my Levi white shirt, one that had cost me close to fifty bucks.
An Irish guy will blow fifty on a round of drink, no problem but on a shirt, you kidding?
I’d had this shirt for nigh ten years.
You ask……….what’s in a shirt?
History.
It has been so often in the wash, it was threadbare and all the more assuring for that. I
know, you love a shirt, you are a sad fookin excuse for a life.
I loved the shirt, so shoot me.
Sweat was pouring out of every pore, my hair, was drenched in it. Like I’d just come out
of the shower.
Shona said
‘My love, you are burning up’
Helped me to her bed and that’s all she wrote.
Two days.
The stress in ferocious assault
……………….twisting
………………………..burning
………………………………..lashing
…………………………………………and
…………………………………………………lacerating.
I vaguely remember coming to, Shona feeding me some liquid, then out again, the smell
of Irish stew near suffocating me.
And it broke.
Two and a half days in.
I sat up, felt my hair, dry.
Shona, her face, a portrait of worry, said
‘You’re back.’
I tried to stand, managed it after a few false starts and said
‘You believe it mo croi (my heart), I’m hungry.’
And was.
Starving.
As we sat down over scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, Shona went to the fridge, brought
back a Shiner Bok,………..Texas best, said
‘You’re eating, you’re entitled.’
I said
‘A man could love a woman for that.’
She feigned surprise, asked
‘You mean, you’re not crazy about me already?’
I raised my bottle, said
‘Is tu an cailin is fear.’
……………………………..you are the best woman.’
She asked
‘Who is Eddie?’
Jesus.
I asked
‘What?’
‘ You called his name over and over.’
The fooking subconscious, wreathed in guilt, will rat you out every time, a supergrass of
the damn soul.
I nearly told her.
Nearly.
Bit down.
A history of Irish violence?
No.
She got a playful smile, asked
‘Remember anything?’
I was weak but still clued in enough to say
‘Only that you never left my side.’
Right answer.
She beamed then with eyes dancing in her head, said
‘You proposed.’
Yeah, right.
I could play, took the Irish route, asked
‘And……………..did you accept?’
She laughed, said
‘Oh, you’re back alright.’
And did I love her?
Take a wild Comanche guess.
She stood up, went to the bedroom, came back with a Gap bag, handed it over, said
‘And no, I didn’t leave you, I called Crow, had him go get this.’
I opened the bag, you guessed it
Brand new Levi shirt, white as hope.
‘THEY’VE GOT US, HE THOUGHT, WE’RE DEAD, OH SHIT.
ALMOST AT ONCE, HE THOUGHT, MAYBE NOT.’
JACK KETCHUM
‘OFF SEASON.’
I got back to my apartment, very conscious of the time factor. My time out, Merrick’s
fookin sulk time, all in all, I figured, we were nearly four days behind the edge we’d
nearly had.
I was playing The Saw Doctors, from Tuam, just outside Galway, and cross me
bedraggled heart, the favorite band of no less than…………….Jodie Foster.
And me.
Train…………their latest single was dynamite.
Rock, longing and loss, what better metaphor for the Irish psyche.
Paranoia, a lingering echo of the stress that nearly wiped me, was biting at my heels. I
had the Sig Sauer on the table, beside the six pack of Guinness. Knock on the door.
I moved up close, asked
‘Who is it?’
A pause.
Then
‘Ryan, it’s Merrick.’
I opened, and there he was, in his resplendent contrition, said
‘I screwed up big time Ryan, yet again, I’m sorry.’
I waved him in, said
‘Jesus wept, you going to spend your life apologizing, let it go, ok?’
He saw the gun on the table, asked
‘You were expecting me?’
I pulled a Guinness from the pack, said
‘Enough, alright, we have a psycho to catch and I think we’re already seriously out of
time.
He sat, took a hit of The Guinness, said
‘Fuck Ryan, it’s warm.’
Caught the look from me and added
‘Which is exactly how I…..am………….like it.’
And we had a moment then it passed.
He reached in his seriously battered leather jacket, took out a small package, said
‘You gave me your Mother’s Yeats so, this is I hope, as significant, you catch the drift.’
I opened it.
The American Flag came out.
He explained
‘Betsy Ross was a daughter of The American Revolution and sewed the first flag. The
stars in a circle represent the thirteen American colonies. The stars now represent each
state and the stripes each original colony. My wife, Judy, is related, on her father’s side to
Betsy Ross. Judy, on her Mom’s side, is part, I swear on the flag, part Chippewa Indian.
You can’t get more American than that.’
Shona might argue that toss.
I said
‘I can’t……..take this.’
‘Judy sent it, and I as Rabbi, confirm you as an American of the soul.’
How could you stay mad at the guy?
I said
‘Thank you…………………absolutely.’
I managed to pin it on the wall, then stood back, said
‘Cross me heart Merrick, I’m delighted to any part of America.’
Meant it, Ireland, in her wild wisdom had rendered outcast so, The USA was sheltering
me, giving me work, treating me like I mattered.
Who you going to plead allegiance to?
‘MONEY CAN MAKE AN ENEMY OF ANYONE’, DOROTHY SAID.
‘EVEN SOMEONE YOU’VE KNOWN ALL YOUR LIFE.’
‘SOULTOWN’
Merrick’s mobile shrilled. He answered, listened, his face a mixture of incredulity,
confusion, anger. He asked
‘You sure?’
Then listened, said
‘Thanks for the heads up Loot.’
He clicked off, looked at me with, was it apprehension.
I went
‘What?’
‘The case has been closed….solved,what the fuck ever.’
‘You’re kidding, how?’
‘That was Lieut. Jordan, they went to Tribeca, this morning, found Bob Temple dead,
suicide apparently, with a Heckler and Koch, the gun used on me, he left a note, saying
he was no longer able to live with his actions, they’re waiting on ballistics but the Loot is
pretty sure it will match the slug they dug out of me………….so, case closed. Oh yeah,
they found……….trophies, you know.’
‘Trophies?’
He near shouted
‘’You fucking know, do I have to goddamn spell it out for you, from the children.’
I was afraid that’s what it meant, said
‘It’s a set up.’
‘What?
‘Jesus Merrick, wake up, the flowers to Shona, came from Mr.’s Trent, who works for the