Merrick (6 page)

Malone was the poster boy for accountancy, wearing glasses, a muted suit, hair done in a

comb over, the saddest sight on the planet, and a desk, not mahogany, but serviceable

steel, an air of bewildered wonder about him, he said

‘Officer Merrick and your partner, how can I be of help?’

Merrick didn’t correct him, said

‘Thank you for your time Mr. Malone, we’re investigating some child disappearances and

wonder if you might have ever seen these kids?’

No indignation form him ……..no

‘What the fook you asking me about horrendous crimes for?’

Mr. Citizen,

if we’d said

‘We’re taking you in.’

He’d probably have put on the cuff’s his own self to accommodate us.

That was just horseshit to me, the guy was fookin with us on a whole different level or,

he was as dumb as he wanted us to think.

He looked, intently at the photo’s, said

‘Oh my Lord, no, sorry, I wish I could help.’

I was about to launch but Merrick stepped on my foot, hard. Said

‘

Mr. Malone, thank you, wish all our inquires were met with so much candor.’

Outside, we got in the car, took the scenic route into the city, by the ugly airport.

Ten minutes in to the drive, I said‘

‘No baklava then, guess I didn’t do so good.’

He didn’t answer then suddenly swerved across two lanes of traffic, horns blaring, and

tire’s screeching, managed, barely to pull onto the verge. Turned off the engine, said

‘I owe you something’

Leaned over and smacked me right in the mouth, cracking my front tooth, muttered

“Now, we’ve even, you asked about Jewish people, now you know, we bide our sweet

fucking time.’

I watched the blood from my split lip roll down my off white shirt, didn’t make any move

to staunch it.

He said

‘Ryan, you had that coming, Ok?, were doing good in there, but you, you wanted to step

all over the guy, scare the hell out of him, what’s your problem haven’t you got any cop

instincts?’

I pulled my door open, he shouted

‘Aw, come on.’

I reached in my waistband, pulled out my piece, leaned in the window, asked

‘And you, bollix, wanted to know about my background, open your fookin mouth, go on,

do it and see how cop!..............I am?

He tried

‘Ryan’

I pulled the slide

He nodded, put the car in gear, burned rubber out of there.

I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, the gun hanging loosely in my hand, asked me own

self

‘Would you, would you have shot the prick?’

Said

‘I’ve got a personality problem.

Added

‘Checkmate.’

I’d read somewhere that Bobby Fischer was accused of being anti-Semitic.

Yeah?

‘MAN, IF BE INSUFFICIENTLY OR ILL-EDUCATED

HE

IS

THE MOST SAVAGE OF CREATURES.

PLATO…….(yeah, that guy).

The heavy chess tournament award flew across the room, shattering the full length

mirror. The man known formerly as

Gacy

Initials

Et Al

Was so angry he could fucking spit.

A lot.

He was wearing his Yoga gear, wanted to rip it to shreds.

Peace……………

Fucking A Mister.

The rage was building even more as he couldn’t see himself in the shattered mirror,

hissed

‘Unbreakable, crap goddamn movie and crappier mirror.’

Turned to his bureau, the drawers not opening fast enough, so he yanked the bastards out

full, watched his carefully arranged underwear, arranged by day and color, fly all over the

room. Found the Heckler And Koch, aimed it at the mirror, wanted to weep at how he

was going to have to know what underwear to put on tomorrow. He checked the clip, way

to go, full and put a round in the dying glass, hissed

Yeah, who’s fucking sorry now?’

Spun around, muttered

‘Creep up on me muthahfuckah, how’d you like these cojones.’

Put two shells into the empty space.

One of the bullets ricocheted off the wall and came real close to taking his insane head

off. Got his attention, he whispered

‘Death by cop, by stealth.’

Heard the term………….unraveling, he knew it well from the serial killer books he’d

read and worse, how the schmucks got caught. Went to the bathroom off the room,

opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the bottle of Vic Odin, dry swallowed two.

Asked

‘Do the trick?’

Nope.

Kay……………

Got out the heavy duty babies, meant to be for an emergency and what the fuck was this,

pray tell?

Stopped, had he uttered that aloud?

Like a cartoon character, he put his hand over his mouth, then back to the cabinet, time to

get down, and got the Ocycodeine. Then holding three of these lethal suckers, went back

into the room, headed for the drinks cabinet, selected the Johnny Walker Blue, poured a

healthy measure into a tumbler made of Irish crystal, toasted

‘Oblivion, take me thus.’

The pills washed down with the blue. Now, all he had to do was wait, be chill and wait

for the answer.

After five minutes was able to sit down, feel the booze warm his stomach and then the

jolt as some of the Med’s kicked in.

Took a deep, albeit ragged breath, felt his mind go into the icy region and then was able

to say, without too much bile

‘They….

……………..they

…………………….came to my fucking place of work, put down two pictures of my

beloved, and ……..

He could barely say it

Question ME!.

He’d wanted to throw up when they appeared but felt he covered it well but then, who

knew?

You deal with fucking morons, they might get lucky and they’d only to get lucky ONCE.

The big guy, Merrick, all bluster and hard ass but the Irishman, a worry. He looked at you

with those killer eyes and you know, you knew, fess up, he was a crazy, he was Crystal

meth in human form. You took your attention offa him, hello fifty years in the slammer,

if………….and big if, the madman didn’t gut you first.

Lessons to be taught

Harsh

Brutal

Merciless

……if he was to distract the duo. Only one way, the dope told him, no argument.

Shoot one.

‘BUDDIES DON’T SHOOT EACH OTHER

DO……….( anxious tone)

THEY?’

DAVID THOMPSON, MURDER BY THE BOOK.

I was back in Brooklyn, Van Morrison with Astral Weeks on the stereo, not an

Mp3

Or any of the new fangled shite

On a sound system that the brothers would have been proud of. You can’t appreciate

music with things stuck in your ears.

Play it loud and aggressive.

Annoy the neighbors.

The whole point of stereo.

Just ask the black cats what the boom boxes are really all about.

My neighbors were a pair of stoner dudes, worthy of a Don Winslow novel, no I hadn’t

begun to read, they told me! And when I played, especially Thin Lizzy, loud and defiant,

they begged

‘Louder dude.’

Stoner’s, like I said.

Madam George was on and that bring s me as close to tears as any Oprah show. The

dreaded memory began to un-reel, I opened the seal on The Wild Turkey, the deli didn’t

stock Jay.

Yet.

Took a hit, good, lit a cig, and tried to let the lyrics blot out the awful mind replay.

Eddie and I, two kids from the Republic ,Eddie from Dublin, with that indefinable accent,

you didn’t know was he

a…………….cultured

b……………………….had notions

c…………..just a cunt

not many of us with the Boyo’s then,

after Bloody Sunday,

well, they came in droves.

‘Field of Dreams’, build the stadium and they will come, well, the Brits built a blood

stadium that they’d never quite play ball in again.

We earned our respect in the real testing ground.

South Armagh.

Bandit country.

Arm elite Armageddon.

Taking heavy hits every fookin day, got so you didn’t even talk to the new guys no more,

they’d be dead in two days. The SAS had us on the run, a turkey shoot but as they had no

respect for us, they got smug and we got back, viciously. Began to hit them literally at

home and I’m not real proud of that.

Different time.

We were finally sent to Belfast, the big number. Street to street, rooftop to alley, hit , run

hit again.

I was barely twenty and hadn’t one night ‘s sleep in a year.

Even the brass saw how beat we were and gave us two days Rn R in a safe house off the

Falls. We had crates of bottled Guinness, Fenian music, a stash of Poitin. We made

serious inroads on all of it. Even had some girls come round , look after our food,

washing…………..and stuff. Molly, red haired, Jesus wept, she adored Van the man,

used to have me listen to The Philosopher’s Stone, over and over till she was convinced I

got it. She was the very best of Irish women

Smart

Defiant

And ferociously loyal.

Said to me

‘Ryan, I’m your bulletproof vest.’

I was eating the stew she’d made and it was fierce good, full of spuds, meat, cabbage and

that heavy gravy, I looked up to tell her I might love …., I knew she figured I was going

to say ’Stew’ but she never got to find out, I never got to tell her.

A bullet took most of her head off, her blood and brains blending with the beautiful red

hair. I dropped the bowl as a mortar took out most of the top floor. Eddie was on his

belly, crawling towards the back door, his girl splattered over the far wall. I don’t

remember her name and I feel real bad about that .

I got my pistol out of my waistband as a borage of machine gun fire racked across the

room. Made it as far as Eddie, saw his face had a curious expression, shock I figured. He

said

‘Ryan, it doesn’t have to end like this?’

The fook was he talking about.

Added

‘They’ll let you live.’

My mind recoiled.

We were only just getting used to the term Supergrass, where the Brit’s grabbed our best,

turned them, and used them to decimate our ranks. He reached out his hand, I spat

‘You fookin can’t betray your country, Jesus Fookin wept, what else is there?’

I swear by all that’s Holy or otherwise that he smiled, said real quiet

‘I’m not.’

He was a fookin Brit, explained the dodgy accent and him being fookin useless at

hurling.

‘You’ll get a new identity, some nice money and all you have to do is tell them what they

already know.’

I managed to rise on to one knee, looked out the searchlights sweeping the house, the

street, and for a moment, it almost looked like white light, biotical sheen. Eddie pushed,

said what was to become my mantra of destruction

‘C’mon
Paddy,
it’s over.’

I got out of there, but I’m not really sure I ever truly left.

I was trying to compose a list of all time great buddy/road movies. For Merrick.

He’d be back.

Right?

Jaysus, if a friendship can’t survive a simple gun threat, is it really a bond?

Merrick loved poetry and my only knowledge was

…………….the poetry of cordite.

Definite in it’s relentless rhythm.

I had

Scarecrow, Hackman and Pacino……….didn’t they fall the fook out a time or two?

Freebie and The Bean, Caan and Arkin, and by Christ, they spent most of the movie

wailing the be-jaysus out of each other.

Butch and Sundance of course and they sure picked pieces of each other’s verbal hide.

48 Hours………..mmph…….I think it goes on the list, they certainly had enough

testosterone to merit.

Thunderbolt and Lightning, Jeff Bridges and Clint. A classic of friction.

A rapid knocking on my door halted my list, I figured it was a stoner asking why Lizzie

weren’t loud roaring, Whiskey In The Jar.

Figured wrong.

It was Shona.

A very distraught one, shouting

‘Why don’t you pick up your goddamn phone?’

Fook this, I asked

‘Am, what happened to hello?’

She brushed past me, turned to glare, said

‘Merrick’s been shot.’

I nearly said

‘I didn’t do it.’

In light of the last time I’d seen him, and my gun in his face, I bit down, hard. Asked

‘What?’

Her hands on her hips, the female in total exasperation at the male of the species, she said

‘His wife called me, they couldn’t get you,

She glanced at the bottle of Bourbon, the sound system, added

‘Because, guess what? Ryan is partying down. You bastard, your buddy is shot and

you’re having some fun time?’

She said a whole load of other shite, the way women do, they catch you on one fook up,

by Jesus, the whole kit and caboodle is comi.ng to show.

I did the smart thing, looked contrite like I could else? And when she wound down, got

the details, sketch as they were. Merrick was at Cedar Sinai, undergoing emergency

surgery.

And that was all she really knew.

She said

“I brought my car.’

Hello?

She had a car?

A Lincoln Convertible no less. You’d think…………The Lincoln lawyer, if you knew

your mystery.

‘WHICH WAY I FLEE IS HELL

MYSELF AM HELL.’

PARADISE LOST

MILTON.

She drove well, with a controlled ferocity, I had a hundred questions but my verdict

hadn’t come in yet so I said fook all.

Up on ER, we met Judy, Merrick’s wife, who said

‘Ryan?’

I waited for abuse but worse got

‘Oh Steve loves you.’

Steve?

Stephen Merrick, didn’t ring but I kept that to meself.

Merrick had taken a shot in his back, under the lower lung and was still in surgery, I

asked Judy

‘Can you remember anything about what happened/’

I was tentative, fearful of the wrath of The Comanche’s. She said

‘He came back early, from being with you, then said he’d work on our son’s car in the

yard. He’d been about there a while and I was going to call him for a beer, he loves his

cold beer after working up a sweat, when I heard a barrage of shots.’

Whoa, barrage?

She got there before me, said

‘Lieutenant Jordan,’

Indicating a short heavy set dude in the corner of the ER. He threw me a look of what

can only be termed, distaste.

Jesus, wait till he met me!

Judy continued

‘Say’s that six shost in all were probably fired, and only one hit.’

I thought

‘Moving car and handgun.’

It’s a bitch to nail a target with a handgun at the best of times but in a moving car, you

just empty your load and hope for luck.

Things got worse, Judy took my hand, said

‘Mr. Ryan, your friendship has really made a difference to Steve, he had been so down,

with Moe in a coma and all.’

Shona stared at me, willing me to step on it. I didn’t. Irish might mean green but it

doesn’t mean stupid, ask Bob Geldof.

I asked if could get her some coffee, some food, Jesus, anything to move me from the

spotlight.

Shona had her arm round her shoulder, I mean, come on, how do women get away with

this, they seem to be able do shit we’d get crucified for?

Judy said

‘Some coffee would be nice, keep me awake.’

I looked at Shona who said

‘No thank you?’

I went to get the coffee and with luck, a cig pit stop. The vending machine was on the

floor beneath and a sign that read………Smoking Room.

Alle-fooking-luia.

There is a nicotine God.

With a sense of humor. The sign led to the an outside wall.

Ok, I could roll.

A large man was coming towards me, he looked familiar, he smiled, said

‘You don’t remember me?’

Am…………

He laughed

‘You tinker, forgot me already, I’m Charley?......I own the bar, my Mum’s from Mayo?’

‘Oh right, sorry, I’m a bit preoccupied.’

He looked solemn, said

‘Steve will be fine, you’ll see, the guy is like a buffalo and hey, don’t be a stranger, come

down, buy your Indian girl some dinner, in my place, I’ll treat her right.’

Got outside

Got fired up and the door opened, I glanced up, a guy in a grey suit, came out, a crumpled

off the rack suit and I knew

‘Cop’

Nodded at him.

He took out a battered pack of un-filtered Pall Mall, and I offered my Zippo. He took it,

fired away.

I waited and sure enough, he said

‘Ryan , right?’

He put out his hand and I took it, he had one of those steel grips but let go without

damage, said

‘I used to walk the beat, with Merrick, back in the day.’

Ok.

More waiting as he got to make a smoke ring and maybe, the point then

‘Steve got pensioned out after his partner’s, lost his taste for the street I’m thinking and

me, I got moved to computer crimes.’

Waiting.

‘The point being, I’m shit hot with encrytology, numbers, data, anagrams

A beat

“And initials.

Gotcha.

“Steve ran some initials by me a few days ago, I never got to show him, simple really as

he’d told me they were in the serial ballpark, and you being his buddy, I figured, you’d

like, you might like to know.’

He told me, explaining,

‘A serial tag team, of real sweethearts, and the guy, he liked to send roses to his dead

victims homes,…………………………..

after they discovered the body.’

Shona, the roses.

He added

‘Sick huh?’

He flipped his cig butt high and far in to the Manhattan night, then reached in his jacket,

Said

‘I’ve been doing this a time, you know, and my instincts have never let me down.’

I asked

‘And they’re saying…………what?’

‘The psycho is practically telling you, a tag team……….he’s not on his own, he’s got a

partner.’

Like I’d said from the fookin beginning.

‘You need anything, give me a call.’

I read his card

………………………Serg. L. Boxer

………………………..computer Crimes.

And a choice of three numbers.

I said

‘Thank you.’

‘No big thing.’