21. Touring The Crack Houses Of Newport News
I got carjacked almost 25 years ago in Newport News, VA when it was all the rage in certain shithole eastern US cities. Instead of just shooting me with the little semi the guy had, he had me drive him to a couple of crack houses (also all the rage 25 years ago). Dragged my ass inside to two or three, used cash he made me pull out of an ATM to buy for him, back in the car for another go around.
Seems like this went on all night, but it was probably only an hour or two. Regardless, at some point the guy started to bug out and wasn’t paying attention to me when we got back in the car for round number whatever. My tire iron was under the front seat of my car, and I flat out smashed his face in with it. Heard bone break, blood all over, the whole nasty deal. Pushed him out the door and drove home.
Honestly, I puked a bunch, got shitfaced drunk, puked some more, raged quite a bit, and then passed out. Never called the cops, never got questioned, and talked about it with only a couple of friends. Since maybe the first couple of days, when the adrenaline come-down felt like it was going to kill me, I haven’t though that much about it. It’s possible I didn’t kill him, although I doubt it and always assumed he died.
Sounds weird, but I haven’t lost much sleep over it either. I’m fairly certain he would have killed me if I hadn’t hit him. Anyhow, it lurks in the back of my thoughts, and if nothing else I know that I could kill someone if necessary, because I certainly tried to kill that guy, and to the best of my knowledge I did.