Mike’s checked out the exposed ear. His partner was right. Cauliflower ears. Synonymous with an Old School boxer or a serious street-scrapper.
“I used to box a bit in my day,” Ron sighed, his thin chest puffing almost unnoticeably as he stepped back behind Mike. Without thinking, Mike found himself turning around and looking at Ron’s ears. No cauliflowers there. His new partner had either been a very good boxer or was playing Mike as a fool. Looking at Ron’s almost delicate hands, Mike assumed that he was being played.
Both men looked back at the body. A nice, albeit cheap, leather belt held up the modest black tailored pants. Professionally tailored, at that. Perhaps to accommodate the right leg, amputated somewhere around the knee? The street amputees Mike dealt with usually just had t
