The Laying on of the Hands by Job Darcy
I punched a guy so hard that when he woke up two or three hours
later, in the hospital, surrounded by his family, the very first
question he asked them was, “Is the car totaled?” It’s no laughing
matter. I’ve always been a serious puncher and can recall numerous
accounts like that test dummy. But the story I’m fixing to tell you about the time I got out of jail
after doing six months—three months each in Ascension and then East Baton Rouge Parish prisons—goes
way beyond just my punching abilities. It tells a tale of how troubled I
was as a young man.
Let me back up a little. At the time this took place I had been living in Salt Lake City with my girlfriend Jennifer when I had to fly down to Louisiana to show up for court for twenty-five counts of simple burglary. After court I was supposed to hop on a flight back to Utah. Unfortunately, that’s when an altercation between me and an Ascension Parish cop followed by another one with an East Baton Rouge cop occurred. The courts told me I could go if I paid a fine of $1200. Jenn had her parents wire the money to my brother Jack, and, after paying the fine, he picked me up from East Baton Rouge Parish Prison.
Everybody wanted to party and celebrate asking me what I wanted to do. I said, “Fuck Ascension and fuck Baton Rouge! Let’s take this shit to New Orleans.” Everybody got ready and then we were off heading down I-10 drinking, smoking, having a blast. (Jack didn’t come with us.) Free at last! Free at last!
We pulled up in New Orleans six or seven cars deep, packed with some of Ascension’s finest. I knew it was going to be a good night. Good things were bound to happen. We were all having such a good time laughing and cutting up. Jessica was hanging all over me, whispering in my ear some of the most explicit shit I’ve ever heard. She wasn’t playing no games and I was thinking, “God, I love life!”
Then in front of a crowded cinema, my friend Boomy bumped into a black guy. They had a few words and Boomy cocked back and threw a straight left (Boomy is left handed) that completely missed its target. Boomy fell face first into the side of a parked car knocking himself unconscious. The black guy and his buddy—I guess they figured why not—started kicking the shit out of Boomy. I thought, “Shit, I’m gonna deal with these...” Before the thought was even completed I done dropped one. No sooner had he hit the ground than I had more motherfuckers punching me than I could count. Somehow I ended up with my back against the wall in the corridor of the theater. There were so many of them trying to punch me at the same time that they were smothering each other’s punches. The only thing behind any of their punches was the weight of their hands and forearms. It felt like I was getting slapped by a bunch of little girls. I was in perfect position to deliver my short chopping bone crushing blows, and once they started connecting, I started laying them out left and right.
In a matter of no time I had three out cold on the ground and two or three walking in the other direction slumped over holding their faces in their hands. By then everybody that was participating in kill whitey had figured out that I was of a different breed. Everyone got back, far back, way out of my reach, bewildered by what had just transpired. I’ve seen the look in their eyes before. It’s the look of instinct mingled with disbelief. I knew the stage was all mine. I’d just given one of the best performances of my life. Now it’s time to sum it all up. I started going off. Nigga this and nigga that. You pussy bitches. Blah, blah, blah. And that’s when I saw them: a whole group of Asian tourists all standing there watching in amazement. One of them videotaping it had his camera pointed straight at me, so I walked right up to him and knocked that bitch out too! He went down hard, his face and camera simultaneously smashing against the sidewalk. That was the exclamation point at the end of the sentence. “I’ll punish this whole mother fucking street!”
“Freeze! Freeze! Get down on the ground! Get down on the ground!”
I lay on the ground face down with my arms stretched out in complete submission when one of their boots came down hard, pinning my head against the concrete, holding me in place while the others cuffed me. Then they helped me to my feet and put me into the back of one of the cruisers that had just pulled up along with the ambulance.
I was watching them loading up the ambulance from the back of the cruiser when Jessica tapped on the window. She said, “We’re going to get you out. We’re going to get you out.”
I shook my head okay and gave her a sad smile. After six whole months of sitting in the slammer, my brief taste of freedom was over. I had been out of jail not even eight hours and now I’m heading straight to Orleans Parish Prison.
Next morning I woke up on a concrete slab in a dirty cold cell. Immediately I recognized the pain in my hands and then, after recognizing my surroundings, an even worse pain grabbed hold of my heart. I felt like screaming, but I was screaming on the inside. It’s as if every cell in my body had a voice to be heard. “What’s wrong with youuuuuu?” Like Gethsemane perhaps—all the pain in the world being felt by all that I am. “God, what the fuck is wrong with me? No, no, I’m not going there. Fuck it! Fuck it! This is my pain. This pain is for me.”
Then the screaming stopped and the pain ceased. The only pain left was in my hands. They were so swollen and covered in dried blood I could barely move my fingers. They hurt so bad. I got up and went to the sink and started washing off all the blood. I was utterly stunned to see all the broken off pieces of teeth I had embedded in my knuckles. I dug them all out of my left then out of my right and ran some cold water over the holes in one of the filthiest, nastiest sinks ever, then dried my hands with some extremely cheap toilet paper.
When it was my turn, they let me out of my cell and into the lobby to use the phone. I remember how painful it was just to dial her number. Jennifer answered the phone and got the recording all people receive when an inmate calls you collect from jail: This is Orleans Parish Prison. You have a collect call from an inmate Job Darcy. Please press 5 to accept the call or press 7 if you...
Jenn accepted the call and said, “Baby where are you?” in the most concerned, confused and loving voice ever.
I said, “Jenn, I’m back in jail. I’m in New Orleans.”
She said, “How can this be? What happened?”
I said, “Baby, it’s just the way it is down here.”
After about a week, Jenn’s parents wired my parents $600 so they could bond me out. My parents came and got me out early that Saturday or Sunday morning. I was to get on a plane that night at 10 p.m. and finally fly back to Salt Lake City. Brittany and Charity volunteered to take me to the airport in New Orleans and showed up plenty early with two of my friends, Shane and Brent. We all decided to go to Bourbon Street and have a few drinks and hang out for a couple of hours together before I was to leave. I told Shane and Brent, “Look I can’t get into no trouble. Please, please, please, whatever you do don’t get into no shit.”
We didn’t get halfway down Bourbon Street before Shane and Brent had me surrounded by at least ten guys and they were mad as hell. Apparently Shane and Brent were going around trying to steal everybody’s wallets. I calmed the situation down and apologized for these stupid pussy motherfuckers that I called friends. The guys were still pissed but they accepted my apology and left us alone. I told the girls, “Fuck this. Let’s go back to the car.” So we turned around and headed back.
Shane and Brent got mad about leaving and started making some real bitch-ass comments directed towards me all the way back to the car. I was the last to get in and, just as the door slammed shut behind me, I slammed my fist into Shane’s motherfucking mouth and then punched the fuck out of Brent. I started beating the shit out of both of them, ended up knocking Shane’s front teeth out. It was a one-sided punch fest in the back of a car in downtown New Orleans. My kind of party!
The girls started begging me to stop and the second I got control of myself Shane and Brent jumped out of the car. They were standing on the sidewalk beaten and bleeding. They refused to get back in the car so we left them right where they were standing.
As we were driving to the airport something in the seat caught my eye. It was Shane’s teeth. I picked them up and put them in my pocket. The girls dropped me off at the airport. I kissed and hugged them both and apologized to Charity for the mess I made in her car. Blood was everywhere. I had no time to clean myself up. I boarded the plane with my fists and shirt covered in blood.
Once the plane took off and it was safe to unbuckle I beelined it to the bathroom. I washed my hands off and tried my best to clean my shirt, but it was useless. Thankfully the shirt I was wearing was a brown and gold plaid and not white.
Four hours later I’m at the Salt Lake City airport and Jenn pops up out of nowhere giving me a big hug and kiss. She was so in love you could see it radiating off her everywhere. She’s so pretty! She was so happy smiling big as ever with her perfectly straight white-as-snow teeth. Oh, how I missed you Jenn. I reached into my pocket and said, “Here, I have something for you.” She held out her hand and I dropped my trophy into the palm of her tiny little hand.
She looked puzzled and said, “What is it?”
I said, “That’s somebody’s teeth.”
She said, “No it’s not.”
I said, “Oh yes it is.”
She said, “Where did you get them?”
I said, “Shit Girl, I got them in Louisiana. Come on, Baby. Let’s go home. You look so good, Jenn.”
Amen.
Let me back up a little. At the time this took place I had been living in Salt Lake City with my girlfriend Jennifer when I had to fly down to Louisiana to show up for court for twenty-five counts of simple burglary. After court I was supposed to hop on a flight back to Utah. Unfortunately, that’s when an altercation between me and an Ascension Parish cop followed by another one with an East Baton Rouge cop occurred. The courts told me I could go if I paid a fine of $1200. Jenn had her parents wire the money to my brother Jack, and, after paying the fine, he picked me up from East Baton Rouge Parish Prison.
Everybody wanted to party and celebrate asking me what I wanted to do. I said, “Fuck Ascension and fuck Baton Rouge! Let’s take this shit to New Orleans.” Everybody got ready and then we were off heading down I-10 drinking, smoking, having a blast. (Jack didn’t come with us.) Free at last! Free at last!
We pulled up in New Orleans six or seven cars deep, packed with some of Ascension’s finest. I knew it was going to be a good night. Good things were bound to happen. We were all having such a good time laughing and cutting up. Jessica was hanging all over me, whispering in my ear some of the most explicit shit I’ve ever heard. She wasn’t playing no games and I was thinking, “God, I love life!”
Then in front of a crowded cinema, my friend Boomy bumped into a black guy. They had a few words and Boomy cocked back and threw a straight left (Boomy is left handed) that completely missed its target. Boomy fell face first into the side of a parked car knocking himself unconscious. The black guy and his buddy—I guess they figured why not—started kicking the shit out of Boomy. I thought, “Shit, I’m gonna deal with these...” Before the thought was even completed I done dropped one. No sooner had he hit the ground than I had more motherfuckers punching me than I could count. Somehow I ended up with my back against the wall in the corridor of the theater. There were so many of them trying to punch me at the same time that they were smothering each other’s punches. The only thing behind any of their punches was the weight of their hands and forearms. It felt like I was getting slapped by a bunch of little girls. I was in perfect position to deliver my short chopping bone crushing blows, and once they started connecting, I started laying them out left and right.
In a matter of no time I had three out cold on the ground and two or three walking in the other direction slumped over holding their faces in their hands. By then everybody that was participating in kill whitey had figured out that I was of a different breed. Everyone got back, far back, way out of my reach, bewildered by what had just transpired. I’ve seen the look in their eyes before. It’s the look of instinct mingled with disbelief. I knew the stage was all mine. I’d just given one of the best performances of my life. Now it’s time to sum it all up. I started going off. Nigga this and nigga that. You pussy bitches. Blah, blah, blah. And that’s when I saw them: a whole group of Asian tourists all standing there watching in amazement. One of them videotaping it had his camera pointed straight at me, so I walked right up to him and knocked that bitch out too! He went down hard, his face and camera simultaneously smashing against the sidewalk. That was the exclamation point at the end of the sentence. “I’ll punish this whole mother fucking street!”
“Freeze! Freeze! Get down on the ground! Get down on the ground!”
I lay on the ground face down with my arms stretched out in complete submission when one of their boots came down hard, pinning my head against the concrete, holding me in place while the others cuffed me. Then they helped me to my feet and put me into the back of one of the cruisers that had just pulled up along with the ambulance.
I was watching them loading up the ambulance from the back of the cruiser when Jessica tapped on the window. She said, “We’re going to get you out. We’re going to get you out.”
I shook my head okay and gave her a sad smile. After six whole months of sitting in the slammer, my brief taste of freedom was over. I had been out of jail not even eight hours and now I’m heading straight to Orleans Parish Prison.
Next morning I woke up on a concrete slab in a dirty cold cell. Immediately I recognized the pain in my hands and then, after recognizing my surroundings, an even worse pain grabbed hold of my heart. I felt like screaming, but I was screaming on the inside. It’s as if every cell in my body had a voice to be heard. “What’s wrong with youuuuuu?” Like Gethsemane perhaps—all the pain in the world being felt by all that I am. “God, what the fuck is wrong with me? No, no, I’m not going there. Fuck it! Fuck it! This is my pain. This pain is for me.”
Then the screaming stopped and the pain ceased. The only pain left was in my hands. They were so swollen and covered in dried blood I could barely move my fingers. They hurt so bad. I got up and went to the sink and started washing off all the blood. I was utterly stunned to see all the broken off pieces of teeth I had embedded in my knuckles. I dug them all out of my left then out of my right and ran some cold water over the holes in one of the filthiest, nastiest sinks ever, then dried my hands with some extremely cheap toilet paper.
When it was my turn, they let me out of my cell and into the lobby to use the phone. I remember how painful it was just to dial her number. Jennifer answered the phone and got the recording all people receive when an inmate calls you collect from jail: This is Orleans Parish Prison. You have a collect call from an inmate Job Darcy. Please press 5 to accept the call or press 7 if you...
Jenn accepted the call and said, “Baby where are you?” in the most concerned, confused and loving voice ever.
I said, “Jenn, I’m back in jail. I’m in New Orleans.”
She said, “How can this be? What happened?”
I said, “Baby, it’s just the way it is down here.”
After about a week, Jenn’s parents wired my parents $600 so they could bond me out. My parents came and got me out early that Saturday or Sunday morning. I was to get on a plane that night at 10 p.m. and finally fly back to Salt Lake City. Brittany and Charity volunteered to take me to the airport in New Orleans and showed up plenty early with two of my friends, Shane and Brent. We all decided to go to Bourbon Street and have a few drinks and hang out for a couple of hours together before I was to leave. I told Shane and Brent, “Look I can’t get into no trouble. Please, please, please, whatever you do don’t get into no shit.”
We didn’t get halfway down Bourbon Street before Shane and Brent had me surrounded by at least ten guys and they were mad as hell. Apparently Shane and Brent were going around trying to steal everybody’s wallets. I calmed the situation down and apologized for these stupid pussy motherfuckers that I called friends. The guys were still pissed but they accepted my apology and left us alone. I told the girls, “Fuck this. Let’s go back to the car.” So we turned around and headed back.
Shane and Brent got mad about leaving and started making some real bitch-ass comments directed towards me all the way back to the car. I was the last to get in and, just as the door slammed shut behind me, I slammed my fist into Shane’s motherfucking mouth and then punched the fuck out of Brent. I started beating the shit out of both of them, ended up knocking Shane’s front teeth out. It was a one-sided punch fest in the back of a car in downtown New Orleans. My kind of party!
The girls started begging me to stop and the second I got control of myself Shane and Brent jumped out of the car. They were standing on the sidewalk beaten and bleeding. They refused to get back in the car so we left them right where they were standing.
As we were driving to the airport something in the seat caught my eye. It was Shane’s teeth. I picked them up and put them in my pocket. The girls dropped me off at the airport. I kissed and hugged them both and apologized to Charity for the mess I made in her car. Blood was everywhere. I had no time to clean myself up. I boarded the plane with my fists and shirt covered in blood.
Once the plane took off and it was safe to unbuckle I beelined it to the bathroom. I washed my hands off and tried my best to clean my shirt, but it was useless. Thankfully the shirt I was wearing was a brown and gold plaid and not white.
Four hours later I’m at the Salt Lake City airport and Jenn pops up out of nowhere giving me a big hug and kiss. She was so in love you could see it radiating off her everywhere. She’s so pretty! She was so happy smiling big as ever with her perfectly straight white-as-snow teeth. Oh, how I missed you Jenn. I reached into my pocket and said, “Here, I have something for you.” She held out her hand and I dropped my trophy into the palm of her tiny little hand.
She looked puzzled and said, “What is it?”
I said, “That’s somebody’s teeth.”
She said, “No it’s not.”
I said, “Oh yes it is.”
She said, “Where did you get them?”
I said, “Shit Girl, I got them in Louisiana. Come on, Baby. Let’s go home. You look so good, Jenn.”
Amen.
