O'Connell Bridge - Pt. 1

LC shook the paper and gazed at the words handprinted across the newsprint; “O’Connell Bridge, 2200 hours, June 30, Before I DIE.” LC shook the paper in disbelief and stared at the red words splashed across the sports page.

“Suzi, where did you get this paper?” He asked the middle-aged woman leaning on the counter waiting to take his order.

“Why, Liam, it was just one left here by a couple of customers.” She frowned as she checked on the few other customers. “It’s been a slow morning so I do remember them. There were three of them, foreign, they had a funny accent. What’s the problem?”

LC turned the paper so Suzi could study it.

“Let me see.” She took the paper and grinned.

Thunder rattled the windows of the Waffle House as LC waited for her comments. Late spring in Wilmington, North Carolina, meant a slew of thunderstorms blowing up the coast. He glanced out at his truck as rain pelted the restored, freshly painted, red F-100 pickup parked next to the door.

At six in the morning, the city was just beginning to wake up, and LC was headed home from the overnight shift at the New Hanover Hospital remote emergency room. The Waffle House was his normal morning stop, as his route home took him straight down Market Street through the city.

LC swirled the black liquid in front of him as he added the pre-packaged creamer.

“Oh, wow, a big red-headed boy like you getting love notes on a morning newspaper,” she giggled. “Like I said, I didn’t really notice them, other than the way they talked, just took their order. There were three of them, two guys, one older, and a young woman. Couldn’t tell age, I didn’t get a good look at her, but people coming in from the rain generally just look like they’ve run through a car wash. Everybody kinda looks the same,” she laughed. “Let me see.” She thumbed through a couple of tickets. “Here it is. They each had bacon, eggs, and toast with coffee. I remember that the lady asked about hot tea, but declined what we carry. Paid cash and left only a buck tip. Didn’t talk much, just ate, I guess read the paper, but I didn’t notice anything. Refilled their coffee once. Let me see that paper.”

LC handed her the folded sports page.

“Maybe it’s just a practical joke. We got a bunch of characters who come in here. You oughta see some of the stuff people leave. Glad we have some rubber gloves handy.”

LC scarcely paid attention to her comments. “I suppose.” He sipped his coffee as she handed him the folded paper and read it again and then handed it back to the waitress. “Better toss this, one of the religious wackos that come in for coffee might think the world is ending or something. Next thing you know the Waffle House will make national news.” LC held up his fork and pretended it was a microphone. “Channel 12 reporting from Waffle House on Highway 17, in Ogden. A mysterious newspaper appeared smeared with waffle syrup yesterday, more at six.”

Suzi cackled. “Be just like’m.”

LC put a $5 bill on the counter, uncurled his six foot two inch body, and stood to leave. “I’m out of here if you’ll give me coffee in a go-cup.”

“I serve all the TV types.” The jovial waitress quickly poured a tall cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup, handed LC the lid, and chirped, “You’ll have to doctor it.”

LC added cream and fastened the lid. “Later.” He pulled up the collar of his jacket. “Wet heads to the rescue.”

The rain had barely eased so he raced to the truck with his cup of coffee. “Seems odd that the dry guy is getting wet carrying a cup of wet liquid.” Nobody answered in the empty parking lot.

He headed down Market Street beating the rush of traffic by only a few minutes, a routing he had mastered over the last three years. The streets were wet and puddled as he splashed toward his Fourth Street apartment—a three-bedroom space upstairs in an older home. He shared the apartment with two other students. There was no central heat or cooling in their apartment, just window A/C units and space heaters.

LC climbed the stairs and walked through the unlocked doorway. As usual, on a weekend, the two girls from the floor below were sacked out on the couches, roommate Walter McKinsey, affectionately called Big Mac, was asleep in the overstuffed chair; game controller equipment connecting all them to an unchanging television screen. Third roommate Arthur was behind closed doors, either sleeping or studying—he was the smart one, and didn’t socialize at the same level as the rest of the group.

LC tiptoed to his room. He shed his scrubs, put on his noise suppression headphones, and then collapsed on his bed. He didn’t know what the time was when the pounding on his bedroom door awoke him. LC stumbled to the door and unlocked it. “What?”

Arthur, the quiet roommate didn’t even look up, just walked away saying, “There’s someone at the door for you.”

LC shook the sleep from his head, pulled on last night’s scrub pants, and plodded toward the entrance. The girls and Big Mac were gone. Tom Murphy was on the couch with a game controller. “Don’t you have a home?”

“Yeah, but you have my controllers, I came up to get’m, but decided not to unhook since you have the new game.” Murphy lived on the bottom floor and often frequented LC’s apartment. He was about LC’s size so missing sweatshirts were often suspected to be in Murphy’s closet. Mac and LC believed Murphy wasn’t stealing, just oblivious to whose sweatshirt he picked up when he left.

LC shook his head and continued to the door. “Yeah,” he said as he opened the door.

The work-uniformed man impatiently rocking back and forth pushed a clipboard toward LC, “Sign.”

LC signed the delivery receipt and handed the clipboard back. The man handed LC an envelope, then turned and trotted down the steps.

LC tore the seal of the envelope. “Sheesh.” It was filled with scraps of paper. He carried the envelope to the kitchen and shook the scraps out on the bar counter.

“Whatcha got there LC?” Murphy looked up from the game.

“Wish the heck I knew. A bunch of mixed up letters. Looks like a dozen or so of little notes, some are blank.”

Murphy put the controller on the coffee table and walked to the kitchen counter. “Cool. It’s a puzzle.”

“Arthur,” LC called. “Come out of hibernation and look at this.”

Arthur’s door opened and he looked out. “What?” Arthur was a short African American man with a perpetual scowl. “I’m studying for a Physics exam Monday.”

“This,” LC pointed. “Came from that delivery guy, who you woke me for.”

Arthur frowned, which was not totally unusual; “It’s 10 AM.”

LC yawned. “Which means I got maybe three hours of sleep.”

Arthur sorted through the scraps. “The blank ones are probably spaces. The June and the 30 are obviously together.”

“Crap, I know what it says.” LC collapsed onto a barstool. “I got the same message this morning in a newspaper.” He moved the scraps around. “The blank ones are spaces. O’Connell space Bridge, space 2200, space June, space 30, space Before, space I, space DIE. The word ‘hours’ is missing, so it’s a little different.”

Arthur started back to his room. “Someone’s pulling your chain. Don’t bother me again; hard enough to concentrate with doors slamming around here.”

Murphy began unhooking the controllers. “I think so too. You obviously made some weirdo mad, probably at the Emergency Room, and he’s trying to play with your brain. By the way, the controllers with the purple dot are mine. I put paint on them to distinguish them from Mac’s. Alex came over last night and brought beer. I loaned them my controllers so all four could play; that is Alex, Caitlin, Betty Jo, and Mac. This one,” he held a controller up. “The paint is like scraped off partially.”

“How many controllers do you have?”

“Four.”

“Is that the fifth one?”

“Yeah.”

“Duh.”

Murphy put the controller back in the box. “Too early to think about controllers.”

“You didn’t stay for the beer?” LC continued to move around the scraps of paper.

“Naw, I got off at 10 and then crashed. You woke me when you came in this morning. Walk quietly on the steps please.”

“Yeah, hey, I’m headed for Castle Hayne, so go take a nap. Mike needs to see this crap.”

Murphy shook his head, “Can’t go back to bed, I’m going in as soon as possible.”

LC laughed. “Working banquets?”

Murphy groaned. “Cleaning up from banquets, therefore no tips.” Murphy worked weekends at the Convention Center banquet room and in the kitchen at the community collage snack bar. “You’re really going to see Mike? Is that wise?”

Mike was LC’s brother. The two did not get along was the best description anyone could give. Mike was older and married to his third wife, Bambi. The last time LC visited Mike, at a family Super Bowl gathering, there was a fight and LC ended up with a broken nose. But, Mike was family. “I’ll carry a white flag.”

“He oughta be glad you didn’t press charges.”

“You tell’m that.”

Murphy grinned, “I’ll pass. I guess your folks are out of the question?”

LC shook his head. “First of all, I’m not driving to Myrtle, second of all, there’s no need to panic mama, and third if dad is not on the golf course he is probably passed out drunk in his easy chair watching baseball, not to be disturbed.”

Murphy rolled up his controllers and pushed past LC. “Y’all put the dysfunction in dysfunctional.”

LC pointed at the door. “Leave.”

As Murphy departed, LC knocked on Arthur’s door. “Off to Castle Hayne, you have the place to yourself.”

From behind the door, Arthur’s voice called. “Good. I thought I told you not to disturb me. Oh, let me know if Mike kills you, I’ll move to your room.”

LC followed Murphy out the door. “I’ll go by the office first, maybe he’s working this weekend. He usually does. Probably to avoid Bambi.”

Murphy looked over his shoulder. “Why don’t you call first?”

“I tried, he won’t take my calls.”

“Oh.”

Months earlier, LC had remarked to Mike and several others gathered at the Super Bowl party that he had seen Bambi before, indeed had seen Bambi dancing as an exotic dancer in a Jacksonville nightclub when he attended a celebration of a friend’s new Marine Corps Officer commission.

The Super Bowl party had gone downhill from there with LC’s subsequent broken nose. Mike hadn’t spoken to him since.

It took 15 minutes for LC to drive to Mike’s office and was somewhat alarmed to see Mike’s Escalade parked in the parking lot of the Architectural Company building in the Murryville Station office park. LC sat in his pickup and watched the building for a few minutes before getting out and walking up to the glass and brick offices. Because other companies shared offices in the expansive structure, the ground floor doors were unlocked during daylight hours, including weekends. LC waved at the security guard. “Going up to the Architects.” He rode the elevator to the fourth floor and walked across the hallway to the Architect’s glassed in offices. However, those doors were locked. LC stood looking in the glass door. “Maybe he’s asleep at his desk or out to lunch with someone.” LC didn’t knock, but a few seconds later Mike appeared around the corner of a partition. He simply stood staring at LC for a full minute. Finally, LC said, “Mike, I need to speak with you.”

Mike continued to stare without moving.

LC took the envelope from his pocket and held it up. “Somebody wants to kill me or someone is going to die.”

Mike finally walked to the door and unlocked it. “Okay. Let me see the letter.”

LC handed Mike the envelope.

Mike looked in the envelope obviously expecting a letter. “What is this? A joke?”

“Let me put it together for you.” LC scooted past Mike, took the envelope back and then poured the notes onto the receptionist’s desk. He carefully arranged the letters into a sentence, “O’Connell Bridge 2200 June 30, Before I DIE.” LC stepped back. “Special messenger service brought the envelope by just before I came up here.”

Mike looked down at the notes then up at LC. “So who did you insult?”

“Nobody, I swear it. I go to school, go to work, and then sleep till it starts all over again. Oh, and I got this same note delivered to me on the sports page of the newspaper early this morning.”

Mike looked at LC like he didn’t believe it. “Like I said, it’s a practical joke or you insulted someone. That’s all. Have you talked to the folks?”

“No.”

“Don’t, and don’t worry mom. How about Willy?”

“No.”

“Don’t tell him either, he’ll get all official with you.”

Willy was their much older brother who was a Deputy Assistant Superintendent of New Hanover Public Schools.

“Check.”

“Doris and Jean don’t need to be involved. I’ll call them if you get killed or something.” Doris and Jean were their two sisters and both lived in Raleigh, were married with children. “Cause this is probably just a prank.”

“I only get birthday cards, I don’t even think I have their numbers or addresses. Nice of you to call when I’m dead though,” his snide tone didn’t seem to effect Mike.

“Text me if you hear anything more, otherwise don’t call. Especially don’t call the house. That is unless you can understand Italian swearing.”

“Okay, why?”

“Bambi is still angry about you. In fact she wanted me to find someone to take a contract out on you.”

LC felt sick at the stomach. “Really?”

“She didn’t think anyone in the family knew about her former career, and when you spouted off, several family members took for granted you were right. And a couple of the guys remembered seeing the marquee or something. I think somebody even said they had seen her too.”

LC blinked. “I was right. But, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Well, now she can’t get a job at the school, ‘cause Willy or someone apparently spoke to the superintendent.”

LC shifted on his feet, he felt guilty but said, “like, wouldn’t it have gotten out anyway? Why isn’t she mad at Willy?”

Mike shook his head. “She was in the process of changing her name. In fact, she’s going by Brenda; but now everyone knows, you oughta see the looks she gets, even in church. So don’t come poking around; never mess with the temper of an Italian girl.”

“Gosh Mike, I’m sorry; but I’ll stay clear. You don’t think she sent the note do you?”

“I’ll find out, but I doubt it; she’s more straight forward. I mean like she offered her brother ten grand to appease her anger toward you.”

To be continued...