I said goodbye to Tanner at about eight-thirty and left the bar and headed home. The sun was below the horizon now and the sky was a deep purple. Tourists walked up and down Centre Street, ducking into the t-shirt shops and getting their pictures taken with the life-sized pirate statues that stood outside practically every store.

I turned onto A1A and walked toward the ocean. The tourist sounds faded and the light kept going and then I was alone, walking past the subdivisions and protected wetlands and the old Civil War-era fort that had been turned into a state park god knew how many years ago.

It was full dark by the time I hooked a left on Tarpon. I made a right on Dolphin Ave and another left on Ocean and headed toward home. Two guys carrying a styrofoam cooler between them came down from the dunes and walked along slightly in front of me. One of them dropped his end of the cooler and ice and beer cans spilled all over the street. "Fuck," he said, and he and the other guy bent to clean up the mess.

"Need a hand?" I said.

"Thanks, man," the guy on the left said. He was a big beefy guy wearing knee-length bathing trunks and a "No Fear" t-shirt. Current. His buddy was a tall slim guy, also in knee-length bathing trunks, accessorized by a wife-beater t-shirt and a backward Rays cap. I approached and started to bend down to help them, and the beefy guy turned and sank a fist into my gut.

It was like getting hit by a steam piston. I doubled over and went to my knees and one of them, I thought the skinny guy, put a foot into my ribs. I had the presence of mind to roll with the kick, but I still felt it all the way to my toes.

I was on my side. My stomach felt like a wolverine was trying to claw its way out. My face stung against the asphalt, and I knew I had scraped some skin off of it when I rolled. Some legs entered my field of vision. Big legs. Captain Beefheart. One of the legs drew back to kick me in the face, so I did the only thing I could think of. I reached up between the legs and squeezed as hard as I could.

The beefy guy forgot about the kick. He recoiled, but I tightened my grip. He was making some sound halfway between a shriek and a groan, but he couldn’t get a lot of volume behind it. I used his nuts as a rung to pull myself to my feet and stood facing him, still squeezing.

The skinny guy wasn’t sure what to do. I kept Beefy between us and backed up, dragging the poor bastard by his scrotum. He hit me in the side of the face with a closed fist and bells rang, but I kept my grip. My face was numb and all I could hear was a loud buzzing that seemed to be coming from inside my own head. The beefy guy hit me again in the same place and yelped and shook his hand. I held onto his nuts like they were a life preserver. Spots clouded my vision and my head rang and my gut felt like an elephant was walking on it in spike heels. On the other hand, the beefy guy had a pair of ravaged balls and probably a set of busted knuckles.

The skinny guy was still figuring out what to do. I didn’t want to be around when he came to a decision. I head-butted the beefy guy and felt the cartilage in his nose crunch. He mewled. I put my free hand on his chest and shoved as hard as I could and he staggered backward. I kept his testicles in my grasp a split-second longer, then let go. He tumbled back into the skinny guy and I turned and ran.

They didn’t pursue. The big guy wasn’t in any shape to run, and his buddy was probably helping him. But I ran anyway, as fast as I could, three blocks up to my house. With every step I felt stabbing pains in my stomach and my ribs. My head clanged. I could barely see. I was counting on muscle memory to find my house. I ran.

I stopped running when I got to my driveway. Steve and Monster were sitting on their first-floor patio, drinking beer and passing a joint back and forth. Steve opened his mouth to greet me and then got a look at me.

"Holy shit, what happened to you?" he said.

I opened my mouth to reply and then doubled over and threw up. I went to my knees and threw up again. Hot bile burned my throat.

When I fell over, I had the presence of mind to roll to my side so I wouldn’t fall into my own sick. I didn’t have the presence of mind to think about which side to roll onto, and my injured ribs sang as they impacted the pavement. I craned my head around and saw Monster running toward me. Then I went away for awhile.

###

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was "Fuck you." It seemed like a pretty good summation of my evening so far.

I blinked a few times to clear my vision. I was staring at Monster’s chest as he leaned over me. His jailhouse tattoo peeked out from his open shirt. He was holding a plastic bag full of ice to the side of my face.

"I got it," I said, and reached up and took the bag. Monster leaned back and looked at me.

"What the fuck happened to you, man?" he asked.

I smelled pot and incense. I realized I was stretched out on the couch in the apartment Steve and Monster shared.

"Minor disagreement over some spilled beer," I said. I tried to sit up and David Beckham kicked me in the chest. I eased back down.

"You know who it was?" Monster said. "Want me to take care of it?" Monster was a gentle soul at heart, but he was very loyal to his friends. It got him into trouble sometimes.

"No, I don’t know who it was," I said. "Just a couple of guys. Never saw them before."

"Well, you see ’em again, let me know."

"Where’s Steve?" I asked.

"He went upstairs to your place coupla minutes ago, look for some Advil and shit for you."

"You don’t have any?"

"Hell no, I don’t get no headaches," Monster said. "Air’s clearer up here. Healthy."

"All the illicit substances in this house, you don’t stock aspirin?" I said.

"I don’t go around gettin’ the shit kicked outta me."

"Gee, I wonder why."

The door opened and Steve came in with a bottle of ibuprofin. "Who the hell keeps painkillers in their kitchen cabinet, man?" he said. "You’re supposed to keep them in the bathroom."

He went to the kitchen and drew a glass of water and brought it to me. He handed me the bottle of ibuprofin and I took six pills. I felt my ribs gingerly. They were sore, but they didn’t seem broken.

"So what happened?" Steve asked.

"I got beat up," I said.

"No shit, man," Steve said. "Why? You make somebody mad?"

"I must have," I said. "Funny thing, though. They never said anything about why they were doing it. Just started beating on me."

"Well, whatever you’re doing right now, maybe you oughtta stop it," Steve said.

I sat up. It hurt. I stood. It really hurt. But I was able to move. Score one for the home team.

"Maybe I oughtta go discourage the person who sent them," I said.

"Need backup?" Monster asked.

I shook my head. "Not for this one. Might later, though."

"Say the word, bro," Monster said. I nodded and went out the front door and climbed the steps up to my apartment. Every step hurt.

Next Chapter: TEN