Inside SEAL Team Six(14)

I was growing increasingly nervous because I didn’t know where I was going. I said again, maybe a little more desperately, “The cops are coming! I don’t want anything from you. Just drop the roof and go!”

He kept bearing down on me with the T top held over his head. I backed downhill until we were out of sight of the bar. Probably out of earshot too. Then I stumbled on something, and he swung the hard roof at my head. I recovered just in time to jump out of the way.

“Hey!”

“You’re a dead man. I’m gonna kill you!”

My heart was pounding wildly. I was alone with this crazed lunatic and scared.

At the bottom of the hill, we reached a little clearing with a junked car in it. The drug dealer swung the roof again. I ducked.

This time his momentum caused him to spin around, so he landed with his back against the grille of the car. He froze for a minute, and I saw the panic of a trapped animal flash in his bloodshot eyes.

I still held the rock over my head but backed away to give him space.

I was in the awkward position of confronting him and trying to defuse the situation at the same time. I didn’t want to fight, but he was growing increasingly aggressive and intense.

To my great relief I heard footsteps running down the trail. Three of my buddies entered the clearing, out of breath.

One of them shouted, “What’s going on here? Don, you okay?”

“Not really,” I answered, not taking my eyes off the thug. “This big guy’s trying to kill me.”

The big drug dealer, looking confused, wheeled and swung the roof at the biggest of my friends—a bodybuilder named Jay.

I shouted, “Jay, watch out!” and simultaneously threw the rock I’d been holding at the drug dealer’s head, thinking, If I have to, I’ll kill him, but I don’t want me or my friends to get hurt.

The crazed man ducked his head at the last second, so the rock missed him, smashed the windshield of the junked car, and slid down the hood to the ground.

“You’re a dead man now!” the drug dealer roared.

If he was crazed before, now he was completely unhinged. He threw down the roof, picked up the rock, and lunged at me.

I charged into him as hard as I could. My right shoulder sank into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The big man grunted, reeled backward, and crashed into the car.

I kept pushing my shoulder into his stomach.

From near the ground, I reached with my left hand, grabbed his nuts, and pulled down with all my might. The big man screamed and bent over. At precisely that moment, I punched up with my right hand and hit his face straight on.

Blood poured down my arm.

My friends descended on the guy, kicking and punching him. With my ears against his stomach, I could hear each impact, and I pulled away and shouted, “Guys, let up!”

We watched the drug dealer slump against the grille of the car. His face was a mess.

We left him bleeding into the ground and scrambled up through the woods to the parking lot. I told my friends to go home. I’d call them later.

One of them asked, “What about you?”

“I’m going to go back to the bar to see if the girl is okay.”

“Are you crazy, Don? You can’t do that!”

I said, “No. No, I’m fine.”

Figuring that maybe it was better to wait for things to calm down, I walked to another bar nearby and headed to the bathroom.

When I walked in, people looked at me like I was a mass murderer. It wasn’t until I looked in the mirror that I realized I had blood all over me—down my arm, splattered across my tank top, and smeared along the side of my face.

I washed up and went outside, where I heard police cars and saw a police helicopter hovering overhead. I ducked into a nearby miniature golf course, feeling like a fugitive. Actually crawled inside one of those doghouses people putt through, thinking, Boy, am I in trouble!

After forty minutes or so, I got out and started making my way carefully across the big parking lot. I planned to run into the woods if I saw the police.

Halfway across the lot this car came speeding around a corner and stopped beside me. To my relief, there was a couple inside. The guy who was driving rolled down his window, but the girl seated next to him leaned over and did all the talking.

She asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Focusing on my ripped tank top that was stained with blood, she said, “You don’t look fine. You got into a big fight, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because the police were here and they took the guy’s body. We’re happy you did what you did. We’ll help you get out of here.”

I said, “That’s okay. I’m going back to the bar to look for the girl.”