The Eyes of a Fighter: A Serial Novel

Chapter 8

The detective that had been in his office earlier that day looked down at Ed with a curious look. His black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. He was wearing a dark leather jacket that was unbuttoned and swung out at his hips.

He puffed on a short cigar. Ed was looking up at him and could tell he was saying something, but couldn't understand him. The detective's lips were moving, but Ed couldn't pick anything up. He strained to listen. It seemed important.

The detective seemed to be repeating himself and getting more and more frustrated with Ed. 

"I can't hear you!" Ed shouted back at him. "You need to speak up! take that damn cigar out of your mouth!"

Ed felt a pain in his side. It was sharp like a piece of a broken bottle was being jammed into him over and over again. He put his hand down to try to stop it. He felt the broken bottle get jammed in again. 

He pleaded with the detective. "What? Tell whoever is stabbing me with that bottle to please stop! It hurts!"

The detective bent down close to Ed's ear. He took the cigar out of his mouth. "Get up," the detective said. 

"Hey buddy. Get up. Seriously you messed up. Can you move?" the detective was smiling and still puffing on his cigar.

"Hey! Buddy get up! You ok? You got beat up bro! You good?" The detective kept smoking. Ed shook his head. The broken bottle brought another jolt of pure pain.

Ed's vision suddenly cleared. The detective faded away and rain took his place. Cold drops of rain fell on his face. A man was standing over him and asking him questions.

"What? Who are you? What's happening? Quit with the bottle, please! It hurts?" Ed was pleading.

The man looked at him with a quizzical expression. "Bottle? What bottle? Man, you are messed up. I'm calling the police or something."

The mention of the police brought new energy to Ed. He tried to sit up. The searing pain came in a rush once again. He rolled over onto his stomach. The man helped him stand up. Ed looked at him closer. It was the clerk from the corner store. He felt grateful to see someone he recognized.

"What happened?" he croaked. When he spoke he felt his jaw burst with tight pain. He brought his hand to his face. "Owwwww boy that hurts."

The clerk filled him in. Ed barely kept up, but was at least standing on his own now. 

"You must have got jumped man. They took your stuff too I guess. I remember seeing you in the store. I came outside for a smoke break and I aw you lying up there on the sidewalk. Here, check yourself out." The man held out his phone with the camera app open. 

Ed grimaced and couldn't recognize the face he saw. He had a huge swollen eye, the left side of his face was bright red and puffy, and his bottom lip was busted open. 

He pushed the man's hand and phone away. The movement of his arm send ribbons of pain down his sides. He gasped and bent over. They had kicked his ribs. It was coming back to him. Kids with clean shaved cheeks and denim jackets.

"Damn kids robbed me and beat me up," Ed mumbled. "I didn't even get a punch in."

"You want me to call the cops, man?" The clerk held out his phone again.

"No. No, I don't need that now. I think I'm good to get home. I just live a few blocks from here."

Ed made it home. On the way home the cold rain had sobered him and brought him a little back to life. His face and ribs were on fire as the damage began to bloom.

He went to the freezer and took out a cold compress. He put it on his face and winced with the pain. He went to his small bathroom and got up the courage to look in the mirror. The bright light hurt his eyes but he forced himself to look. 

He saw a beaten man. He was hunched over and bloody. He was barely able to take a breath, but he was managing. He looked into his own eyes. One was swollen shut and a bright bruise was taking shape. The other looked thoughtfully back at him.