The Rooster Bar

7

By the time they arrived, the three westbound lanes of the bridge were blocked and traffic was backing up. Todd parked on a grassy knoll near a ramp and they hurried to the scene. Half a dozen D.C. police cars were parked haphazardly on the bridge with their doors open and blue lights flashing. Radios squawked as cops milled about. Two of them were standing on the sidewalk at the railing, peering into the dark river below. An ambulance with its siren wailing was inching through the stalled traffic trying to reach the scene. A hundred feet onto the bridge, a cop stopped them.

“Get back!” he growled. “Where do you think you’re going?”

They stopped and absorbed the mayhem before them. Over his shoulder and beyond the police cars they saw Gordy’s blue Mazda, sitting dead still with its lights on in the center lane. Its driver’s door was open.

“What happened?” Mark asked the cop.

“None of your business. Now get away from here.”

Todd said, “Sir, we know him. He’s our friend. What’s happened to him?”

The cop took a deep breath and relaxed. He said, “He jumped, okay? He stopped his car and jumped.”

Zola screamed and buried her face in her hands. Todd grabbed her before she fell. Mark’s knees buckled and he almost vomited. He managed to say, “No, there’s no way.”

The cop took Mark by the shoulders and nodded to his left where two officers were consoling a middle-aged woman. He said, “That woman was driving behind him when he stopped. She saw him run to the edge and jump. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no way,” Mark said again, and Todd led Zola to the wide sidewalk a few feet away. She sat down hard with her back against the concrete railing of the bridge and wailed inconsolably.

“I’m sorry,” the officer said again. “We’re running his tags. He’s from West Virginia, right?”

“Right. His name is Gordon Tanner. We’re students.”

“Come with me.” Mark followed him past the police cars and the cops and they stopped behind Gordy’s car. Mark stared at it in horror and shook his head. “Over here,” the cop said, and he led Mark to the edge of the bridge. Two cops with handheld search beams were shining lights on the dark waters of the Potomac. A speedboat with more blue lights was racing toward them.

The cop said, “This is where he went over. There’s ice down there. No one could last more than two minutes.”

Mark stared at the water and watched the speedboat go under the bridge. He covered his eyes and began sobbing.

A detective in a trench coat walked over and asked, “Who’s this?”

The cop said, “He’s a friend, knows the guy.”

Mark looked at the detective and tried to compose himself. The detective said, “I’m sorry, son. What can you tell us?”

Mark wiped his eyes and gritted his teeth. In a shaky voice, he managed to say, “He’s our friend and he’s been having some trouble lately. Got a DUI last night and we’ve been keeping an eye on him all day. We were afraid he might do something stupid.”

“Does he have mental problems?”

“No, he’s just off his meds.” His voice cracked and he wiped his eyes again. “I can’t believe this.”

“I’m sorry, son. I’m Detective Swayze, DCPD. Here’s my card with my cell number.”

Mark took the card and managed to say, “Thanks.”

“We’re searching now and it’ll take some time, but we’ll find him. Do you know his family?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s he from?”

“Martinsburg, West Virginia.”

“Do you mind giving them a call? They’ll probably want to get over here.”

That was the last phone call Mark wanted to make, but he nodded and said, “Sure. Can we help with the search, or something?”

“Sorry, son, there’s nothing for you to do but wait. Text me your phone number and I’ll call when we find him.”

“How long will it take?”

The detective shrugged and said, “You never know with something like this. I suggest you go someplace warm and wait. I’ll call you later with an update. Tell the family they can call me too. And look, we’ve searched the car but there’s no note. Do you know where he lives?”

“I do.”

“Okay. Do you mind checking his place to see if he left behind a note? They usually do. If you find something, call me at once.”

“I’ll do that.”

Swayze put a hand on Mark’s shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, son.”

“Thanks.” Mark began walking along the sidewalk. Another ambulance was approaching from the west and traffic was backing up in that direction as well. There seemed to be a million flashing lights. Two larger boats with search beams had joined the first and they circled under the archways of the bridge.

Mark and Todd helped Zola to her feet. They were freezing, numb, but too shocked to feel anything. They half carried her back to the car, which was blocked by traffic. Todd started the engine and the heater and they sat in stunned horror and watched the nightmare. Zola wept in the front passenger’s seat. Todd slumped against his window and looked like a ghost. Mark sobbed and tried to catch his breath. Minutes passed as his phone kept vibrating. He finally took it out of his pocket and said, “Brenda’s called four times. Someone has to tell her.”

Todd said, “That someone is you, Mark. You have no choice.”

“Why can’t you call her?”

“Because you know her better. She’s calling you, not me.”

Mark clutched his phone and waited. A tow truck with yellow lights inched its way through the stalled traffic and weaved around the police cars. Someone with authority decided the ambulances would not be needed, so they left, along with a few of the police cars.

“You gonna call her?” Todd asked.

“I’m trying to find the courage,” Mark said.

“This is my fault,” Zola said, sobbing.

“It’s no one’s fault and you know it,” Todd said, but with little conviction.

“I did this,” she said. “I did this.”

The yellow lights turned around, and they watched the tow truck come toward them in an eastbound lane. It passed them with Gordy’s car on its rear wheels. More boats arrived and the flotilla fanned out south of the bridge, searching. The police cleared two of the westbound lanes and the stalled traffic began moving slowly.

Mark said, “What do I tell her? I can’t say he’s dead because we don’t know for sure, right?”

Todd said, “He’s dead, Mark. Tell her he jumped off a bridge into the Potomac River and they’re searching for his body.”

“I can’t do it.”

“You have no choice.”

Mark took a deep breath but did not make the call. He said, “I was with him when he made his decision. We were at the Waterfront, and Gordy was staring at this bridge. When he turned around he was calm and smiling. He made up his mind and was at peace with his plans. I was too stupid to realize it.”

“We are not doing the blame game, damn it,” Todd said.

“Well, you can bet your ass Brenda will point fingers and I’ll be the target. I lied to her all afternoon. I should’ve told her the truth and let her deal with him.”

“We did what we could. It’s not our fault he cracked up.”

“It’s all my fault!” Zola shrieked. “All of this.”

“Stop it, Zola!” Todd snapped.

A cop with a flashlight motioned for them to move, and Todd eased off the grass and onto a westbound lane. They moved slowly over the bridge. Three patrol cars were parked bumper to bumper in the outside lane. A group of cops huddled on the sidewalk, near the spot where Gordy jumped.

“Where are we going?” Mark asked.

“I don’t know.”

They crossed the river, turned south onto the GW Parkway, and got off on Columbia Island. Todd parked in an empty lot at the LBJ Memorial Grove, with a marina in front of them and hundreds of boats rocking gently at the docks. They stared into the darkness as the car’s heater strained and heaved. Mark’s phone began vibrating in his pocket.

“Are you going to call her?”

Mark looked at his phone and said, “I don’t have to. She’s calling me.” He opened a rear door, got out, and started walking toward the dock. He put the phone to his ear and said, “Brenda, something terrible has happened.”