Merrick (5 page)

‘RED MOON RISING. A WOLF IN THE PINES.

NICK TOSCHES.

‘IN THE HANDS OF DANTE.’

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

flier miles.

Bad mouth though, no amount of bucks could hide the mean downturn. He said, in a

cultured tone, a guy who never had to raise his voice, it got done, why you had the mega

bucks

‘Ah, the gentlemen from the NYPD, may I see some credentials?’

He was good, had the shit down.

Merrick gave him his winning smile, said, warmly

‘We’re no longer with The Department, we’re private.’

Bob looked like someone had given him an enema, snapped

‘Then you’re here under false pretensions, perhaps I should give a call to The Police

Commissioner, former patient of mine, reason he has that winning smile.’

Merrick was all balm, said

‘No Need Doctor, I mean, we’re investigating a child murder, how would it look if The

Daily News had a story that the top dentist in Manhattan lawyered up over this?’

Bob smiled, a predatory one, mind fucking, this guy invented the game, said

‘Ah, the feeble threats. I’m disappointed but to get you out of here, what did you want to

know?’

Merrick slapped two photo’s of the dead kids on the pristine mahogany desk, asked

‘Ever see those children before.’

Bob smiled, a mirthless thing that made your blood blow colder, he said

‘Really, Morton, if I were the …..how do you term it in police parlance?....the

perpetrator, would I say………….Yes, I know them or deny any knowledge?’

Merrick was losing it, I could see it in the rise of his shoulders, he said, gritted teeth

‘It’s Merrick, so you haven’t seen them?’

‘No.’

Merrick grabbed the pictures, said

‘Thank you for your time, sorry to bother you.’

Bob was looking at me, a light in his eyes, asked

‘Your partner, he’s a mute, he isn’t allowed to speak?’

I moved forward, pushing Merrick’s restraining arm aside, said

‘You can glance at two murdered kids and adopt t a fookin sardonic tone? ‘

His smile widened, he said

‘Irish and with the usual foul tongue, you’re a long way from home Paddy.’

I put my index finger on the lapel of his gorgeous suit, said

‘You know what that means?’

The smile never wavered, he said

‘That a Mick could never hope to aspire to it?’

I gave him one of my own smiles, said

‘’Touchable.’

Outside, Merrick was fit to be tied, he was so angry, I said

‘It went well, you think?’

He exploded

‘You dumb fucking..Paddy, what do you think you’re playing at, didn’t I tell you, TELL

you to keep your dumbass trap the hell shut? But no, Mr. Fucking Wise guy has to go

running his mouth, blowing the whole deal to shit and shingle,

I asked

‘What did you call me?’

He paused’

‘Jesus H, you deaf as well as pig Irish stubborn, I called you a dumb fucking Paddy.’

I said, real quiet

‘Thought so .’

And swinging with my right, I knocked him clean off his feet, said

‘You’re fooking lucky I don’t have me hurly.’

Turned on me heel, hailed a passing Gypsy cab, got the fook outa there.

The driver, looking in his mirror, seeing Merrick on his ass on the pavement, asked

‘What happened to that guy?’

I said

‘He had some teeth

trouble.’

‘STONE FOX.’

On W31 st, between Broadway and 6
^th
Avenue is O’Reilly’s, a pub restaurant, was where

I’d taken Shona. It was her birthday so I took her to an Irish place.

I hadn’t yet found a

Comanche joint but if I did.

She looked terrific, wearing a fringed Suede Jacket, faded blue jeans, tight white-T.

Seeing her, I said

‘Jesus.’

She smiled, asked

‘That’s good, right?’

Usually, I have cop habits, check the exits, see who’s lurking in the corners, you get the

drift.

I was so smitten, I never did and so, didn’t see the large built man , in the corner, sucking

on a Corona.

The waitress was from Puerto Rico, it being an Irish pub. A very friendly girl, asked us if

we’d like a drink before dinner, I said

‘’It’s my girl’s birthday, what do you think?’

Shona mock reprimanded

‘Why’d you tell them?’

The girl disappeared and re-appeared with a bottle of Champagne, said

‘Del Corazon.’

It was getting more Irish by the minute.

Once the stuff was opened, we clinked glasses and I said

‘La brea agus bheannacht leat.’

Her eyes were dancing in her head, she asked

‘Translate please.’

‘May you have a beautiful and blessed day.’

Thank you’

We ordered beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, vegetables. Shona put her glass down, asked

‘Promise you won’t be angry with me?’

‘What did you do?’

I thought it was some kidding around.

She wasn’t.

Said

‘Merrick phoned me.’

Fook on a bike.

The champagne seemed to be gone flat, I said

‘How would he get your number?’

She smiled, said

‘He’s a cop.’

‘Was.’

I tried to keep my face in neutral, asked

‘What’d he want?’

‘To apologize, said you wouldn’t answer his calls.’

True.

She looked pleadingly at me, asked

‘Will you talk to him?’

I was fooked if I’d let the evening slide down the shitter, said

‘Sure.’

She was relieved, said

‘He’s outside.’

Ah Jesus. I snapped

‘”What, now?’

She nodded.

I stood up, said

‘Won’t be long.’

And there he was, dressed for the cold in a lumber jacket, heavy scarf and his eyes

displaying a shiner. I pulled out my cigs, lit up, asked

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m sorry buddy, I was out of line .I shoot my mouth off some times, I’m truly sorry.’

Held out his hand, asked

‘Shake?’

I tossed the cig, took his hand, said

‘Ok.’

He searched my face, asked

‘We good?’

‘Yeah.’

He let out a deep breath, said

‘I can’t promise I won’t run my mouth again but I swear, I won’t make any ….remarks

on your country.’

I’m not in the punishment business unless you’ve been married to me, said

‘Tis done, we’re moving on.’

He reached in his jacket, pulled out a small package, said

‘For your girl’s birthday.’

I was surprised, said

‘Thanks.’

Then asked

‘You want to come in, grab a brew, a steak?’

He nearly laughed, said

‘On her birthday, then she might deck me.’

I nodded and he asked

‘In the morning, you good to go for the other suspect?’

I said

‘Yeah and I’ll try to keep me mouth shut.’

And he was gone.

I went back inside to arrive as our food was set on the table, gave Shona her gift. She said

‘What a sweet thing to do.’

It was a token for fifty bucks to Borders. I pulled out my own , handed it over, said

‘Shite, it’s the same thing.’

Had her going for a moment, she opened it, the Claddagh Heart Pendant catching the

light.

The food was great and yet again, just to watch her relish her meal was a joy. I asked

‘Tell me about The Comanche?’

I was expecting an argument but, no, she launched

‘When the Comanche soldiers came back from Vietnam, no one spat at them or called

them names. They were seen as returning warriors, celebrated with feasts and dances,

which could be why they had little or no, Post traumatic syndrome.’

Christ, I never even knew they served in Vietnam.

Sensing the down turn in the mood of the conversation, she added

‘Plus, Comanche’s followed The Grateful Dead for years.’

I laughed, the image was so damn appealing. I said

‘And Jerry Garcia died.’

She smiled, said

‘Not to The Comanche.’

The whole of the staff suddenly appeared, carrying a large birthday cake, ablaze with

candles and fook, they sang, Happy Birthday.’

I swear to God, she blushed or maybe it was the booze.

I said

‘Make a wish.’

She stared at me for a long moment, said in a very quiet voice

‘I did, the very first moment I saw you.’

Do you ask?

Do you fook.

The man in the corner, had followed each move of the evening, even able to follow

outside, hanging in the shadows, seeing Merrick, seeing all and thinking

………………………….thinking fucking lethal

‘Merrick, how sweet it is and will be.’

When we finally got out of there, Shona was building a nice buzz, she said

‘I wish this day would just go and on.’

She insisted we go to my place, despite me protesting it was crap. She said

‘But your crap.’

Like I could answer that.

After we’d made love and were lying, catching our breath, she intoned

‘Stone Fox nodded to the boy, cradling his rifle close, then the town watched in silence as

little Willy , carrying searchlight, walked the last ten feet………….across the final line.’

I asked,

‘What?’

‘Children’s book, by John Reynolds Gardner, about Stone Fox, a famous reclusive sled

racer.’

Added

………………….And Indian, I grew up on that book, did you have a book Ryan, when

you were little?’

Yeah, Dracula.

Said

‘Moby Dick.’

‘That’s not a children’s book?’

‘It had a big fish, that was childish enough for us.’

I was only half kidding.

‘’I HAVE PERSONAL PROBLEMS.’

SAID BOBBY FISCHER, AS HE SCORED

CHECKMATE.

Merrick picked me up the next morning, just after ten, Shona was still sleeping, and I’d

time to pick up coffee’s from the Deli on the corner.

They were getting to know me there, called me Irish. That we don’t mind, it’s what we

are but Paddy, you’re fooked and gone. Merrick had a stripped down Chevy, looked old,

looked like him. I got in, handed over the coffee and he went

‘What, no Danish?’

I said

‘Yeah, you’re welcome.’

He sipped it, said

‘Black and sweet.’

‘Like your soul.’

I said,

asked

‘What’s with the Chevy?’

‘Belongs to my boy, he’s at Art College, it needed a tune up so I took care of that.’

Night before, just as Shona was about to drift off, she asked

‘What do you guys talk about?’

The correct answer, or the one you give if you want to keep her is

‘You sweetheart.’

Women have deep, lay it all out there sharing. Guys?

like fook.

We talk sports

And

Sports.

Mostly.

We don’t EVER, use words like

Share

Bonding

And

Dr Phil

Is the great white dope.

Spain had taken The World Cup during the summer and I said to Merrick that the USA

were definitely getting their act together with soccer, their goalie, Howard had even been

with Man United. Serious fooking kudos. Merrick said

‘You guys are really into soccer, right?’

‘Shite yeah, I’d a few Euro on Argentina but they phoned in their crucial game.’

Then , Jesus, I was off and running, rapping intense about the beauty of Barcelona,

Torres

………when he cut me off

‘’Whoa buddy, I said I was mildly interested but a lecture, did I sign on?’

I did what any decent Irish guy would so

Sulked.

It was quite a drive to Queens so he glanced at me, said

‘Jeez, Ryan, come on, I didn’t mean that, tell me about Mara donna, wasn’t he the

manager of Argentina.?

I finished my coffee, thinking a Danish would have been good, but a smoke, that would

have been classic, like after love making but smoke in an American’s car?

Get outa here.

I said

‘He’s a flawed genius who has now become a genius who is flawed.’

Merrick laughed, said

‘Like I’ve one freaking notion what that means.’

Well, I tried and sometimes, trying is ultimately, trying.

That I kept to me own self.

I asked

‘So this guy?’

Merrick was watching of the exit, said

‘James P. Malone, an accountant, and like I said, no priors, no wife, no nada.’

He added

‘He lives and works in Ditmars Boulevard, it’s a predominantly Greek outpost and if

you’re real good this time out, I’ll treat you to Baklava and an espresso at Karyotins,

worth

the trip to Queens alone.’

We were cruising through Steinway, East of Astoria. I asked

‘Steinway, like in piano?’

‘Yup, he bought up the district for homes for his workers.’

He took his right hand off the wheel, pointed towards the bay, said

‘Off shore is Rikers, the most overcrowded joint in the city.’

We pulled up on 31
^st
St, just a spit from Malone’s place. Merrick was about to launch, I

said

‘I got it, shut the fook up.’

He nearly smiled.

Malone’s building was neat, clean, discrete. A small wooden shingle advertising his

accountancy business.

We went in, a large open space, almost ten people working at PC.s, and a sing that led to

reception. This was a different set up to our Tribeca gig, the woman here was close to

seventy, no Lindsay Logan. I kind of liked the Tribeca mode. She looked up, rasped,

testifying to a life of nicotine,

‘Help you?’

Her tone, weary, like she gave a rat’s ass if she could or not, help us that is. She’d seen

some crap, and didn’t look like she was expecting to win the numbers anytime soon.

Her name plate read, M.Trenton.

Merrick said

‘Madam, we’ve an appointment with Mr. Malone.’

She looked up, Madam?..........took a moment, then

‘Oh the cop, yeah, go right in?’

We were about to when she asked

‘And who’s the hot babe with you?’

I loved her already.

Merrick, not so much..