Anatomy of a Mugging Pt. 2

DISCLAIMER: This is a TRUE story. The names have not been changed.

 

“Cristyn!” I screamed as I hit the concrete floor.

 

A black cloth glove around the first punch barely registered but the second sent a shockwave from my chin to my temple. I fell to the floor where one tries to kick me in the stomach but fails, his foot landing on my cushioned thigh. The other succeeds where his delinquent comrade fails planting one right in the ribs. I moan in agony.

 

“Give me your keys, bitch! Give me your keys!”

 

“Okay, okay. Just don’t hurt me.” I pulled the keys out of my coat pocket. As they headed for the car I headed for the door.

 

I banged on the front door, realized it was unlocked, pushed through, slammed the door and locked it behind me. My aunt, Caroline, is sitting in a cushioned chair watching TV.

 

“Dwayne, what’s going on!?! What’s wrong!?”

 

“I was just mugged and they stole my car,” was all I could mutter.

 

“Here! Here! Take the phone! Call the police!”

 

I stumbled to dial the three numbers. It took three tries. “I don’t think this is working.” I pause take a deep breath. This time turning the phone on before dialing. All the while chaos ensuing behind me as Cristyn and her brother, Josiah are clued in to what’s going on.

 

“911, What’s your emergency?”

 

“I was just mugged and my car was stolen.”

 

“Where are you located sir.”

 

“I’m at 674…um…apartment ‘B’…um” I turned to Caroline. “What’s the address here?”

 

“674 Morrill…”

 

The dispatcher plows ahead before she can relate the full address. “Tell me what happened. What did they look like?”

 

“They…” My mind had gone blank. The shock has finally caught up with me and erased my memory, like some sick Freudian defense mechanism. My mind had become a jumbled mess.

 

“There were two no four .Two guys beat me up and they took my keys and ran off. I don’t remember what they looked like they were wearing black hoodies.”

 

“You don’t know what they look like,” said the dispatcher with a hint of sarcasm.

 

“No, not really. There were four guys.”

 

“I thought you said there were only two.”

 

“There was four at the beginning, two left and the other two beat me up,” I stammered, my hands shaking. “They took my keys.”

 

“Did they take your car?”

 

“I’m not sure, I didn’t stop to watch them take my car. I ran into the house. But I’m assuming since they have my keys, they have my car.” The dispatcher was beginning to test my nerves.

 

“So you don’t know if they took your car or not?”

 

“They took my car!”

 

“Sir, please calm down. I’m trying to help you.”

 

“I need a police officer. Did you get the address?”

 

“Yes, you’re on the landline so we got you at 674 Morrill Dr. Apt. B.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“We’ll have someone dispatched over right away.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

I hung up the phone still in a bit of a daze and all of a sudden remembered that I’d been punched earlier.  A delayed panic set in.

 

“Oh shit, I forgot I was bleeding. I need to go to the restroom.”

 

In the bathroom I mended the puffy lip. The sting in my ribs had subsided signifying no permanent damage. I looked in the mirror and notice the damage. Suddenly I felt a thousand pounds heavier as the weight of the situation set in. I sat atop the toilet seat starring out into space, overhearing Cristyn as she relayed the night’s events to our cousin David.

 

The night whirled through my head like a distorted Merry-Go-Round in a Stephen King novel. A knock at the back door brought things back into focus as the officers walked me through the evening once again. They scribbled the details into their notebooks and headed out the door.

 

Fifteen minutes later, while “crashing” from the night’s events, a wave of fear and disgust came over me. All you had to do was roll up your window and keep on driving. As my head lay between my legs wondering if my insurance would even blink at covering this monstrosity of an evening, one of the officers returned.

 

“We think we may have found your car.”

 

My heart skipped a beat.

 

I followed him around to “the scene of the crime” and stuffed myself into the back of their cop car. A three second drive around the corner and my car is diagonally parked on the curb with keys still sitting in the ignition. The contents of the glove compartment were strewn about the seat and floor. The officer assured me they were just quickly looking for money before noticing cop lights up ahead and ditching the car. I couldn’t help but wonder if they hadn’t taken a letter baring my address and were headed there at the very moment to lie in wait for my return to finish the job.

 

After the cop handed over my keys I sped out of the complex and straight back to my apartment. By this time it was 4 a.m. and sleeping became impossible as an irrational paranoia set it. Each nightmare was the same. Two of the guys are standing outside my bedroom window while the other two come at me from inside the house.

 

After a sleepless night I headed to work at 9 a.m. after which I headed to my parents cushy suburban household, a place where I knew I could sleep without fear.

 

Though I may have lost my phone at least I still have my car. Why it took this harlding and painful experience for me to realize that talking to strangers in a questionable neighborhood after midnight isn’t a good idea, I’ll never know. Maybe tragic is just how I operate.

 

Until next time,

 

~D.A. Steward