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 42nd.’ 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 59th 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.
SHARDS IN DESPERANCE.
The next week, I was on the girders, up ninety floors, walking the metal like an
Michael Flatley. Only The American Indians really have the hook on that work
and get the big bucks for it. Me, I volunteered when their crew was one short,