From the full version of Sunnysides Lousy Book.

Boom, boom,

it's going to blow

       When I arrived at home and got out of my truck in my back yard, I could hear several different voices from the neighbors in their front yard yelling, "Boom, boom!"
    "It's going to blow!" "Boom, boom!" Other things were said that lead me to believe that some-one might have planted a bomb in my place.
       I wondered why they wouldn't just come around back and tell me directly, but since there isn't books publish on how deal with these sorts of things, I had to wonder if they were in fear for their own lives if they confronted me on the matter.
       I should've gone around to the front of my house and asked them what they were yelling about, but felt uncomfortable wondering what kind of response I would receive from them. I knew they didn't like me so I figured they would only deny knowing anything if it wasn"t true and I thought if what they were saying was true, they sure wouldn't want to be involved in it in any way, so they would only want avoided me and deny ever saying such things.
       I figured it was most likely a prank until I noticed the board I used to cover for hole where the trolley rolled out on the I-beam above the doorway to my shop -- wasn't in place. Since the fabrication work on my truck had been done for quite some time, the trolley and chain hoist hadn't been used for as long as I could remember. I assumed the cover should've been in place and it made me suspect something was seriously wrong.
       Someone must have either heard me talking about making bomb check or even watched me make them from time to time. I frequently turned off the propane at night, because I already began to suspect that someone might want me dead because of what might happen to Affirmative Action if my story got out.
       I remembered one day prior to that day when Richard appeared at my door said, "What's that sound?"
       I said, "It's probably the water heater." But the way he acted I felt it was a joke and he was just trying to scare me as if he suspected it might be the noise of a bomb ticking away or a gas leak.
       The fear of something happening to me had already settled in. I didn't know if it would be because of the fire incident, or my truck. I wanted to think of the bomb scare the neighbors were pulling was a prank, but the way things were adding up that day, I didn't feel like finding out the hard way.
       Suddenly I had a problem. The goal was to find a safe place, but how can a person seek help from others if being honest will most likely scare them? I figured if they believed me, they would most likely say: Sorry, I can't help you.
       There was no way was I going to go into the shop. I was afraid I would trip a boo-bee trap so decided to grab some cloths and my spare gun. Since weed was as good as cash in any strange town, I decided to grab my stash too. But then I figured; if they knew what they were doing, they would know I kept my weed in the freezer. So I stood off to the side of the freezer and opened it real slowing, listening for the sound of a switch. While rounding up my things, I was careful not to move anything that didn't need to be moved.
       I wondered if I would be followed on my way up to Rodney's place in Federal Way. I figured I might call the police from his place and see if they could do a bomb search on my house. I was concerned whether they would take me seriously, but I figured if the local government was in on it, they would naturally down play it. And if they weren’t in on it, they probably wouldn’t believe me. It was what we call Stupid Rule Number 22: Catch 22. You know…"Between a rock and a hard spot."
       I figured the best thing I could do is make sure people knew of what my neighbors were saying and the reasons I had suspected there might be a bomb. I thought: if the perpetrators knew I was on to it, they would know it wasn't going to work and remove it. At least that was what I was counting on.
       Just east of Pacific Ave where South Tacoma Way changes to Puyallup, I found myself being chased around and trying to loose the tails was impossible. All it took was a couple unexpected turns in a round-about way of getting somewhere and I was sure to find a tail. After doubling back to the other side of Pacific, I saw some cops sitting in a squad car in a parking lot at the corner of South Tacoma Way and Pacific Avenue. I wondered if they knew what was going on. I wondered if the police would take me seriously if I went to them and ask for a bullet proof vest. I also wondered if it would be possible for them to let me leave my truck in their impound yard for safe keeping. I even heard someone within the same block on Pacific Avenue say, "Get that thing off the road!” It led me to believe that other people knew of the game that was being played on me.
       When I arrived at Rodney's, he said he believed that I was being followed because he noticed a car that circled around the block with a license plate with H-11 on it. He said it had some-thing to do with the license plate assigned to officers of the National Security Agency.
       The next thing that came to mind was to go down to my parents place at the Timber Trails Resort on the Cowlitz River. Being south of Centralia and a hundred miles away, I figured it would be a good place to leave my truck and barrow theirs until I thought I was safe to drive my own again. I told Rodney that I could use my parents truck on the following Monday to go back to Olympia and learn more about getting incorporated. Rodney mentioned that if I got on the highway I would be able to tell if I was being followed. He suggest I might think of driving down to Oregon I could get incorporated since it would be just as close as Olympia and it might be something they might not suspect.
       Rodney had sort of a jam session going on but I found it impossible to play bass, I felt like I needed to keep an eye on my truck because I feared someone may either steal it or put a bomb under it.
       Although Rodney and his friends told me that there was nothing to worry about, and to “Just calm down and mellow-out a little.” I still felt scared because I noticed the friends he had over were reluctant to stand in the same room as I -- especially in the kitchen where there was a sliding glass door facing the street. This made me worried about a possible drive-by shooting and I felt they feared the same thing too.
       I felt safer being within a crowd, but when they played the song written by Bon Jovi called, "Wanted Dead or Alive," it didn't help much.
       At the time I hadn’t picked up on the warning signs Rodney involvement in the game yet because I was suffering from sleep depravation. Their little game that night really got me going and I realize now that it was Rodney's job to get me to the point where I would take the pill he said would calm me down. But like Stupid Rule 20: Hindsight is 20/20; I now realize the pill was to do just the opposite.
       I went outside and stood by my truck for awhile thinking things over and I heard them inside the apartment laughing. It sounded as if they were making fun of the fact I was freaking out. It made me feel uncomfortable, so I spilt the scene.
       I felt married to my truck and regretted having my system on the back of it. I was afraid I might get trapped on a dead end road somewhere. I figured if they wanted to get rid of me, they would load my truck inside a moving van and me and my truck would be missing for good.
       I found a phone booth in front of a shopping center and as I was waiting to use the phone, I noticed an older man sitting in a yellowish cream colored two door sedan in the parking lot. As I was waiting for the phone, could here him talking on a cell phone or something. I thought I heard him say, "We can't approach him because he is packing a couple pistols."
       I called John to find out he if had made up his mind about the idea of letting me move into his apartment, but his wife Marie answered. She said John wouldn't come to the phone. No doubt John was avoiding helping out in the politest way he knows -- by the way of not having to say -- no. I told her it was urgent. I mentioned the things my neighbors had said and that there was people following me. I said I desperately needed a place to hide.
       She asked, "Are you on some kind of drugs?"
       "No, not at all," I said.
       "They're just messing with you Dennis. You should go home and get some sleep."
       I should have taken her advice because it was the most reasonable thing I could have done, but with all the things going on around me, and the fact that the sleep deprivation had set in…. I felt the only thing I could understand was what I was experiencing.
       There was a girl standing around waiting to use the phone after me. She couldn't help but hear what I’d been talking about over the phone. Somehow we struck up a conversation. I told her about what was going on and from checking out my truck she could assume what I was saying was true. I showed her the two loaded guns I was packing on my back side as a way of proving how serious I was about all of it. We carried on our conversation in a humorous way and she seemed fascinated with the things that were going on in my life. She mentioned what I was going through would make a good movie and she could tell I would make a good actor. I asked her to pray for me and she said she would and wished me luck.
       Since our conversation went on for five or ten minutes, it was long enough for me to realize that the guy in the sedan was staked out waiting for me to leave. I was scared and I figured there was a good chance I might end up dead. I figured if I was going down, I sure as hell wasn't going to go down begging for mercy from the person that would be about to blow my shit away. I was going to take them down with me if they were. I figured the guy would have to be a pretty dam good shot because if they"d miss or only injure me, I was sure as hell going to shoot back with as many bullets as possible. I wasn't in the mood for loading an extra clip; I had my spare gun to throw into my hand. I figured I was good for fourteen fast rounds and a pocket full of shells.
       I felt I needed to do something, because things were not going as I expected. Not knowing if the people tailing me were the good guys or the bad guys was very frustrating. They didn't exactly have notes attached their foreheads stating who they were and they weren't about to approach me. I didn't like the situation at all.
       I thought some of the people following me maybe wanting to invest in me and I hoped that once I got incorporated it might eliminate the problem of being tailed. Even if it was the government was following me, I figured the reason was to protect me from the bad guys. I had to assume that there was some kind of problem somewhere along the lines. I just wanted to get rid of the tails regardless if they were good or bad and at the moment the problem was trying to get to my parents place without being followed.
       I came up with the idea to loose my tails and hoped it would make it easier to tell if I was indeed being followed. The game plan was to make an unexpected turn off Interstate 5 and head west on State Route 16 over the Narrows Bridge. I thought I’d take the back route west of the Puget Sound through Shelton to get to the Cowlitz River. Unfortunately it was an idea they had already thought of, because just as I anticipated, there was a suspicious vehicle parked underneath the Narrows Bridge just as I doubled back underneath the bridge to head out on the other side of the highway.
       A red compact car topped with a white vinyl roof and an extra antenna was parked on the shoulder of the road. Someone was in the driver’s seat and it seemed like they were waiting for me. I knew how to find out by just pulling off the road just a block or two away from where the red compact was parked. I pulled over and backed into the parking lot of the "Big Span" hamburger joint.
       This is where Stupid Rule Number 51, applies. Then and there is where I should have dumped my stash in the woods behind the parking lot, but having a felony amount of pot on me at the time had slipped my mind because the fear of being loaded up into a semi-truck was the thing I was most concerned about.
       Well I was right. The little red car cut to the chase and chose to follow me, so I decided to follow them instead. I ran up on their ass -- making it obvious to them I was on to their game and the result was that the car turned off onto the next arterial in route to Gig Harbor, and I kept heading west at full bore.
       On the way to the town of Shelton, it was hard to tell if I was being followed. I wanted some distance from the cars behind me. I hauled ass so that if there was, they wouldn’t be in shooting distance. After I made a few strange turns, I manage to get lost somewhere along the way. I don’t remember how I could have done such a thing but now that I know how they do things; I wouldn’t doubt if some signs were switched around. At times I was driving about sixty to seventy five miles per hour but somehow still ended up with someone behind me. I couldn't out run them so I swerved my truck back and forth down the middle of the dark back road. It was as an effort to make it harder to get hit by a bullet if they were going to fire at me. While doing this, I was hoping if it was just another ordinary car behind me, that they would want to slow down for fear I would get in a wreck. Instead I had the vehicle right my tail for several miles. It was insane to be driving like that and I began to wonder if they wanted make me to loose control and wreck my truck. After about ten or fifteen minutes of high speed weaving -- they finally backed off.
      As I arrived in the small town of Shelton, I found an all-night grocery store. Hoping a beer or two might help me relax, I went inside and bought some munchies and a six pack of beer. While in the store there were two women on the other side of the next isle over from me. I heard one say to the other, "That must be the guy they were talking about."
      Shortly after 3:00 am, I reached the Centralia and Chehalis area and with all the excitement my appetite had been curbed. Although I wasn't hungry and my energy was low, I thought it would be best just to compel myself to have something to eat since I’d skipped dinner the night before. I decided to stop at an all night restaurant to get something to eat, thinking it would also help kill some time since my parents would still be asleep if I would arrive too early.
      There before me was an all night restaurant with a few squad cars parked out in front. I assumed it was a safe place for me to stop and have breakfast and wondered if they knew I was on the way through the area and whether they anticipated my arrival. In an attempt to hide my truck, I parked it out of sight from the road behind a fence on the north side of the restaurant.
      During the time I was having breakfast, I felt something peculiar was going on. When cops walked past my booth on their way out, I noticed they were obviously warring bullet proof vests. What was extremely unusual was that one of them wore a dress shirt with his vest sticking out of his collar area. It looked as if he had just put it on in haste for some type of emergency. I had to wonder if they were wearing the vests because they feared me or was it because they anticipated a possible shoot out in an attempt of protecting me. I realize now, their goal was to make sure I would notice the vests. The bullet proof vests were to make me to think my life was in danger.
       That fact is quit clear to me now, that I had more than just the Pierce County government involved in the conspiracy. Since the bullet proof vest game was performed in "Clark County," (?) we can assume the whole local government of Washington state had become participant in the conspiracy.
       Later when I took an early exit off the highway on the way to my parents place, something else seemed familiar. A car was parked on the side of the off ramp with someone inside. I thought: Of course they would know where my parents live. So I changed my mind about going there because the way to get there was too much like the "dead end" road I was trying to avoid.
       In an effort to lose the people tracking me, turned in the opposite direction and headed west from the off-ramp. I found a dirt road leading in to a wooded area and drove into the woods to hide. I turned off my lights and looked to see if I still had a tail.
       I was exhausted and I wanted to get some sleep, but the rain was pounding on the roof of the cab so loud, it made impossible to sleep, or hear anyone approaching for that matter. Being restless I got out of my truck to walk off some anxiety and listen for the sounds of any vehicles that might have followed me. It took less than two minutes in the down pouring rain to find myself drenched.
       The next thing that came to mind was to ask my friend John if I could just hide my truck in his shop, but the time he would be leaving for work was approaching fast. As I was heading north on the interstate highway I stopped to get some fuel at a truck stop. There was a couple people working behind the counter and they seemed to be surprised that I had arrived. As I turned away from the counter, I heard the guy say, "They're ahead of you."
       I got back on the freeway and after driving awhile I noticed a sign that had something with the word "Salem" on it. The next sign on the side of the road read, "Interstate 5 South". I found myself racing against time even more and I couldn't figure out if they switched a sign at the on-ramp or if I had just screwed up on my own. The only thing I can think of is that when I got off the freeway I might have went over the over pass and forgot I had done so.
       I've since heard the word on the street, that they clocked me doing over eighty miles per hour south of Olympia. Then I have to ask: How come they didn't pull me over?
       Something felt strange. From the Interstate Highway at the Gravelly Lake Drive Exit, to John's house on Lake Steilacoom, I noticed for the first time in days, there were no vehicles behind me. I showed up on John's doorstep just in time -- at about 7:00 a.m. -- but he wouldn't come to the door. He’d only talk through his intercom. Even after I offered him five hundred dollars to store my truck for a week, he didn't what anything to do with me or my truck.
       The only option I had left was to go home and disassemble my system. I figured I would have to hire a security guard to watch my place on Monday while I found safe places to hide the parts. The idea of taking my truck apart would have been a bad mistake because I realize now it was exactly thing the conspirators wanted me to do. They wanted it off the street so people wouldn't know it existed.
       On the way home from John's house on Gravelly Lake Drive I noticed there wasn't any cars behind me. It only makes sense, because the city had the Pierce County Sheriff Department involved and they knew the route I would most likely take from John's house to mine -- leads down 112th Street right in front of the Lakewood Sheriff Station.
       Though the speed limit on 112th Street was posted at 35 miles per hour, it’s safe to say I usually drove the stretch of road at about forty to forty five, because it's wide and only has roads leading off to one side. On the south side there’s only a church far off in the distance and the sheriff precinct and their impound yard off quite a distance just the same.
       That stretch of road was within ten minutes from home, but I was pulled over for speeding. Of course it was just a few blocks past the sheriff station. I was tracked by moving radar coming at me --- so they said.
       From thinking about how they pulled me over, I realize it had to be a set-up. The way I see it, they probably had a guy at the sheriff precinct standing outside to observe me while I drove by. Then the guy radioed the cop in the squad car waiting on Bridgeport Boulevard as I approached Bridgeport. The squad car pulled out onto Bridgeport Boulevard, made a right hand turn onto 112th street, and then once I passed the squad car, it made a U-turn to make it appear as if they were not tracking me all along. When I think about it, I don't even think the squad car had the time and distance to clock me because it is unlikely the squad car could have caught up to cruising speed from the corner of Bridgeport Boulevard. I don’t even think I could have been doing 54 miles per hour because of anticipation of the signal light turning red on Bridgeport, I was probably slowing down. I think they just said 54 miles per hour because it’s about the speed they had assumed I would've been going after chasing me around all night.
       What a deal; I was pulled over on 112th street almost a block on the opposite side of Bridgeport Boulevard from where they say they clocked me. What would you think?

If you've made it to here, you are going to be amazed that it wasn't just the paranoia getting to me, because the next chapter is when things actually go down for real.

The Bust

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