Ken Bruen - Merrick

I could feel the drinks, sneaking up on me, not out of the game but a nice buzz. I checked

for quarters, stood up, asked

‘Any preference?’

Took him a minute to realize I meant the Juke, said

‘See if they got any Stones, The Exile On Main St album, I want some dirty rock.’

They didn’t but I choose Rory Gallaher, maybe not dirty but pure rock. Added

U2

Tom Russel

The Saw Doctors

Van The Man

The Chieftains.

When I got back, a basket of chicken wings was on the table with thick slices of soda

bread. Merrick said

‘Soak up the booze.’

If you’d told me I’d be able to eat, but booze doesn’t know from sorrow, so I ate. The

dead child was present at the table, but for now, we acted like Time Out. The horrors on

hold.

Merrick sat back, wiping the grease from his chin, said

‘Few things to touch wings with the false appetite of booze.’

Charley approached, a bottle in his meaty hand, said

’50 year old Black Bush, treat with due reverence.’

We tried.

Sipped and then Merrick asked

‘You were a Guard?’

I muttered

‘Once were Cops.’

He nodded then

‘But you guys, you’re unarmed, right? I mean, fuck, what’s with that gig?’

I said

‘Off duty, we like to, am………..chat to bad guys with hurley’s.’

Led me into trying to explain the National Game to him, finally summed with

‘Think baseball crossed with homicide.’

He laughed, said

‘Sure would like to see that.’

I said

‘Really?’

‘Course, you come to Shea Stadium, I want to know about your guys game.’

I said

‘Next Sunday, Galway are playing Cork in an exhibition game, you want to come?’

‘Fuck yes.’

Merrick looked at his watch, said

‘Shit, I’ve got to get home, my wife will have a damn fit, and I have to open the bar my

own self.’

I reached for my wallet. And Charley was there, said

‘Don’t even think of it buddy.’

I protested,

‘But fook on a bike, I need to do something.’

A twinkle in his eye, he said

‘Sure would love to see one of them there hurling games.’

THE URGENCY OF SHADOWS.

We shared a cab to the West 59 thStreet Bridge. Merrick said

‘We’re getting out.’

We did.

He watched the taillights of the Yellow cab disappear then reached in his jacket,

pulled out the guns, said

‘Gotta toss em.’

Shite, I hate to waste a perfectly good weapon. But my time on The Falls, I knew

a hot piece could get you ten in the cage. I nodded.

He flung them hard and wide. They seemed to circle above the dark water for a

moment, like birds of ill prey. Then they hit with a small splash.

Merrick looked at me, said

‘Ryan, you did real good, you had my back.’

I shrugged it off, with

‘Ary, t’was nothing.’

Another cab was coming along and he hailed it, said

‘I’ll drop you in Brooklyn, then head on home.’

As we hit The Borough, Merrick said

‘I grew up here, me, Gabriel Cohen, lot’s of god guys, we walked The Perfect

Square.’

He was musing on that, then

‘You don’t give a lot away Ryan.’

True.

I said

‘Give it time.’

The cab pulled over and Merrick said

‘I got it.’

I asked

‘We good for the match on Sunday?’

He smiled, and thing is, for such a big guy, hard ass written all over his lived in

face, when he smiled, he lit up, like a five year old kid. He said

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Irish guys pounding each other with sticks,

what’s not to love?’

I watched the cab pull away, thought about secrets. You tell me a guy is an open

book, I’ll tell you he’s full of shite. Or, he just hasn’t had the world beat the living

be-Jaysus outa him enough. And it will.

One of my secrets, I drew out the pack of Lucky Strike, my Zippo, had the logo

………………………….Tower

Fired up.

Americans, love their guns, love their cars but mention a cig, they go downright

fundamental. Do I think it’s hypocritical, no……..just a bloody pain in the arse.

Got inside, put my key in the cheap as shit lock, I’d nothing to steal and turned on

the light. Knew there’d been somebody in my apartment, if 2 rooms constitute

such. Reached inside my old combat jacket, my own insurance, pulled out the Sig

Sauer, racked the slide, moved to the one other room, the bedroom. My instincts

were screaming like a damn banshee but they were the same one’s that kept me

out of Long Kesh. I nudged the bedroom door, the Sig aimed.

On my bed, laid out like a corpse, was a clown suit.

It HAD the desired effect, scared the be-Jaysus out of me. Worse, When my body

stopped pumping adrenaline, I ventured a little closer to the thing, reminded me of

the suits laid out for the dead back home, just before the wake began.

Nearly missed it.

In the top loophole, a four leaf shamrock.

I get spooked, I get movie literate, dunno why, escapism I suppose. I thought of

The Untouchables, and Ness, realizing, he was

………………….Touchable.

SHARDS IN DESPERANCE.

The next week, I was on the girders, up ninety floors, walking the metal like an

Michael Flatley. Only The American Indians really have the hook on that work

and get the big bucks for it. Me, I volunteered when their crew was one short,

he’d fallen the previous Friday. Their foreman, a Comanche, how do I know,

because he told me every fooking time he could, asked

‘Whitey, you think you can handle the clouds.’

I gave him the Galway granite stare, said

‘Let’s see.’

I had a flair for it as I didn’t care. Since I lost my wife and daughter, I really

didn’t give much of a fook for anything. It didn’t make me reckless, just less

pressurized about where I landed. You have a guy who lost everything, what the

Sweet Jesus is going to scare him.

Apart from clowns?

End of the day, the foreman offered me to come have some brews with his crew.

Sure.

A tavern on the lower East Side. Drinking with a bunch of Indians, I thought

‘Yah never know.’

The foreman, named, I kid thee not, Crow, bought me a Lone Star longneck,

cracked his bottle against mine, said

‘You did good, real good.’

I said

‘I like the heights.’

He liked that, pushed

‘Why?’

Told the truth

‘It’s clean.’

He took a long chug from his brew, said

‘It’s serious money doing this kind of work, you could be very rich in a short

time………………….if you don’t…………fall.’

I savored my own brew, said

‘I don’t fall.’

He was intrigued, asked

‘What makes you so sure?’

I looked right into his dark eyes, said

‘Back home, the tinkers, told me, I’d die in the water, didn’t see any water where

we’re working.’

He bought me another brew, said

‘Come, I’d like you meet someone.’

Led me over to table, awash in long necks, packs of cigs, and in the middle, one

of the most striking women I’ve ever laid eyes on. Crow said

‘This is my sister Shona.’

He clapped his hands and all the crew at the table fooked off, leaving me with

Shona. My brain went into meltdown, I had nothing. She said

‘Sit down and stop drooling.’

I sat down, the drooling, well, I was working on it. She said

‘The crazy Mick who walks the high rise like an Indian.’

Lamely I ventured

‘That’s me.’