Troll was assaulted late last night. First he was jabbed with an elbow to the back of his neck. Then a few hard kicks to his lower back. It was a quick one-two manoeuvre. He fell to the ground immediately. They took his wallet and cellphone, said sorry, and were gone.
He’d been on his way to hear his brother Moss playing music at a ‘club’. The club is an abandoned garage, unlicensed, where they play until the City shuts it down. It’s in a sketchy part of town, on East Hastings, a few blocks east of the notorious Downtown Eastside – home to a ghetto of users, dealers, pimps and prostitutes.
Troll had stopped in at a corner store to withdraw some cash for the cover charge. Two guys followed him out, saying they too were going to the club, sort of befriended him, until he was in a dark quiet place, then – wham!
Laying there dazed for quite a while, dizzy groggy and in a lot of pain, he climbed onto the next bus for home. When he called me he’d slept through most of the day. I told him to immediately go to ER or a clinic. Sure enough he has a bad concussion and a minor crack in one vertebrae.
They’d taken his last $40 so he needs me to send him some cash. He needs to replace his phone so he can contact work.
(What now? I’m trying to stop enabling. I’m still in my tough love mode. But he knows how to pull on my heartstrings. Has he made up this elaborate story to manipulate money from me again?)