Noir Izola: The Itching of the Stitching

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Ten days after the attack and I can’t keep my fingers off the stitches.

The story continues with the repeated calls for the man who attacked me to be reported to the police. So I went to the police. I’m reminded of a bit from Chandler that was quoted in my first novel: ‘I spent last night with the police. It was their idea.’ That was Marlowe. If I were Marlowe, the concussion would have happened while I was on a case. Instead it IS the case. The police told me to return on Monday when I could talk to the cop who was at the scene. But what happened at the scene?

I was just stopped by a guy on the promenade, who asked how my ear was. Do you remember me? he asked. No. No, I did not. After he spoke for a while he began to seem somewhat familiar. I have another witness. He saw what happened. He said I was extremely happy, as in in a great mood, not as in terribly drunk, and that there was no reason for what happened, for the attack.

More importantly, he described more of the scenario. I was unconscious, he estimated, for a minute and a half. I was very white, he said. He was the one who took me into the bathroom so I could see that my ear was pretty badly damaged. He described my reaction to seeing that it was more or less torn from my head. I was surprised, I recoiled. Maybe I said Holy Shit. So the cops came, or a cop came. The cop had no idea of my condition–this guy said he thinks the cop didn’t see the ear. He also said that at first Gee-whacky left, but then returned to tell the cop that I was looking for trouble, that he was guilty of nothing. He also said that while I was unconscious the guy Ž was with kept repeating It’s nothing, It’s nothing. Apparently some people thought it might be worse than it was. He said the bartender was quite shaken up.

Of course, I know that Ž went to the bar to apologize the next day and that he went again a few days later to tell the bartender not to tell the cops what she saw.

A friend of mine is lending me his pepper spray in the meantime, in case Ž comes gunning for my like a recrudescence of Tommy Udo.

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Further earregular happenings

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So yesterday I was at Bariera in the afternoon having Engish discussion class, and the proprietor asked me if I had seen my assailant, Žvaki, and I said I don’t even know what he looks like. The proprietor said But he’s driven past five times. A few minutes later he said Rick, that’s him, and I got a glimpse of the face of the driver of a toyota, olive color I think, who passed and as Sončno nabrežje is a dead end passed again on his way ‘out’. After ten minutes I went to visit the consulate that gave him a passport to relieve my bladder, and there he was again, on his way out. So, having a lot on my mind, including this email:

‘Listen Rick,

my friend told me that this guy is a psycho and he is looking for troubles like the recent one very often.A lot of them would rather see him behind bars.I’m not suuggesting anything I just want you to take care.’

I decided after my student left to order a beer and await his next passing, at which point I would attempt to flag him down to see if we could settle this matter peaceably and without the law. But he didn’t pass by again, and the only argument I have heard against going to the law is that it might cause more trouble with him. That seems a rather ignoble reason to do nothing, and also brings no guarantee of peace. So I have an appointment with a lawyer tomorrow morning.

Can you ear me?

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Last Wednesday at Hangar Bar over by the marina, I got a concussion and some 4 cm of stitches, thanks to some guy I have been told goes by the nickname Žvaki. Last night I finally got the chance to interview the one sound witness to the event, making a concerted effort not to listen to rumors or leap to conclusions. So what happened was I went from the little beer garden into the bar and from my right came this fellow who took exception to my nationality and–according to the bartender, I was not in the least guilty of anything, nor even particularly drunk–lacking a better idea grabbed me acalappela and flung me head-first into the blackboard whenceupon I blacked out and somehow got an incredible three slitted lobal injury along with a fascinating concussion which had my brain resetting every minute or two or three.

Just now I am weighing my options. A lot of people are telling me the guy belongs in jail. The waitress told me he visited her at work two days ago and asked her not to tell the police what happened. That tipped the scales for me.

I should add that the same waitress was coldcocked a couple weeks ago. Different person, but known to the barfolk.