the suit with almost painful intensity, fat cheeks pouring over the coat’s high collar. Nicky never could let go of his LSU roots, garish “Geaux Tigers” colors queering up what would otherwise be acceptable fashion sense. “We got a big fucking problem dere.”
    “I’m sure we can discuss it rationally like two grown men,” Bridge responded, finally able to stand his full six feet again. He spared a glance at Aristotle, who stood with arms folded trying to look mean and succeeding. A few of Nicky’s guys were eyeing his stance nervously. They weren’t used to fighting people with the ability to fight back, but Aristotle’s non-threatening body language confused their limited intelligence.
    “No, we done passed the point of rational men, Bridge. You set me up a doser.”
    Bridge thought back over his recent dealings with Nicky. He would much rather never know a guy like Nicky, but in his business, pickiness was not an option.
    The transplanted Cajun ran a crew of thieves and leg-breakers, passing money up the chain of organized crime to people with much more juice. He was just as likely to steal goods from shipping trucks as he was to steal credit information from GlobalNet accounts, and never without a healthy dose of needless violence. Where other criminals were elegant, Nicky was a rabid dog. He liked hurting people. Bridge had set him up with a hacker, a generally reliable scrub named Z@m@, for some big heist Nicky had planned. “Z@m@’s clean, Nicky. He swore to me he was clean.”
    “He coulda swore he was the Queen of Fuckin’ England, and he still woulda been lying. He got nicked selling a month’s worth of Trip to undercover CLED. Now he’s doing a dime upstate and I got no hacker.” Nicky leaned angrily on the cane. “So I’m taking it out of yo’ ass.” He nodded tersely to his crew, but they hesitated, eyes glued to the giant bodyguard. Nicky cocked his head, eyeing Aristotle with a petulant squint. “We gonna have an issue with dat, big man?”
    Aristotle shook his head, his hands held out in front of him in a gesture of peace. “I don’t pay him enough to sully his hands on your boys,” Bridge quipped with a resigned sigh.
    “Maybe you oughtta t’ink ‘bout dat dere,” Nicky snickered. “Might save you a few teeth.”
    “I got expenses. Just don’t bust my face too much. Clients don’t react well to black eyes.” The crew started to close in on Bridge. He raised his hands for one final plea. “Look, what can I do to make this up? I did dois up? n’t know he was on Trip. Hell, half of these guys are on it 24/7 and you’d never know it. Most of ‘em claim it makes them better crackers. I can get you another guy!”
    “Oh, you gon’ do dat, sucker. But I can’t just let you off with a warning. You got to pay a fee for my time and trouble, or else da’ community gon’ t’ink I’m weak.” The first blow caught Bridge across the back of his legs, bringing him down to his knees in a puddle with a splashy thud. It felt like a bat or a club. A boot landed squarely in his breadbasket, sending the air rushing out of his body again. A fist across his jaw made him angry.
    “FUCK, Joey, I told you not the face!” Bridge mumbled over a swelling jaw. He spit a bloody mess on the ground.
    “Sorry, Bridge,” Joey offered with a sheepish grin. Bridge had hooked him up with a digital pimp that provided virtual ageplay scenarios. Joey liked the jailbait, but Nicky frowned on his boys cruising the high schools, so cyberbait was the solution. Another shot with the club across Bridge’s back put his face on the ground, a wet, gritty mess sticking to his clean-shaven