Merrick Read Online Free Page A

could smell the toast and bacon frying
    and thought
    ‘You did ok Rabbi.’
    Merrick didn’t do friends real good, you were a cop, you were too cynical to
    believe in it. But first Moe, now this stoner Irish guy.
    ……………………. who smoked.
    Merrick didn’t let on he knew but when your parents died of lung cancer, you
    fucking knew.
    Ryan was a stand up guy, no doubt, even if half of what he said went over
    Merrick’s head. He just liked the guy. He hadn’t told him all of Moe’s
    investigation. Still holding some stuff back.
    Cos like, you never knew.
    Moe had narrowed the search for the child killer to three definite potentials.
    Merrick had ruled one out as the guy was doing ten to life in Attica. The
    remaining two.
    Well, he’d need Ryan’s help in tracking them down and seeing if they were the
    skel. He was about to jolt the mower up for the last inning’s when he heard a soul
    scrunching scream. Judy!
    He ran like a demon to the house, his heart pounding, found her in the hall, her
    hands covered in blood, she gasped
    ‘Upstairs.’
    He checked her, it wasn’t her blood. Grabbed his Louisville Slugger from the
    hatstand, took the stairs, three a t a time.
    The bedroom.
    He paused, raised the bat, kicked the door wide open.
    Their beloved Labrador, James Dean, was spread on the bed, it’s entrails spilling
    out on the carpet, it’s head positioned on the pillow, a note in it’s pathetic mouth,
    he snatched it, rage spilling from him, read
    …………………….the dog made me do it.

……………… AND A WORLD SO FULL OF WEEPING
    THAT
    ……………… FEW
    ………. CAN UNDERSTAND.

The day of the hurling match, I was alight. Going to show me mate our National
    Game. Jaysus, I felt fierce proud. Us Irish don’t really do pride, not so you’d
    notice and you’d say, fook all to be proud of. But whatever morsel we had, the
    Brits kicked the living shit out of it. So a chance to show my friend one of our
    rare achievements, It felt good.
    And Galway playing mayo, old rivalries, no matter what continent it was on. Met
    Merrick at The Stadium, he was dressed in chino’s, a T-shirt that read
    ……….Fifth of………….
    The rest was washed away. He had Ray bans so I couldn’t see his eyes but he
    wasn’t as the yuppies say,, a happy camper. I could sense it. When you feel good your
    own self, you are especially attuned to the nuances of discontent. I asked
    ‘What’s up?’
    ‘Nothing, looking forward to the game is all.’
    Right.
    I said
    ‘Got a small surprise.’
    He could give a fook, his whole body language screamed, …enough with
    surprises. He tried though, said
    ‘Great.’
    Meaning, I’d rather shove hot pokers up me arse.
    I took him inside the stadium, flashed my laminated pass, led him down into the
    bowels of the stadium, to the dressing rooms. Knocked on a door, opened by the
    manager of The Galway Team, who said
    ‘Jesus, Ryan, they let you out.’
    I introduced him to the team, and the captain, one of the best around, handed
    Merrick a hurley, said
    ‘Take a swing of that big fellow.’
    He did, liked it and had the flow.
    He was handing it back when the captain said
    ‘Turn it over.’
    On the other side was the signatures of the team.
    He was moved, said
    ‘Thank you, I’m…..moved.’
    Being Galwegian, the captain, said
    ‘
    You might want to give it back it they hammer the be-Jaysus out of us.’
    And we had the best seats too.
    I put my holdall at our feet, unzipped it, took out two cold one’s
    ‘Slainte.’
    He was looking at me with a new eye, asked
    ‘How’d you pull that off?’
    I said
    ‘I got some moves.’
    He whistled, said
    ‘Ain’t that the truth.’
    The game was one of the great one’s, sometimes you get lucky. Merrick was stunned by
    the sheer speed of the game and the skill necessary to run up a field, the ball, balanced
    precariously on the tip of the hurley, he asked
    ‘The fuck do they do that?’
    I