Ken Bruen - Merrick

I kill children

Whoa…..hold the phones there pal

Don’t get your knickers in a twist and start rounding up the lynch mob

I love kids, I mean, I really do

Boys, between five and six……ah, bliss

You think they don’t love me back

Oh they do

That whimpering they make after, that’s like………purring

Had one cherub, after a particular strenuous workout, he licked my hand

See

Society is all bent out of freaking shape

They hunt us down, treat us like animals and why, because they cant make that

transcendence, that leap to pure love

And back up compadre, before you start trotting out clichés, an abused child, I object to

the term abused by the way but to stay in your narrow frame of reference, the gospel

is………..an abused child becomes an abuser

Horseshit

Kiss my middle aged spreading ass

It doesn’t happen

Why?

Fucks sake, focus, pay attention, you might learn something

Mine and yes, once I have them, they are my property, they wont become abusers

I guarantee it

You smirk

They don’t………..

Because I kill them

Every gorgons angelic one of them

How many now

Come on………….you’re counting

Count on this

I’m coming for your little darling

Soon

After I’ve imitated them into man love, what on earth can top that so I save them the

search, let them go out…………..on a high

A celestial choir of them, beaming down on me

The disfigurement, bothers you……….yeah?

Call it window dressing

Keep the cops busy

Let them think there’s a psycho out there

Me, I’m the sanest guy you’ll ever meet

That is the scary bit

Get over it

Whoops, gotta hustle, I hear my latest acquisition in the basement, pleading his little

heart out, he wants it, and he sure is going to get it

…………………… diary page from The child/man love annals

                    I’d been a year in New York before I ran into Merrick

I’d left Ireland under the fooking proverbial cloud, though cloud is putting it mildly

I’ve been a Garda siochana….translate as literally, Guardian of The Peace

Oh yeah

Stationed in Donegal, real close to bandit country, Peace Summit me arse

The Boyos were still operating in Armagh and that was just a spit from where I was

stationed

I was born and reared in Galway and so, I was stationed far from me home

In jig time, I lost

Me wife

Me career

Me confidence

The scandal surrounding the local Guards and their framing of a local publican had blown

up nationwide

Till then, I swear to god, The Guards had a fine rep. Liked by the general populace and

how many countries does that occur in

Yeah, count em?

I wasn’t great at me job but I liked it a lot

I was young enough then to think I might be effective

Dream on yah ejit

I know about the frame and Hands up, I wasn’t actively involved but I did know about it

and I did………………nothing

and yeah, I took a handout. I’m not proud of it and sure paid the freight.

That is what they call, silent affirmation

See the learned vocabulary I have, been poring over the Reader’s Digest in an attempt to

increase me word power

The only word that describes what went down isn’t in the digest

Clusterfuck

The fall out was biblical

Top officers were up on charges but yeah, they’d get severe reprimands and be allowed to

retire with their pensions intact

Us grunts got shafted, big time

Fired and no pension

One of me mates hanged himself

Couldn’t take the shame

Me, I legged it

To Amer-i-kay

New start

Lived in a shitty hole in Brooklyn and got a job in construction

Hard graft

But it stopped me thinking and The Mick Mafia got me a Union card

I was drinking.

A lot,

Out of self pity, loneliness and rage, the lethal Irish trinity

I’m not going to suggest that meeting Merrick saved me but it sure changed me life

Thank fook

I missed me wife

Badly

I’d loved her

Oh sweet Jesus, did I ever

She dumped me when I got canned

She re-married a lawyer and has a child on the way

That shrives me heart

Still

And I guess, always will

Mores the frigging Irish-ed pity

Ah fookit

Moving on

Not cos I wanted to but had to

One fierce cold Feb night, I was a t a loss as usual and decided to go and sing some jars,

Hadn’t been out for brews for a time and I’d build up a thirst, headed for a bar in

Brooklyn that had a jukebox, played the hit of the eighties

Sounded good

There was a biting cold and a wind chill factor to freeze your nuts off

The bar was warm, with even a real fire, logs blazing and the place was hopping, Bowie

in the juke with All the Young dudes

The bar man looked like a real dangerous bollix

Big, with a completely shaved head, arms on him that testified to real graft and he looked

mean, he was wearing a T-shirt that read

                            “Gun church.”

I managed to grab a stool at the counter and he stood before me, wiping down the place

in front of me, growled

“Get yah?’

Sounded like a grizzly with a bad hangover, I said

“Jameson, coors back

He smiled, no warmth in it but a sort of knowing, said

“Mick huh?”

I nodded and he pushed

“You running a tab?”

Sure

He brought the drinks and I asked

“Get you one?’

He studied me for a minute then said

“Yeah, I’ll join you.”

To my amazement, he put out a meaty hand, said

“I’m Merrick.”

I was surprised, his tone was warmer, I took his grip, and we shook

He said

“Working hands, you on construction?’

“Yeah.”

He raised his bottle of Sam Adams, no glass, said

“Mozoltof.”

I said

“Slainte.”

He leaned over, asked

“Run that by me again

I did

He savored the word, like he was tasting it then gave a nigh perfect rendition

He asked

“You got a name or I have to like drag every piece of information outa you?’

I said

“Tommy, Tommy Ryan.”

He laughed, said

“Well, you ain’t Jewish, am I right?’

Before I could respond, he held up his bottle like a hurly, said

“Best warn you buddy, I am………. so answer real slow.”

“Some of me best mates are of that persuasion.”

Which was a lie but what the fook

It’s one of those lines I’ve always loathed, like, Gee, what a fookin liberal you are

Christ on a bike

Lame

He was massaging his neck, like it hurt, I asked

“That hurt?”

He was taken aback, as if he wasn’t even aware he was doing it, said

“I play baskets, did my neck in, that damn S.J….she gets me every time and Fusilli, never

can quite out run him, so today, I got a cortisone shot and lemme tell you buddy, them

suckers hurt.”

Buddy?

I offered

“Buy you a jar?’

Took him a moment then he smiled

That smile took fifteen years off him, he looked almost like a nice guy

Almost

I didn’t think smiling was something he did a whole lot of, he said