And then my engine died. I was out of gas-literally and figuratively. How, I do not know, but I had the presence of mind to pray.
When my truck finally rolled to a stop on the right shoulder of the road, Skipper and company were right behind me. They jumped out quickly. I knew it was only delaying the inevitable, but I locked my doors. Within seconds a tire iron crashed through my window. Glass shattered everywhere. My eyes fixed on a single shard of glass as it slid the length of my dashboard.
When you get hit on the nose, it has a feeling all its own, and, besides being hit in your credentials, nothing hurts worse. This is especially true if you are hit very hard in the nose with a tire iron.
Blood spurted out; cartilage shifted, and bone crunched; my eyes filled with those painful, I-got-hit-in-the-nose-with-a-tire-iron tears; and the pain made me nauseous. I fell over to the side, but not very far-the seat belt held me up. Somebody grabbed me by the shirt, which ripped open as buttons shot like bullets across the cab.
Someone snatched me hard from the seat, but the seat belt held. He yanked even harder, jarring me unmercifully. My brain felt as if it were rattling around inside my skull. Finally he figured out that the seat belt would not give me up, so he unbuckled it. He yanked at me again, and this time I went flying out.
I had probably seen him at the prison, but everything was blurry, and I didn’t recognize him. He reared back and hit me hard in the gut. I fell down as my lunch came up.
I knelt there vomiting as they stood around laughing. On my last heave, I fell forward. With everything in me, I tried to get up, but I couldn’t.
“Search the truck,” Skipper called to Shutt. I lay there with tears, blood, vomit, and dirt smeared all over my face while they searched the truck.
“It’s not here, boss,” Shutt said.
“Get him up,” Skipper yelled.
He got right in front of me after two of his men were holding me vertically again. “Where the hell are those tapes, you son of a bitch?”
I thought I answered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” but evidently nothing came out.
“Answer me,” he yelled again, and this time his spit joined the other disgusting things on my face. Of everything, it disgusted me most.
He turned, and with his back to me he said, “Okay.”
That was just what the two men holding me were waiting for. One got behind me to hold my hands back as the other one moved in to position in front of me. They were placing me in the classic working-over pose. However, rather than keeping me from defending myself, the man behind me was actually keeping me from falling to the ground.
The guy in front of me began working on my midsection as if he were doing a heavy-bag workout. My knees buckled, but the officer behind me held me up. I began to heave again, but everything in my stomach had been purged. I coughed in between heaves. The heaving and the coughing only produced blood. It wasn’t a lot of blood, but it was my blood, which made it way too much blood.
“My turn,” the officer behind me said with an evil sneer.
He was enjoying this way too much. Come to think of it, they all were, with the possible exception of Shutt, who seemed not to have the stomach for violence.
The officer released me, and I crumpled to the ground as they switched positions. I could see the boots of Skipper and the other officer on the other side of the truck, and it looked as if they were still searching through it. When the two officers had switched positions, the one behind me kicked me hard with his pointed-toe boot and said, “Get up, you big pussy.”
I tried.
Finally, he yanked me up, primarily by my hair.
The officer in front of me said, “Hold him still now. I don’t want no moving target. I held him still for you.” The officer holding me began to push me from side to side as if I were a boxer bobbing and weaving. “Cut it out,” the one in front said.
“We got to give him a fair chance now, Jeff, don’t we?” He continued to jerk me from side to side, but I could tell his arms were getting tired. As his grip loosened, I thought of trying to break free to run. When he finally did get so tired that he released me slightly, I fell to the ground again.
When he pulled me back up to my feet, he said, “Now be still, boy. Can’t you see we got work to do? The one in front drew back like he was about to pitch a baseball and swung his fist fast and furiously toward the left side of my head. The blow landed between my ear and eye.
And then the strangest thing happened. Somebody turned off the lights.
Chapter 36
I awoke to the muted sounds of soft, constant beeps, whispering voices, and the low hum of an air conditioner. Everything sounded as if I were in outer space or under water.
When my eyes finally opened, they closed again from the assault of the bright light.
Someone said, “Close the blinds. He’s waking up.”
Someone else said, “Okay.” Both voices sounded excited.
My eyes opened again. I saw white light, less bright now, but still very present. A TV mounted on the wall in front of me played CNN. I lifted my right hand. Something was attached to my forefinger. I tried to remove it, but a hand descended out of the sky and prevented me.
My eyes followed the hand up the arm to the body to which it was attached. It was a beautiful goddess with large brown eyes and long brown hair. Beside her was another one. The second one looked like Bambi with a broken nose. Bambi? Laura. And Anna.
Thank you for letting me live. I love you.
“I must be in heaven,” I said. There was laughter, so my words must have come out, but I hadn’t heard them.
The loudest laughter came from the left of the bed. I looked over to see Merrill standing there with a wide grin on his face.
“Oh, no. It must be hell,” I said. And this time it was the ladies who laughed.
“How are you feeling?” one of the ladies asked.
I turned in that direction again, which didn’t take more than five minutes, and said, “Who said that?”
“I did,” Laura said with a warm, adoring smile as she rubbed my leg. Anna had dibs on my hand and arm.
They would just have to share.
“I feel like I just went fifteen with Foreman,” I said.
“You look it, too,” Merrill said. This time I didn’t attempt to look at him.
I looked up at Laura and said, “Anna, Merrill, this is Laura Matthers. Laura, this is Anna and Merrill.”
They all laughed. “We know each other pretty well by now,” Anna said.
“We’ve been in here looking over and praying for your white ass for the past three days,” Merrill said.
“I don’t remember.”
“You’ve been resting,” Laura said.
I was puzzled, which must have registered on my face.
“You been out cold, man,” Merrill said.
“What? For three days?”
They all nodded.
“How do I look?” I asked.
Laura started to speak, but Merrill beat her to it. “You look like you went fifteen with Foreman and him fighting with a tire iron.”
“You look ruggedly sexy,” Laura said. Anna nodded in agreement.
“That’s two against one for ruggedly sexy. Sure you don’t want to reconsider your assessment?”
“I calls ’em likes I sees ’em, boss. We never lie to a white man, boss. Nosuh.”
“You got a mirror? I’d like to judge for myself.”
“Doctor say no mirror for at least a month. He scared you off yourself if you see what you look like,” Merrill said.
By the time Merrill had finished saying that, both Anna and Laura were offering me mirrors. I tried to take one. It didn’t work.
“Here, let me,” Laura said as she held the mirror in front of my face. Anna backed away gracefully.
My nose was taped up with some sort of plastic device to support it. Both eyes were black. There were a few cuts and scrapes on my face, many already well on their way to healing. The underside of my chin was split open pretty bad, but there didn’t seem to be any stitches, just butterfly Band-Aids.