Merrick (2 page)

‘FRIENDS ARE GIVEN

NOT

EARNED.’

Merrick and I were chewing down on some Hot Dogs, washed down with Bud, after The

Jets had yet again been handed their ass.

That expression made me smile and Merrick, snapped

‘Us losing, that amuses you?’

Phew, he had an edge. You never knew when it might show. I said

‘Jesus, take a fooking breath, I’m not your enemy, I was tickled by the expression.’

He reined it in, then let out a tight breath, said

‘Sorry buddy, I’m wound tight as a freaking Sunday Rabbi.’

Like I was supposed to know what fook that meant?

Went with

‘Anything I can help with?’

He took a sharp bite out of the dog, looked at it, said

‘

‘Jesus, the fuck I’m eating.’

Slung it in a perfect arc into a litter bin. He washed it down with the Bud, reached in the

cooler, pulled out two, twisted the caps, handed one over, said

‘Slainte.’

We’d been hanging out for almost two months now, cementing a solid friendship with

sports, music, the brews. We shared a bond in that neither of us were, exactly team

players, we didn’t need a chorus of disapproval to know who we were. An unlikely

friendship in just about every way but it seemed to be cooking. The case, the one he’d

originally mentioned had never been mooted since.

Being Irish, one thing you know, bad shite isn’t going away, you just have to wait and

sure as Mass, it will come slithering down the path.

It was about to.

He drained the brew, the guy could drink for Ireland and he asked

‘Remember the case I mentioned, the child stuff?’

Like you could forget such a blasphemy, I said

‘Yes.’

He took another kid.’

Jesus wept.

He reached in his cargo pants, took out a sheet of paper, handed it over, didn’t look at me.

I read

…………………….Yo, Jewish

…………………Taking over your deadbeat partner’s case?

…………………..Felications.

………………….Here is a head start for you.

And chuckle, the kid gave me some serious head, I digress, on West 59
^th
, Corner of 7
^th

and 8
^th
, an old brownstone, second floor, kiddies delight.

Isn’t this fun kike?

One more sweet fang to savor then I’ll have me one of yours, the boy, twelve?, little out

of my age group so I’ll do him quick.

Here’s a clue yah dumb Shamus……..clowns to the right……………..

Xxxxxxxxxx

…………………………Two much.

My stomach lurched. I asked

‘You call the cops?’

‘NOTHING SCARIER THAN

A CLOWN

AFTER DARK.’

JOHN WAYNE GACY.

‘They blew me off.’

I asked

‘What’s with the two?’

Merrick rubbed his neck, trying to work out the ache there, said

‘Just him fucking with us, let us think he has an ally, maybe.’

I was spooked, Jesus, big time. But I reined it in, asked

‘So, we going to take a look?’

He was twisting the empty Bud like he could tear it’s head off, said

‘This is heavy shit now Tommy, won’t reflect on you or our friendship if you buck.’

I stood up, said

‘Let’s roll.’

Merrick had a beautiful 59 Camaro. Restored it lovingly his own self and added a supped

motor to the horsepower already under the hood.

We took off from the stadium like some meth bats outa meatloaf’s hell. Going over the

Jersey Turnpike, Merrick asked

‘You carrying?’

‘Just attitude.’

He nodded at the glove compartment, and I flipped it, A Glock 9 and a Browning Auto.

He said

‘Prime em.’

I did.

As we hit Manhattan, he asked

‘Why’d you leave the cops?’

Cut to the chase, said

‘I was on the take.’

He nodded, no judgment. Then,

‘You ever shoot anyone?’

Oh shite.

Tell the truth or string him along. I went with the truth

‘I used to be with the Boyos, back when Bloody Sunday happened.’

He nodded, no need for any more.

My turn, asked

‘You?’

‘On the job, shot a person of interest.’

‘Was he, of interest?’

He sighed, deep and yearning

‘To his family, to us, he was the wrong guy.’

We were at the Brownstone so I was saved any dumb comment. Merrick put the Glock in

his waistband, I put the Browning in the pocket of my Yankee’s jacket.

Asked

‘How do you want to play this?’

He nearly smiled, said

‘Careful.’

The building was boarded up, Merrick pulled the boards off, and we went in. Smell of

urine and curry, stale nicotine.

Swept the ground floor, Merrick whispered

‘Clear, going up.

I followed and at the base of the second floor, a figure came out of the shadows, laid

Merrick flat with a baseball bat.

Turned to me, said

‘I got three hundred bucks to do that, you want some of this ass-wipe.?’

I backed off, something in his tone, saying he was too lippy to be alone and a second

figure came rushing out of the darkness with a knife. I shot him in the balls. I was aiming

for his knee, I think. The first guy, shrieked

‘The fuck is with you man, why’d you have to go and do that/’

I shot him in the shoulder.

He was about to start screaming so I kicked him in the head and he shut the

fook up.

The dead child was on the third floor.

Spread-eagled, blood all over and a note pinned to his school blazer, reading

‘How sweet it is.’

………………………….
GACY BY TWO.

I admit I lost it, went back down to the second floor, shot the first bollix in the face, then

hauled the second to his feet, said

‘See that piece of shite, you’re next, now tell me who hired you?’

Merrick had come around, grabbed me by the waist, soothed

‘Jesus, easy cowboy, ok?’

Gently took the Browning from my bloodied fingers, the blood from the child. Merrick

said

‘You got to go with the flow Irish, keep a lid on it.’

I said, keeping a lid on it,

‘;Have a look on the next floor.’

He tapped my face, added

‘You have a temper, need to chill, know what I’m saying?’

I repeated

‘Go to the third floor.’

He looked at the guy at my feet, said

‘Hang in there pal, my running buddy is a hot head, I’ll be right back and we’ll talk.’

The second guy sneered at me, said

‘You’re the hired help, that it, you Irish bogtrotter.’

I let it slide, knowing the third floor would be all the reply I needed.

Heard an anguished wail, like all the children in hell were chanting then rapid footsteps

and Merrick was pushing past me, leveled the Glock at the guy, emptied the mag in his

chest.

Guess Merrick hadn’t chilled.

GHOSTS MUST DO AGAIN.

In a diner on the lower East Side, a large man, pushed away his bacon and egg’s over

easy plate. Damn phone call had totaled his appetite. Even the coffee got a sour taste

He muttered

‘Fucking psycho scumbag, Jesus, H, he had to leave a note?’

He knew, sooner or later he’d have to cut the whack job loose but the money, ahh, how

sweet it was. He’d been eyeing a place down in Boca, shitload of money but with this

earner, he’d been getting real close to putting a sizable down payment on it. Get out of

the sewer of the city. So, he pointed him in the direction of some kids, c’mon, they were

dead already, with crack Mom’s deadbeat father’s. They were on a fast rail to nowhere

any way. He was really just putting them out of their misery. And the psycho treated

them good, right, before………..he did……….whatever he did.

He didn’t really try to square it, to rationalize it, it was…………….what it was. Shit

happens. And if he could turn a buck outa it, who the fuck gave a big one?

The nutter, posing at being infamous serial killers, the fuck was with that? Had told him

‘Drop that shit, you’re gonna get attention and we

don’t…………….want……….attention. The guy whining

‘I wanna play.’

Leaving a twenty on the table, he figured, on second thought

‘It would be a goddamn pleasure to put two in the jerk off’s head but not yet, needed just

one more serious payment.

‘THIS IS BLOOD. THE ROOM IS HUGE AND THERE’S ROOM FOR PLENTY OF

HEALTHY CHILDREN.

TOM PICCIRILLI

‘A CHOIR OF ILL CHILDREN.’

We got out of there fast. Merrick pausing at a phone, called 911, told them the location.

Back in The Camano and we driving in silence towards East 45
^th
. I didn’t ask.

Merrick

pulled into a vacant spot, said

‘Let’s get shit faced.’

No argument there. A small bar nestling amid the flash hotels, we went in, dark lighting,

nicotine in the air. I looked at Merrick, he said

‘A cop owns it.’

We got a booth in the back, they had an actual juke box, playing ‘Take a Walk On the

Wild Side’.

Burly guy approached, exclaimed

‘Merrick, you son of a bitch, what brings you to town?’

Merrick smiled, no humor though, said

‘Showing my Irish buddy the dives of the city.’

The guy laughed, showing a wonderful display of teeth, and they’d have been more

dazzling if they’d been his own, he pushed out a huge hand, said

‘Charlie, my mother was from the county Mayo.’

I said

‘Tommy and mayo are shite hurlers.’

He paused then slapped me on the shoulder, nearly putting me through the booth, said

‘I like him Merrick, he’s got a mouth.’

Then

‘What’ll I get ye?’

Merrick, no hesitation

‘Two Jameson, Bud back.’

We waited till we got the drinks, Merrick dropped his shot glass in the glass of Bud.

Boilermaker.

Me, can’t. Not with the Jay.

We got on the other side of those and I was about to signal another, Merrick said

‘No need, Charlie will keep em coming.’

Worked for me.

Truth time.

I asked

‘You want to tell me what the fook is going on, how this homicidal bollix knows you,

how to pull your strings?’

The booze or the evening had produced a light sheen of perspiration on his bald head, he

ran his hand over it, said

‘Moe, my partner, he was on a definite track of this crazy fuck, then’

He paused

Sighed, said

‘He got run over on Broadway and 42
^nd
.’ Hit and run they said, he’s been in a coma

since. I vowed to continue his investigation and here we are. The sicko obviously knows

who I am and one thing Moe had said, the guy likes to play.’

I digested this, then

‘What’s The Gacy reference?’

In my head, I was beginning to really think the sickout had a partner and I dreaded to say

it………but……….I felt the second guy might be a cop.

‘One of the kids who lived, if you could call what is left of the mite living, said a clown

offered him Hershey bars.’

I said

‘But Gacy killed young males, not children.’

Merrick drained his glass, said

‘I said he was crazy, I didn’t say he was consistent.’

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
^th
Street 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.