Ken Bruen - Merrick

He laughed out loud.

He felt my sudden alertness, looked ahead, saw what I’d seen two beats before,

three guys, heading our way, fast and lethal. Merrick went

‘Uh-oh.’

The lead thug said

‘You ladies want to hand over your wallets.’

Merrick sighed, asked

‘You dumb fuck, can’t you see I’m carrying a weapon?’

The guy looked at his buddies, sneered

‘Yo, homes, you see this muttahfuck carrying anything more than a big stick?’

They laughed, the crystal meth one, high, like a hyena in grief, and merciless.

Then he reached in his windbreaker, pulled out a magnum, it looked big, ugly in

the light from the street, he said

‘Now me sweetcakes, I got me a serious piece of iron here.’

He guffawed again, and his crew joined in, major mistake, checking to see his

buddies appreciation. I saw Merrick take the moment to adopt the hitters slide

stance, balanced on his right foot, swung the hurley with all his force. I heard

bone crack and the magnum went sailing into the New York skyline. The guy

screamed

‘Goddamn son of a bitch, you gone broke my arm.’

He stared in disbelief at his shattered limb, a piece of white bone, visible. He

shouted at his crew

‘Take that asshole down homes, gut him like a bitch.’

One stepped forward with a long knife. Merrick balanced again but I stopped his

arm, asked

‘May I?’

The second guy had learned his knife skills from the movies, ie, all flash and no

skill. I let him lunge, even gave him a second feint, then kicked him in the balls,

using my knee to shatter his nose as he went down. The third guy was uncertain

what to do. The odds were not exactly shaping up. While he dithered, Merrick

said

‘For fuck’s sake, make up your goddamn mind.’

Took him out with a neat clip to the side of the head.

He wasn’t even out of breath, said

‘Christ, I needed that.’

He hefted the hurley in his large hands, said

‘This sucker has a fine balance.’

I said

‘Made from the ash.’

He laughed, went

‘Like I know what the hell that means.’

When we parted at the station, Merrick seemed like he might even hug me but I

blocked that, said

‘Whoa big guy, us Irish, we’re too macho for that shite.’

He laughed, clean and hard, asked

‘Where’d you learn to handle a knife guy?’

‘Bad neighborhood.’

‘Patrolled it, yeah?’’

‘Nope, we called it home.’

Not for the first time, he seemed about to say more but settled with

‘You’re a piece of work, you know that but I had me a fine full day.’

I agreed, said

‘And Galway won.’

Looked at his Hurley, added

‘Twice.’

SON OF SAM.

He stared at himself in the full length mirror, seeing what he had projected, a man of

Power

Wealth

And

Fame

Thank you the Rolling Stones.

He’d quickly tired of Berkovitz, Son of a Damn idiot more like. Had toyed with

the idea of

a……….The Zodiac.

b……….The green River Killer.

As a, had never been caught and b…………well, let’s say, the Jury was out still

on that baby.

The new name came.

Alton D. Brown.

He laughed out loud.

An amalgamation of Alton Coleman and Debra D. Brown. See how smart those Private

Dicks were.

And give a bit of showtime to those neglected folks. The duo, were believed to be guilty

of at least eight murders but then, who’s keeping score. Plus, abductions, beatings,

robbery thefts, sexual assaults of every hue. He shouted

‘My kind of party animals.’

He loved Brown’s un-repentant stance, in court she hollered

‘I killed the bitch and I don’t give a damn, I had fun out of it.’

Ah sweet thing, you had to love her.

As she awaited execution she wrote

‘I’m a more kind, understandable, lovable person than people think I am.’

‘Ditto.’

He exclaimed.

Struck him, he might just use the initials, be part of the zeitgeist where you were fucked

unless you were a an initial

See

BLT

IRS

IRA

LOL

AND HIS FAVOURITE

DOA.

Plus, you got the added bonus of sounding like a Syndrome, which were hot shit now, so

ADB…………………..oh yeah, that was serious virus, lethal you might say.

He sighed, enough fun, he had a lot of work to do and first, was dump the latest wunder-

kind in the East River.

‘Thank you for the lovely roses.’

Shona said.

We were in at the restaurant in Central Park, enjoying late Winter sun, I was a-glow, as

we’d made love the evening before and Jesus Wept, it was brilliant.

Roses, the fook do I know from roses, asked

‘What?’

‘This morning, after you left, I was lying in bed, replaying…………um………you know,

stuff……

Gave a wicked smile

………….’And the flowers came, with a note, signed, ADB, I thought you’d tell me what

it stood for?’

I said

‘Wasn’t me alanna.’

Alanna…………what is that?’

I was trying to figure out the initials, stopped said

‘Alanna, it’s a term of deep endearment back home.’

Her smile was something to memorize, she asked

‘And is it, deep?’

We’d finished brunch and I was waiting for the cheque, only Americans could come up

with a full meal betwixt break fast and lunch. I said

‘Oh yeah,’

Meant it.

But she was a woman and what do they do?

Probe

Question

Push

She did

With

‘Why do you still wear your wedding band?’

Holy fook, you have a moment, intimate almost and a woman, she’d dissect it to frigging

death, till it loses all of it’s original meaning. I had already told her about the Cladding

wedding ring, the two hearts and how the really old one’s had a gold ring welded to the

original heart N’ Hand ring.

I said

‘The ring was my mother’s, passed down from nigh three generations of Claddagh

women.’

She liked it.

Took my hand, then using her left one, she slid the colored wrist band she always wore,

slipped it onto my wrist, said

‘Comanche.’

From fooking urban cowboy to Indian, you go to guess, God is taking the piss.

I said

‘Gur a mhile maith agat.’

Before she could ask, I added

‘Thank you in Irish.’

She liked it, a lot, asked

‘You want to hear some Comanche?’

I said

‘Weren’t those shrieks last night, a war cry?’

And she was about to be offended, but went with a lush vibrant laughter then nearly

marred it with

‘You have cop eyes.’

It was open air so I could smoke and simmer.

Lit a Lucky, exhaled slowly and she said

‘I’ve offended you.’

She had.

But what the fook, I lied, said

‘Just I don’t know what that shite means?’

She was still holding my hand, her band on my wrist catching the late evening sundown,

casting shadows that suddenly seemed ominous or maybe I just needed a Jameson, fast.

She squeezed my hand, said

‘Ryan, everything is not a threat, I meant, you are always vigilant, checking out every

exit, watching every person’s move.’

I tried to ease down a notch, said

‘Is bronach an athas ar fad.’

She looked at me so I translated

‘Happiness is my deepest sorrow.’