Ken Bruen - Merrick

closed case, Charlie will have killed the freak and Mr.’s Trent and high the fookin-tailed

it outa Dodge.’

He smiled.

My patience was ragged to put it mildly and I went

‘What, I say something funny?’

He waved it away, said

‘Just………..you sounded like an American just then.’

I grabbed the Sig from the table, said

‘Tool up yer own self, right?’

He said

‘After I got shot, I got my Dad’s Pump shotgun from the attic.’

I said

‘The Getaway.’

‘What?

‘Steve mc Queen in Sam Peckinpah’s movie, put the Pump into iconic territory.’

He stood, said

‘Jesus, you and the freaking movies.’

Then he had a thought, asked

‘Did Steve Mc Queen survive, in the movie I mean?’

‘Rent it, find out for yourself.’

Merrick was nervous. Had bought a bottle of Black Bush mill’s as cover. Ryan had told

him it was the cream de la crème of Irish whiskeys. Of course Ryan hadn’t described it

thus, he’d said

‘It’s the bollocks!’

That shit cost.

A lot.

He got to Charlie’s and yup, there was the man, working the place, glad-handing and

schmoozing like he’d won the lottery. That helped Merrick to get into character.

Charlie saw him smile broadened, approached, asked

‘Bro, to what do we owe the pleasure so soon?’

Merrick’s paranoia but was there just a slight edge on the…… so soon?

He thought

‘Never no fucking mind, I’ll put that edge into orbit…. bro.’

He handed over the Black and Charlie whistled, went

‘Wow, are we celebrating?’

Merrick let a slightly confused look appear, said

‘We should be, I need your cop instinct’s a minute.’

Charlie was all eagerness to help.

But first

……………….sit

Chill

…………………………….break the seal on the Bush mills.

Did.

Got behind a shot or two of that amber gold then Charlie asked

‘What’s breaking buddy?’

Merrick told him the case had been solved, and Charlie, raising his glass in anticipatory

toast, asked

‘But that’s good, right?’

Merrick explained in detail about the roses, the credit card, Mr.’s Trent, took a moment,

said

‘Ryan I are going to take a trip to Queen’s tomorrow, check it out.’

Charlie put his glass, untouched on the table, asked

‘Is that wise, I mean, why not hand the whole crap shoot to the cops?’

Merrick smiled, said

‘My sentiments exactly but Ryan, you know, he’s got his idea the accountant might be

the real killer.’

Charlie said

‘Yeah, I can see where’s he coming from, so, tomorrow then.’

Merrick said

‘I’d have gone today but the kid, he’s tied up so we go tomorrow.’

Charlie raised his glass now, said

‘Good luck with that buddy.’

And ten minutes later, said

‘Oh crap, I got to go bro, a damn delivery held up in The Bronx, you believe that shit?’

They said warm goodbye’s and Charlie said

‘And thanks for the bottle, sure appreciate that.’

Merrick sat for a while, contemplating another drink. But he couldn’t. Then something

struck him. Way back, when Charlie had been setting up his joint, he’d been searching

for a good chef. Figuring a dinner menu was the real goal mine, drinks sure but the food

was the real goldmine.

He’d asked Merrick who knew a guy from his Synagogue. The fuck was his name?

Jacob……………..Jacob……yes, Hoffer. They’d used to kid him about Jimmy Hoffa,

saying the feds should check his Ravioli for Hoffa. Jacob had said to Merrick

‘ A kosher joke, ok but Hoffa, I mean, do I look like a Wop?’

No.

Charlie had left the Bush Mills on the table. Some hurry. Irish guy to leave that. He

grabbed the bottle, headed for the kitchen. No one stopped him, a guy who the boss

regularly drank with?

Get outa here.

The kitchen was closing down, rush hour done.Save for a dish washing guy

and………..bingo…….Jacob. It’s an unfortunate cliché that chef’s are drunks. Jacob just

liked to drink while he was working and so he worked a lot.

Not so much Kitchen Confidential as Kitchen homicidal.

Merrick went

‘Shalom.’

Jacob turned, his chefs hat, askew, which could be good news as it meant he was half in

the bag, not so good if he was past that stage. Jacob had a temper. He shouted

‘Merrick, you very bad Jew.’

Promising.

That from anyone else, Merrick would have handed them their teeth.

Merrick plopped the bottle on the counter, said

‘ For you Rabbi.’

Jacob, immediately noticed the bottle had a few belts out if it, asked

‘You bring me seconds,

Looked to the heavens, continued

‘This guy!’

And hugged Merrick.

Merrick tried not to look at his watch, he didn’t want to leave Ryan hanging with two bad

guys. Poured a lethal wallop and handed it to Jacob who exclaimed

‘You trying to get me drunk?’

Merrick held up the palms of his hands, went

‘As if.’

Jacob raised his glass, said

‘L,chaim.’

Knocked it back.

Merrick thought

‘Fuck, he’ll fall on his ass.’

Nope.

Got loquacious.

Started

‘This job, I tell you Steve, The Mick is so far behind in his arrears, he’s going to have to

do a runner.’

The guy washing the dishes had stopped, his ears primed and Jacob picked up a skillet,

threw it at him, shouted

‘Get the fuck out of my kitchen you snooping raghead.’

Merrick prompted

‘You’re kidding?’

‘On the star of David, he is leaking money but it’s like he don’t give a fuck, you know

what I’m saying, they’re going to shut it down around his Mich head and he could care?’

Merrick had what he wanted, said

‘Got to go the rest room.’

Jacob was on the turn, the aggressive drunk emerging, shouted

‘Go go, everybody so damn busy.’

Thought he had to call Ryan but the dumb fuck, he’d no mobile.

Jesus.

He was running.

I was stuck on the Queensbury Bridge.

Jesus wept. Gridlock. Time eating away.

By now, Charlie might already be on his way to the accountant and Mr.’s Trent. By the time I finally got there, I was shit out of luck and time. Could feel it in my bones. Very bad feeling.

I parked down a bit from the Accountant’s Office. Got out, The Sig in the pocket of my old combat jacket, yeah, from the old days, figuring, I never got killed it. Ok, you do what you can and pull in every superstition you got. I’d have prayed but that was an aspiration too far.

God and I parted ways when Molly got her head blown off.

No sign of Merrick’s car.

When in doubt, go in the back.

I did, hearing nothing, not a sound.

I moved through the building, gun out, ready. To the office, the door closed. Bit down, flet one bead of perspiration drip down my forehead, it was so quiet, I swore I could hear it plink on the floor. Opened the door real easy to….

The accountant, sitting having a drink, Charlie, a gun at Mr.’s Trent’s head. She was tied and bound to a chair, her eyes terrorized in her head. Charlie said

‘Ryan, the fuck kept you?’

‘Gridlock.’

He nodded

‘Ah, the bridge, it’s a bitch this time of evening.’

…………………..but here we are. Jesus, my manners, must be the high drama of this day, let me introduce Bob, you met before but now, see the real Bob.’