The Fraud

The river reflected the city of Northwilde. It fled the mountains and carved dark furrows across the land. It careened through bleak suburbs and crashed into downtown, gathering a scum of polluted refuse and depositing it on slimy banks of discarded fast food wrappers. The squat silhouette of the new bridge jutted out across the water, and the brightest lights in the city had gathered around a twinkling marquee on the shore.

A plump jellyfish of a man moved through the heaving crowd of tuxedos and silk dresses, holding his stumpy arms out to greet a new arrival.

‘Thompson! Glad you could make it.’

‘Glad to be here, Mayor Heckel,’ said Thompson. ‘This bridge has been a long time coming.’

The mayor slipped an arm across Thompson’s shoulders and swept him into the party, a glib smile on his fat lips.

‘A difficult project, to be sure. I doubt it would have succeeded without my political backing,’ he said.

‘Not to mention a certain generous donation from Thompson Electrics. Although I’m sure the planning office were as obstructive as usual.’

‘You can’t imagine!’ he said, still smiling. ‘Of course I don’t expect anything in return, but the city council insists on naming it the Heckel Bridge. It is nice to be recognised.’

‘Good for business, too. I’d be quite happy with a commemorative plaque mentioning my donation. Nothing unreasonable, of course.’

Mayor Heckel grunted, and Thompson grasped a handful of hors d'oeuvres from a nearby platter. He filled his mouth with delicacies, dropping a shower of crumbs on the damp ground.

‘Damn lucky finding that architect, too,’ he mumbled through a mouthful of salmon toast. ‘Way cheaper than anyone expected, right?’

‘And famous, too. Someone said he did some work out east somewhere - very grand,’ said the mayor. Then he looked at his watch and raised his eyebrows in alarm.

‘Is that the time? I’d better get started,’ he said, and shouldered his way to a raised platform at the head of the crowd, leaving Thompson to hoover up the remaining appetisers.

From off-stage, a slender man glanced between the stage and the dark mass of the bridge, to his watch, and then back again. He bit his lip.

Mayor Heckel approached the microphone, then smiled that broad, sweating smile.

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of Northwilde. It is my enormous pleasure to have you all here tonight for the grand opening of Heckel Bridge.’

A ripple of applause echoed out across the river and was carried away into the night.

‘I fought hard to see this project built, and now it stands as a testament to my commitment to this great city.’

Somewhere in the crowd, Thompson bristled.

‘But I am a man of the people, not an engineer,’ said the mayor, pausing for laughter but receiving silence. ‘And now I would like to invite onstage the architect of Heckel Bridge, Andrew Russell.’

Another ripple of applause, and the slender man stepped onto the stage. He received a novelty-sized cardboard cheque with a preposterous sum printed on the front. Then he was in front of the podium, and the people were waiting.

‘Th-thank you,’ he said, half-smiling and blinking rapidly. He glanced at the bridge that loomed over the event. He fumbled with the cheque and pulled at his collar. He looked at the mayor to his right, then he left the stage.

‘I expect he’s tired,’ said Heckel, rushing back to the podium with a frantic smile. ‘Now, to the grand opening!’

The mayor was handed a large plastic button, attached to a long cable that snaked to the bridge. He raised his stubby finger, and then Thompson tackled him to the floor.

‘Fuck you, Heckel!’ he cried. ‘Give me that button!’

The crowd watched as they struggled, crashing across the stage. But Heckel was no match for the younger man, and the button was wrenched from his grasp. Thompson grinned maniacally and thumped it with his palm.

The bridge erupted into light, and all was silent for a moment. Then, a cascade of sparks. Bulbs exploded. Fire swept across the east side of the bridge, and soon the whole structure was ablaze.

The mayor looked frantically about for someone to blame -- for the architect, but he was gone. All around him, people screamed, and the metal screamed with them, and the bridge tumbled into the rushing waters.

Somewhere in the dark, a figure ran alongside the river, with a novelty-sized cardboard cheque flapping wildly under his arm.

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Awarded second place in the weekly short story competition on the 'Writer's Block' Discord server.