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From the full version of Sunnyside's Lousy Book.

Hay, he's a bankruptcy lawyer!

The comments about the taxes I hadn’t paid got me thinking about eliminating some of the trouble I could find myself in. I looked up a bankruptcy lawyer in the phone book and drove my old rusty and burnt Chevy downtown to a lawyer’s office located across the street from Wrights Park. The office was inside a large converted house.
      At 1:00 P.M. I met with the secretaries and I was informed that the lawyer was making a court appearance in Seattle at the time. They said he was due back at the office later in the day, so I was assigned an appointment at 4:00 P.M.
      As I was walking down the sidewalk just outside the office, I noticed a suspicious situation in the parking lot. It was the green General Motors short-bed four-wheel-drive truck I'd seen several times around town before. It was decked-out with fancy things like custom wheels, lift kit, flared fenders, funny antennas and a roll bar with driving lights, or I tend to think the driving lights were mounted on one of those rear window shades that extend off the back of the cab a short distance over the bed.
      Inside was an older man reading a newspaper. As I walked past him I realized I had seen him from time to time around town also.

Being anxious, I came up with the idea of arriving early to meet with the attorney before the guy in the green truck would have a chance to. I arrived at least a half hour early but it wasn’t early enough, because upon my arrival I spotted the green truck was in the parking lot again. It was parked in the same spot, but without the guy inside. I assumed he’d left and came back for a second try, just as I. As you may guess, I now only wish that I would have written down the license plate of the green truck, but at the time I realized and as still do at this time is that all I needed to do is describe the truck and no doubt someone in town would know exactly who I was talking about.
      I entered the office and a secretary advised me to wait in the front room. As I sat on the couch, I could hear the ongoing conversations upstairs. Strangely enough they were talking about the fire, the video tape, my neighbors, and me. I found myself questioning my judgment to whether I was imagining the voices I heard. Of course I pinched myself real hard and it hurt. After more than ten to fifteen minutes, it was obvious to me that they were watching a tape of the fire and discussing what was on it.
      While looking out the front window, I witnessed a small car pulling up next to the curb in front of the house. Out stepped a small black lady along with a driver whom appeared to be her husband. As they approached the walkway, I noticed she had a remarkable resemblance of the firefighter lady that endangered my life during the fire. As they walked in through the front door, I ducked down in the couch so they couldn't see me over the back of it. A secretary escorted the couple straight ahead up the stairs.
      As the conversations went on, I wondered if what was experiencing was intentionally setup. I couldn't reach a logical reason for such a meeting. Of course I had to pinch myself again and tried to find some denial of the experience, but it truly sounded like they were asking the firefighter lady a bunch of questions while trying to think over the options of some kind of strategy.
      After the discussions upstairs had gone on for about a half hour, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I ducked back down in the couch again. After the foot steps were out the front door, I looked out the window and saw the firefighter-lady and her accomplice walk hastily down the sidewalk to their car. After they departed, I overheard one of the secretaries in the next room say, "It would make a good story, but nobody would want to read it.”
      In the conversation upstairs, I remember something being said about "the neighbors" several times which resembled the idea that they were "on our way" to get "the other tape." It wasn't long before I heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. I ducked back down in the couch again. As soon as the door opened, I heard one voice say to the other, "He'll probably kill himself." I took a peak over the back of the couch saw the two older men stepping out the door. To no surprise, one of them happened be the man in the green truck I’d seen earlier.
      I still wonder if they knew I was on the couch in the front room, because of the way he said it with the very crude chuckle in his voice. I figure they intended to have me to hear it because the secretaries seemed to have known what the whole ordeal was about and I would think the strangers would have waited until they were outside before saying such a thing unless they had no fear of the comment being overheard.
      The impression I got from the experience was that they truly wanted me to commit suicide and I know now, suicide was exactly what they had in mind. The question at the time was whether they wanted me to kill myself, or if they were planning to kill me and make it appear to look like suicide.
      Moments after the two men left, I was summonsed to meet with the attorney upstairs. We sat across from each other at a large conference table and the attorney began by asking me simple questions such as my name and address. While writing down the statistics on a yellow legal tablet, he acted as if he had no clue to who I was. I said, “Come on, you already know who I am. I don't understand why you're even asking me these questions.”
      "I don't know what you mean.” he said. ?????
      “I know the meeting you just had, was all about me and the fire. Tell me, what were they here for?”
      He said, "I don't know what you are talking about." “Come on,” I said, “I was on the couch downstairs and over-heard the conversations you just had with those guys. Tell me, who were they?”

He stonewalled me and I got the impression he really didn't want anything to do with me. I wasn't getting any closer to having him confess to what he had witnessed in the previous meeting. He began to get a bit edgy and said, "If you’re not comfortable with me representing you, please feel free to look for help somewhere else.”
      Since he wasn't being truthful with me; I got into telling him about the fire and the conspiracy that followed. I wanted to make sure he knew my side of the story. I told him about my truck and how they set me up for a felony. After the brief spiel, I put an end to the stonewalled meeting. With a sigh of relief but with a gesture of hope and optimism, the last thing the lawyer said was, "I wish you luck.”
      I made a dash to my truck in an effort to get home to find out if I could catch the guys I suspected to be on their way to my neighbors house. It was a sure way to prove to myself whether I had imagined the whole experience or not. I was hoping for a chance to block them in with my truck because I wanted to put them in a situation where they would have some explaining to do. I wanted answers and they were just the ones to get information from. Catching them stocking me twice in one day, at two different places would be like catching the suspects red handed. I'd be all over their shit and I figured they would deny knowing anything, but what the heck it would've been a hell of a good time trying.

The next chapter of Sunnyside's Lousy Book is:

Did the neighbors get threatened,
or just scared?

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