Merrick

Merrick And I decided to walk to the subway, then he’d catch the train to Long

Island. We were back to talking about Gacy or who-the fook-ever he was. We

decided to pay a visit to one of the suspects the next day, and Merrick mused

‘Which one first?’

I said

‘Let’s flip a coin.’

We did and the dentist in Tribeca was first up.

He nodded, said

‘The Dice man.’

I went

‘Who?’

He swore, said

‘Luke Reinhart, buddy, we’ve got to get you reading some books.’

I let that linger then

‘’Don’t sweat the small fings George.’

‘What?’

‘Michael Caine to Bob Hoskins in ‘Mona Lisa. We’ve got to get you watching

some movies mate.’

I could see the small smile touch his lips.

The walk was bracing, the night air clearing away some of the booze fumes.

Merrick asked me

‘So, when we pay our guy a visit, you want to be good or bad cop.?’

I didn’t answer for a time and he said

‘Come on, you guys worked that gig in The Guards?’

I said it was a little different. He pushed me so I said

‘Ok, there was the bad cop and there was the complete bollix.’

He laughed out loud.

He felt my sudden alertness, looked ahead, saw what I’d seen two beats before,

three guys, heading our way, fast and lethal. Merrick went

‘Uh-oh.’

The lead thug said

‘You ladies want to hand over your wallets.’

Merrick sighed, asked

‘You dumb fuck, can’t you see I’m carrying a weapon?’

The guy looked at his buddies, sneered

‘Yo, homes, you see this muttahfuck carrying anything more than a big stick?’

They laughed, the crystal meth one, high, like a hyena in grief, and merciless.

Then he reached in his windbreaker, pulled out a magnum, it looked big, ugly in

the light from the street, he said

‘Now me sweetcakes, I got me a serious piece of iron here.’

He guffawed again, and his crew joined in, major mistake, checking to see his

buddies appreciation. I saw Merrick take the moment to adopt the hitters slide

stance, balanced on his right foot, swung the hurley with all his force. I heard

bone crack and the magnum went sailing into the New York skyline. The guy

screamed

‘Goddamn son of a bitch, you gone broke my arm.’

He stared in disbelief at his shattered limb, a piece of white bone, visible. He

shouted at his crew

‘Take that asshole down homes, gut him like a bitch.’

One stepped forward with a long knife. Merrick balanced again but I stopped his

arm, asked

‘May I?’

The second guy had learned his knife skills from the movies, ie, all flash and no

skill. I let him lunge, even gave him a second feint, then kicked him in the balls,

using my knee to shatter his nose as he went down. The third guy was uncertain

what to do. The odds were not exactly shaping up. While he dithered, Merrick

said

‘For fuck’s sake, make up your goddamn mind.’

Took him out with a neat clip to the side of the head.

He wasn’t even out of breath, said

‘Christ, I needed that.’

He hefted the hurley in his large hands, said

‘This sucker has a fine balance.’

I said

‘Made from the ash.’

He laughed, went

‘Like I know what the hell that means.’

When we parted at the station, Merrick seemed like he might even hug me but I

blocked that, said

‘Whoa big guy, us Irish, we’re too macho for that shite.’

He laughed, clean and hard, asked

‘Where’d you learn to handle a knife guy?’

‘Bad neighborhood.’

‘Patrolled it, yeah?’’

‘Nope, we called it home.’

Not for the first time, he seemed about to say more but settled with

‘You’re a piece of work, you know that but I had me a fine full day.’

I agreed, said

‘And Galway won.’

Looked at his Hurley, added

‘Twice.’