Merrick by Ken Bruen Page A

impossible not to start conversing in stoner with those guys. I said
    ‘Bad fookin vibes bro.’
    And went on to my apartment.
    I’d just put Rory Gallagher on the speaker, from the days of his first group, Taste, and the
    burning tracks beginning to lacerate. A knock on the door, I thought
    ‘The fook?’
    Opened
    To the stoner, carrying a paper bag, he said
    ‘Got some gear here bro, help you past the downer.’
    I took it, said
    ‘Thank you, truly, you ever need anything?’
    He grinned, looking like a kid allowed to play at being a grown up, said
    ‘Dude, play Lizzie, The Boys Are Back In Town’. Play it loud, for Phil Lyn not.’
    I asked
    ‘Ever hear Luke Kelly sing , Dirty Old Town, it’s like ………………..awesome.’
    Like I said
    Stoner.
    He turned to go, then had a thought, acted on it, asked
    ‘Dude, you got really, a Sioux girlfriend?’
    I nearly smiled, went with, said
    ‘Comanche.’
    He was delighted, said
    ‘Word.’

‘THE BAD BOY GIG.’

Merrick came out of the hospital, like a demented bull. He’d managed to persuade his
    wife that he needed some quiet time, walk The Jersey Shore, just to be grateful he was
    ok.
    What a crock he thought, I never walked the damn shore in my life and didn’t see it
    happening anytime soon. Mostly, he wanted two things.
    A drink.
    To crack Ryan’s fool head.
    Maybe three as he’d like to repeat Number two, a lot .Only one place really to go, once
    a cop, you got hit, you went to a cop bar. Civilians, even his poor wife, they didn’t
    really get it. Why should they, they didn’t live in the expectation of a bullet. Hailed a cab,
    headed for Charley’s bar.
    He tipped the driver a few bucks and the guy said
    ‘Have a good one.’
    He sure as hell meant to try.
    He’d no sooner walked in the door than Charlie was over, going
    ‘Hey hey, the hero arrives.’
    And maneuvered Merrick to a corner booth, said
    ‘Sit your good self down, take a load off and I’ll go get us some righteous drinks.’
    Merrick felt he’d arrived in safe harbor. Leaned his head back against the leather
    upholstery, let his breath out. Never realized he’d been holding it so long. Maybe since he
    got shot.
    Charley was back, Bottle of Jameson and two pints of ice cold beer. Merrick said
    ‘Fuck, that looks good.’
    Charley said
    ‘Knock the head off the brew.’
    He did and then Charley unscrewed the cap on the Jay, poured a serious amount in to the
    glass, said
    ‘Instant boilermaker.’
    He did the same for his own then raised the new drink, said
    ‘To long life.’
    ‘Amen.’
    Charley was a barman, had been a cop, knew the value of the first sacred silence, as you
    paid homage to the drinks. When they’d gotten on the other side of that, least quarter of
    the way, Charley asked
    ‘Where’s the Irish whiz kid?’
    Merrick sighed and Charley went
    ‘Oh?’
    Merrick launched, the Jameson aiding the flow of his bile. Put it all out there except the
    part about the credit card. He didn’t want the kid to look that smart so never mentioned
    Mr’s.Trent, then when he wound down, had a moment’s doubt, asked
    ‘Charley, this is all between us, right?’
    Charley gave him a playful punch to the shoulder, said
    ‘Like Church.’
    Fresh round of drinks and Charley said
    ‘Twenty years on the job, I never got shot, yah believe it?’
    Merrick, bitterly said
    ‘Yeah? Don’t go starting now.’
    Charley hesitated and Merrick caught it, said
    ‘Go on buddy, it’s ok, you can ask?’
    Charley lifted his glass, took a hefty swallow, then
    ‘I always wondered about it, you know? You have to, everyday you’re out there, chances
    are. Mostly I hoped, Jesus, I hope I don’t take it in the balls.’
    Merrick laughed, the Jay hitting, said
    ‘That would not be good.’
    They had a comfortable silence for a bit then Merrick said, knowing he was answering
    the real question,
    ‘It’s like getting hit by a two by four, knocks you on your ass, you can’t breath