When I look back at my relationship with the person I called my brother, it was always under strain. He passed away about two weeks after I arrived here, but no one informed me for six months. I wasn't even sure it was true, and I'm still not completely convinced he died after I looked up his rap sheet, which was two pages long. Who wouldn't pull a stunt like that in order to escape prison time?
Our friendship began with a trial and ended with a trial. It's true, the first time we went to court together was in 1978 after some crazed hippie tried to run us over in a blue Chevy Nova. My friend's dad was a highway patrol officer who had arrested a person for driving under the influence. The guy showed up at this patrolman's house with his scuzzy friend and tried to kick his ass, to which he responded by beating both of them and arresting them again. My dad held them at gunpoint until the sheriff arrived. It was a pretty well-known event in the community.
It was some months later when my friend and I were walking down this country road in search of frogs or whatever little boys go looking for. When all of a sudden, a guy in a dark blue Nova came flying down the road and swerved at us. We stood there as this man went down the road, made a U-turn, and came back at us at a high rate of speed. My friend, who was a couple of years older, pulled me behind an irrigation pump as this jackass ran off the road into the field trying to kill us.
We ran home, and this lady who witnessed the whole ordeal followed us home to talk to our parents. As it turned out, she was the person who got the license plate number and called the sheriff. That lady turned out to be a lifelong friend of the family from that point on, just like my friend and I. Our friendship started out like an episode of CHiPs and ended like the Towering Inferno.
The driver of the blue Chevy Nova turned out to be the younger brother of the first guy his dad arrested. He was a minor and spent a few months at a reform school.
The trial that ended our friendship was the one where I was supposed to testify against him because he beat his girlfriend up and burned his house down. Then I almost died the day before the trial was supposed to start, according to the subpoena I had. I thought it was an incredible coincidence, but the assholes holding me against my will based on bogus charges didn't think it was necessary to call the police or inform the DA's office. I made the phone calls myself when I got out, but I was hung up on, or my messages were not returned. That's weird. It almost makes me think those crooked fuckers were in on it, just a hunch.
I really don't need therapy or even want to talk about it. I just want them to know they won't catch me slipping again. My goodwill to you and your phony bullshit is over. I've got a lot of cards yet to play.
At the bottom of it all is a big cover-up involving money, motive, and opportunity. After all the other straight-up corruption we've seen coming out of the district attorney's office, is it any surprise they would allow a witness under subpoena to almost die, then do nothing except attempt to charge me with a crime? For me, any effort to recall that puppet DA and her minions would be a noble one.
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