Without waiting for me to, he reached in, grabbed me, and starting pulling me out.

With my truck still rolling backward, Shutt rushed over and helped him pull me the rest of the way out through the window.

Once I was clear of the truck, they slung me toward the road. I hit the pavement hard and rolled a few times, scraping my hands and arms and face as I did.

Using my momentum, I pushed myself up and started to run.

That’s when one of the other men stepped up and clocked me on the nose with a tire iron he swung like a baseball bat.

Blood spurted out. Cartilage crunched. My eyes filled with tears. Shooting pain. Disorientation. Nausea. Dizziness. Blurred vision.

As I pitched forward, he swung again, striking me just as hard as before, this time in the abdomen.

I went down hard, unable to breathe, throwing up as I did.

I knelt there vomiting for a moment and trying to catch my breath.

“Twenty bucks to whoever can guess what he had for lunch,” Skipper said.

On my last heave, I pitched forward.

With everything in me, I tried to get up, but I couldn’t.

“Search the truck,” Skipper said.

As they did, I lay there with tears, blood, and vomit smeared on my face, unable to move, unable to take a deep breath.

“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’re the tapes, you son of a bitch?”

I thought I responded, but evidently nothing came out.

“Answer me,” he said.

I tried to again.

He stepped aside and the two men holding me went to work.

One got behind me to hold my hands back as the other one moved into position in front of me.

The guy in front used my midsection like a heavy-bag while the officer behind me held me up.

I began to heave again. This time only blood came out.

“My turn,” the guy behind me said.

He let me go and I crumpled to the ground.

They switched positions, then yanked me up again.

The guy in front said, “Hold him still. I held him still for you.”

The officer holding me began to move me from side to side as if I were a boxer bobbing and weaving.

“Cut it out,” the one in front said.

The guy holding me didn’t.

This frustrated the guy in front, and he took it out on me.

After missing me a few times, he finally connected with a hard, perfectly placed shot to my chin, and I lost consciousness.

33

I awoke to the muddy, muted sounds of soft, constant beeps, whispering voices, and the low hum of an air conditioner.

Everything sounded as if it was under water.

When my eyes finally opened, they closed again from the assault of the bright light.