One Bridge to Burn

Groucho pranced along beside her, never giving her reason to ever use the word “heel”. He wagged his tail as they walked.

“Such a good boy,” she said in the crisp air causing white air to shoot from her mouth with each word.

Clouds drifted above covering the blue sky and blotting out the little sun that was offered.  With the clip that the clouds were moving at, no doubt snow would be coming soon.

Yeah, Groucho thought, if I am such a good boy, why did you poison me?

“We won’t stay out here too long, Groucho. Too cold.” She pulled her denim jacket tight around her. The blue of her tight jeans matched the jacket and were accented with a slightly different blue in her scarf. The black stiletto ankle boots gave off a more sophisticated sexual image than the rest.

Maybe I’ll trip you as we cross the bridge and you’ll drown in the river. Wait, I bought you those boots!

She stopped at the edge of the bridge and looked over the edge. “So, Groucho…this is where I did Tim.”

I should be so lucky…wait, who’s Tim?  The bridge had metal garters that allowed Groucho to look between and see the ground a few hundred feet below where a small creek was frozen over and patches of snow covered the slight valley.

My first boyfriend after high school.  Such a sweet guy.”

Is that how you thought of me before you poisoned me? That said, this would be a fun place to do anyone. I always liked fucking in public.

She pointed. “They found his body right there.”

Wait, you mean did as in offed? You killed him, too.

“He was easier to trip, seeing as he was drunk.” She sighed. “He was always drunk and always vicious.”

Groucho’s tiny mouth fell open. You’re not serious? You’re a fucking serial killer?

“Then there was Lance who died over there.” She pointed across the road to the other side if the bridge.

Tim, Lance and me? Why Lance?

“Lance was so boring. At least he had money, though…so I did what was necessary.”

Obviously.

Her shoulders slumped.  “He had a glorious cock, though.  Absolutely glorious to ride him and the orgasms he gave me.”

I’m sure that would make Lance feel better.

“Oh, and Phil squealed when he fell. I thought someone heard him.” She looked at the sky for a moment in thought. “Come to think of it, Grant was the only one I didn’t push off of this bridge.”

Grant, too?…no…wait…I was Grant!

“I never felt right about poisoning him. Unfinished business, but he had this irrational fear of bridges.”

I did not!

“He hated bridges and would avoid walking on or under them.”

Bullshit!

“He used to take the number 7 bus and transfer at Grant Fieldhouse Station just so he could avoid the Fifth Street bridge that the number 12 would take him under.”

I liked riding different buses. Had nothing to do with bridges.

Her wistful gaze turned back to the beagle as though she heard his arguments…as though she recognized Grant in those small brown eyes. “He was the best lover.  Most caring.  Most sensual.  Most passionate.”

Yeah, then why am I here?

“Groucho? Hungry boy? Ready for some food?”

Feed me! The word food had him nearly doing a three foot vertical leap.

“Let’s go eat.” She pulled the leash and of they walked.

Groucho’s mind focused on the good that would sin be in his belly, all of the conversation pushed to the back of his mind…well, for now, anyway.

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