Ken Bruen - Merrick

Might not always make sense but it was always, for me, true, more’s the fookin Irish-ed

pity.

She had called it right on one thing, I was afraid, afraid of the one thing I truly didn’t want

……………..to fall in love.

Merrick picked me up outside my apartment on our day of visiting the first suspect, he

was driving, I fookin kid you not, a pick up. I got in the shotgun seat, said

‘Jesus, if Hank Williams is playing, then I’m living the American dream.’

He’d been to Starbucks, handed me a piping hot latte, grande, asked

‘No sugar, right?’

I was surprised, said

‘You’ve a good memory.’

‘Naw, just a cop too long.’

A Gypsy cab came out of Flatbush, cutting us off with but a heartbeat to spare. Merrick

screeched on the brakes, and my coffee spilled on to my jeans, burning like a bastard. I

muttered

‘Oh motherfucking fuck.’

Merrick looked at me, asked

‘That’s Irish?’

I dabbed at the spreading stain, said

‘Tony Soprano.’

He watched the Gypsy cab disappear then wrote down the license plate. I asked

‘You going to see him later?’

He tossed the number in the back, said

‘I’d like to but no, one of my buddies on the Force, he’ll ream him a new one.’

I took a sip of what remained of my coffee, asked

‘A new what?

He laughed, said

‘I keep forgetting you don’t speak American, it means, ream him a new asshole.’

I said

‘Jesus, I thought we were bad.’

He asked

‘You good to go or want to go back, change your jeans?’

The stain wasn’t too bad, I hoped so I said

‘No, we believe it’s unlucky to turn back on a journey.’

He was maneuvering the tunnel into Manhattan, reaching for the toll, said

‘Didn’t figure you for superstitious.’

I nearly laughed, my race?…………said

‘It’s just we hedge our bets.’

He flicked the radio on, got a rock channel, we heard Don Henley

…………………The Innocence.

Killer.

I said

‘You’re always asking me about the Irish and yet, despite you saying I’m closed, you

give me fook all of your heritage.’

He seemed to be laughing at some inner joke, said

‘Maybe if you asked now and again, you’d get an answer.’

So I asked

‘What’s it like to be Jewish?’

He was gritting his teeth, at my question or the tailgating, I dunno…then

“ We used to be persecuted, but now.’

I waited and got…nothing

Asked

‘Now?’

He smiled

‘We’re hedging our bets.’

Out of nowhere, he asked

‘What about your old man, what was he like, A Guard too?’

I laughed, out loud, Jesus, said

‘Him, a Guard, what a fecking joke, like he had the balls to ever put himself on any firing

line. My mother said on the day we buried the spineless prick, she said

………………………….he never said anything bad about anybody.

Merrick was confused, asked

‘But that’s a good thing, yeah?’

I drained the coffee, wish I had more it, with a double shot of Jay, said

‘Made him a cute hoor is what oh and before you ask, a cute hoor is a sly bollix is what.’

Christ, was I hyperventilating, where’d that come from?’

Merrick said

‘Good you have a handle on it though.’

‘Don’t stop believing’ was blasting from the radio, he reached to turn it down, I asked

‘Don’t’

We waited for the song to reel on then I asked

‘So, who’s up to today?’

He said

‘Tribeca, the dentist..’

I asked him about the initials, the one’s Shona received. He shook his head, said

‘Naw, I got nuttin.’

Then

‘Why?’

Told him.

Took him a moment, he went

‘Whoa, hold the goddamn phones, they were with the flowers that Shona got, Holy shit,

you sent flowers,

you?’

I murmured

‘It wasn’t me.’

He was on it, loving it, went

‘Jesus H……the damn Fenian is a romantic and oh Mi God, you scored you did, didn’t

you?’

I was caught between delight and serious annoyance, not a comfortable place, said

‘Ok, calm down a fookin minute, let’s get back to those initials’

Nope.

The bad bollix wasn’t letting go, chanced at glance at my wrist, said

‘And you got the Indian band, man, you are so fucked.’

We were coming into Manhattan, he said

‘Buddy, I was going to keep this for later but this is big news and I swear to fuck, I’m

delighted, a miserable son of a bitch like you, grabbing him one of our very own

American princes.’

I was really tired of this and was about to launch when he reached in the back of the

truck, pulled out a long parcel, said

‘Enjoy bro.’

I thought, if this is a rifle, I may well have to shoot the bastard. Tore the wrapping off

To reveal

A baseball bat

Merrick said

‘The Louisville Slugger, the real deal.’

Nigh overwhelmed, I resorted to banter, asked

‘Did you get the Yankee’s to sign it?’

Given his loathing of said team, he mock reached, asked

‘You wanna test it out, now.’

Still moved and not knowing how to just say

‘Thank you.’

I stayed in flip territory, asked

‘Can I bring it with us to meet the dentist?’

He reached for it, tossed it in the back, said

‘This is by the book.’

He was getting out and I said

‘I’d be good, honest Injun.’

He wiped his bald dome, said

‘Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.’

We got out of the pick up, getting looks from the Tribecans, amid the Porsches,

Lamborghini’s, we were a little….out of place?

Fook em.

I

asked Merrick

‘This fellah’s name again?’

‘Bob Temar’

Looked at me, snapped

‘You need to keep up to speed hot shot.’

Regretted leaving the slugger behind. I asked

‘And we’re getting to see this high flier, how?’

‘I lied, said we were cops.’

Ol Bob’s office’s/surgery, were discretely opulent. Glass front, nothing showy, his name,

Robert Temar, on a simple brass plate, and a whole shit load of letters after it. I said

‘A player, right?

Merrick was checking the frontage, answered

‘Oh yeah, a heavy hitter, cash wise.’

We went in, a quiet crowd of people in the waiting room, thumbing through the very

latest People, Entertainment Weekly, probably checking to see if they featured. The

receptionist was a ringer for Lindsay Lohan, her rehab stint perhaps. She looked at us,

knew we weren’t……..players. Said in a frozen Margarita tone

‘”Yes.’

The assembly looked up, her tone signaling

‘Intruders.’

As in………. the hired help are in the front office.

I said

‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Bob is expecting us.’

Trying to keep the fury out of my tone.

Merrick whispered

‘Jesus, shut the fuck up, I’ll l do the talking.’

Merrick led the way down a deep carpeted hall, knocked on a door, heard

‘Enter.’

Bob was from Central Casting via Stanley Tucci, if you’re going to be bald, go the Tucci

route. Bob had.

Beautiful grey suit, that kind that sneered at you

‘Loser.’

His perfect tan, grey tinted glassed to accessorize his suit, tall, over Six.two, with a build

that he spent a whole shit load of time in the Tribeca gym, they probably had frequent