Ken Bruen - Merrick

‘And Jerry Garcia died.’

She smiled, said

‘Not to The Comanche.’

The whole of the staff suddenly appeared, carrying a large birthday cake, ablaze with

candles and fook, they sang, Happy Birthday.’

I swear to God, she blushed or maybe it was the booze.

I said

‘Make a wish.’

She stared at me for a long moment, said in a very quiet voice

‘I did, the very first moment I saw you.’

Do you ask?

Do you fook.

The man in the corner, had followed each move of the evening, even able to follow

outside, hanging in the shadows, seeing Merrick, seeing all and thinking

………………………….thinking fucking lethal

‘Merrick, how sweet it is and will be.’

When we finally got out of there, Shona was building a nice buzz, she said

‘I wish this day would just go and on.’

She insisted we go to my place, despite me protesting it was crap. She said

‘But your crap.’

Like I could answer that.

After we’d made love and were lying, catching our breath, she intoned

‘Stone Fox nodded to the boy, cradling his rifle close, then the town watched in silence as

little Willy, carrying searchlight, walked the last ten feet………….across the final line.’

I asked,

‘What?’

‘Children’s book, by John Reynolds Gardner, about Stone Fox, a famous reclusive sled

racer.’

Added

………………….And Indian, I grew up on that book, did you have a book Ryan, when

you were little?’

Yeah, Dracula.

Said

‘Moby Dick.’

‘That’s not a children’s book?’

‘It had a big fish, that was childish enough for us.’

I was only half kidding.

‘’I HAVE PERSONAL PROBLEMS.’

SAID BOBBY FISCHER, AS HE SCORED

CHECKMATE.

Merrick picked me up the next morning, just after ten, Shona was still sleeping, and I’d

time to pick up coffee’s from the Deli on the corner.

They were getting to know me there, called me Irish. That we don’t mind, it’s what we

are but Paddy, you’re fooked and gone. Merrick had a stripped down Chevy, looked old,

looked like him. I got in, handed over the coffee and he went

‘What, no Danish?’

I said

‘Yeah, you’re welcome.’

He sipped it, said

‘Black and sweet.’

‘Like your soul.’

I said,

asked

‘What’s with the Chevy?’

‘Belongs to my boy, he’s at Art College, it needed a tune up so I took care of that.’

Night before, just as Shona was about to drift off, she asked

‘What do you guys talk about?’

The correct answer, or the one you give if you want to keep her is

‘You sweetheart.’

Women have deep, lay it all out there sharing. Guys?

like fook.

We talk sports

And

Sports.

Mostly.

We don’t EVER, use words like

Share

Bonding

And

Dr Phil

Is the great white dope.

Spain had taken The World Cup during the summer and I said to Merrick that the USA

were definitely getting their act together with soccer, their goalie, Howard had even been

with Man United. Serious fooking kudos. Merrick said

‘You guys are really into soccer, right?’

‘Shite yeah, I’d a few Euro on Argentina but they phoned in their crucial game.’

Then, Jesus, I was off and running, rapping intense about the beauty of Barcelona,

Torres

………when he cut me off

‘’Whoa buddy, I said I was mildly interested but a lecture, did I sign on?’

I did what any decent Irish guy would so

Sulked.

It was quite a drive to Queens so he glanced at me, said

‘Jeez, Ryan, come on, I didn’t mean that, tell me about Mara donna, wasn’t he the

manager of Argentina.?

I finished my coffee, thinking a Danish would have been good, but a smoke, that would

have been classic, like after love making but smoke in an American’s car?

Get outa here.

I said

‘He’s a flawed genius who has now become a genius who is flawed.’

Merrick laughed, said

‘Like I’ve one freaking notion what that means.’

Well, I tried and sometimes, trying is ultimately, trying.

That I kept to me own self.

I asked

‘So this guy?’

Merrick was watching of the exit, said

‘James P. Malone, an accountant, and like I said, no priors, no wife, no nada.’

He added

‘He lives and works in Ditmars Boulevard, it’s a predominantly Greek outpost and if

you’re real good this time out, I’ll treat you to Baklava and an espresso at Karyotins,

worth

the trip to Queens alone.’

We were cruising through Steinway, East of Astoria. I asked

‘Steinway, like in piano?’

‘Yup, he bought up the district for homes for his workers.’

He took his right hand off the wheel, pointed towards the bay, said

‘Off shore is Rikers, the most overcrowded joint in the city.’

We pulled up on 31 stSt, just a spit from Malone’s place. Merrick was about to launch, I

said

‘I got it, shut the fook up.’

He nearly smiled.

Malone’s building was neat, clean, discrete. A small wooden shingle advertising his

accountancy business.

We went in, a large open space, almost ten people working at PC.s, and a sing that led to

reception. This was a different set up to our Tribeca gig, the woman here was close to

seventy, no Lindsay Logan. I kind of liked the Tribeca mode. She looked up, rasped,

testifying to a life of nicotine,

‘Help you?’

Her tone, weary, like she gave a rat’s ass if she could or not, help us that is. She’d seen

some crap, and didn’t look like she was expecting to win the numbers anytime soon.

Her name plate read, M.Trenton.

Merrick said

‘Madam, we’ve an appointment with Mr. Malone.’

She looked up, Madam?……….took a moment, then

‘Oh the cop, yeah, go right in?’

We were about to when she asked

‘And who’s the hot babe with you?’

I loved her already.

Merrick, not so much..

Malone was the poster boy for accountancy, wearing glasses, a muted suit, hair done in a

comb over, the saddest sight on the planet, and a desk, not mahogany, but serviceable

steel, an air of bewildered wonder about him, he said

‘Officer Merrick and your partner, how can I be of help?’

Merrick didn’t correct him, said

‘Thank you for your time Mr. Malone, we’re investigating some child disappearances and

wonder if you might have ever seen these kids?’

No indignation form him……..no

‘What the fook you asking me about horrendous crimes for?’

Mr. Citizen,

if we’d said

‘We’re taking you in.’

He’d probably have put on the cuff’s his own self to accommodate us.

That was just horseshit to me, the guy was fookin with us on a whole different level or,

he was as dumb as he wanted us to think.

He looked, intently at the photo’s, said

‘Oh my Lord, no, sorry, I wish I could help.’

I was about to launch but Merrick stepped on my foot, hard. Said

‘Mr. Malone, thank you, wish all our inquires were met with so much candor.’

Outside, we got in the car, took the scenic route into the city, by the ugly airport.

Ten minutes in to the drive, I said‘

‘No baklava then, guess I didn’t do so good.’

He didn’t answer then suddenly swerved across two lanes of traffic, horns blaring, and

tire’s screeching, managed, barely to pull onto the verge. Turned off the engine, said

‘I owe you something’

Leaned over and smacked me right in the mouth, cracking my front tooth, muttered