Ken Bruen
Merrick
…….LET ME INTRODUCE MYSELF
..
………….I’M A MAN………………
I kill children
Whoa…..hold the phones there pal
Don’t get your knickers in a twist and start rounding up the lynch mob
I love kids, I mean, I really do
Boys, between five and six……ah, bliss
You think they don’t love me back
Oh they do
That whimpering they make after, that’s like………purring
Had one cherub, after a particular strenuous workout, he licked my hand
See
Society is all bent out of freaking shape
They hunt us down, treat us like animals and why, because they cant make that
transcendence, that leap to pure love
And back up compadre, before you start trotting out clichés, an abused child, I object to
the term abused by the way but to stay in your narrow frame of reference, the gospel
is………..an abused child becomes an abuser
Horseshit
Kiss my middle aged spreading ass
It doesn’t happen
Why?
Fucks sake, focus, pay attention, you might learn something
Mine and yes, once I have them, they are my property, they wont become abusers
I guarantee it
You smirk
They don’t………..
Because I kill them
Every gorgons angelic one of them
How many now
Come on………….you’re counting
Count on this
I’m coming for your little darling
Soon
After I’ve imitated them into man love, what on earth can top that so I save them the
search, let them go out…………..on a high
A celestial choir of them, beaming down on me
The disfigurement, bothers you……….yeah?
Call it window dressing
Keep the cops busy
Let them think there’s a psycho out there
Me, I’m the sanest guy you’ll ever meet
That is the scary bit
Get over it
Whoops, gotta hustle, I hear my latest acquisition in the basement, pleading his little
heart out, he wants it, and he sure is going to get it
……………………diary page from The child/man love annals
I’d been a year in New York before I ran into Merrick
I’d left Ireland under the fooking proverbial cloud, though cloud is putting it mildly
I’ve been a Garda siochana….translate as literally, Guardian of The Peace
Oh yeah
Stationed in Donegal, real close to bandit country, Peace Summit me arse
The Boyos were still operating in Armagh and that was just a spit from where I was
stationed
I was born and reared in Galway and so, I was stationed far from me home
In jig time, I lost
Me wife
Me career
Me confidence
The scandal surrounding the local Guards and their framing of a local publican had blown
up nationwide
Till then, I swear to god, The Guards had a fine rep. Liked by the general populace and
how many countries does that occur in
Yeah, count em?
I wasn’t great at me job but I liked it a lot
I was young enough then to think I might be effective
Dream on yah ejit
I know about the frame and Hands up, I wasn’t actively involved but I did know about it
and I did………………nothing
and yeah, I took a handout. I’m not proud of it and sure paid the freight.
That is what they call, silent affirmation
See the learned vocabulary I have, been poring over the Reader’s Digest in an attempt to
increase me word power
The only word that describes what went down isn’t in the digest
Clusterfuck
The fall out was biblical
Top officers were up on charges but yeah, they’d get severe reprimands and be allowed to
retire with their pensions intact
Us grunts got shafted, big time
Fired and no pension
One of me mates hanged himself
Couldn’t take the shame
Me, I legged it
To Amer-i-kay
New start
Lived in a shitty hole in Brooklyn and got a job in construction
Hard graft
But it stopped me thinking and The Mick Mafia got me a Union card
I was drinking.
A lot,
Out of self pity, loneliness and rage, the lethal Irish trinity
I’m not going to suggest that meeting Merrick saved me but it sure changed me life
Thank fook
I missed me wife
Badly
I’d loved her
Oh sweet Jesus, did I ever
She dumped me when I got canned
She re-married a lawyer and has a child on the way
That shrives me heart
Still
And I guess, always will
Mores the frigging Irish-ed pity
Ah fookit
Moving on
Not cos I wanted to but had to
One fierce cold Feb night, I was a t a loss as usual and decided to go and sing some jars,
Hadn’t been out for brews for a time and I’d build up a thirst, headed for a bar in
Brooklyn that had a jukebox, played the hit of the eighties
Sounded good
There was a biting cold and a wind chill factor to freeze your nuts off
The bar was warm, with even a real fire, logs blazing and the place was hopping, Bowie
in the juke with All the Young dudes
The bar man looked like a real dangerous bollix
Big, with a completely shaved head, arms on him that testified to real graft and he looked
mean, he was wearing a T-shirt that read
“Gun church.”
I managed to grab a stool at the counter and he stood before me, wiping down the place
in front of me, growled
“Get yah?’
Sounded like a grizzly with a bad hangover, I said
“Jameson, coors back
He smiled, no warmth in it but a sort of knowing, said
“Mick huh?”
I nodded and he pushed
“You running a tab?”
Sure
He brought the drinks and I asked
“Get you one?’
He studied me for a minute then said
“Yeah, I’ll join you.”
To my amazement, he put out a meaty hand, said
“I’m Merrick.”
I was surprised, his tone was warmer, I took his grip, and we shook
He said
“Working hands, you on construction?’
“Yeah.”
He raised his bottle of Sam Adams, no glass, said
“Mozoltof.”
I said
“Slainte.”
He leaned over, asked
“Run that by me again
I did
He savored the word, like he was tasting it then gave a nigh perfect rendition
He asked
“You got a name or I have to like drag every piece of information outa you?’
I said
“Tommy, Tommy Ryan.”
He laughed, said
“Well, you ain’t Jewish, am I right?’
Before I could respond, he held up his bottle like a hurly, said
“Best warn you buddy, I am………. so answer real slow.”
“Some of me best mates are of that persuasion.”
Which was a lie but what the fook
It’s one of those lines I’ve always loathed, like, Gee, what a fookin liberal you are
Christ on a bike
Lame
He was massaging his neck, like it hurt, I asked