Boy, I sure wish I knew the answer to that question.
Nothing ignites my PTSD like someone asking, “Who shot your house up?”
Or, “Why would anyone want to shoot your house up?”
I don’t know. Here’s one threat. I’m related to the Dusenberrys. Joe Dusenberry worked for protection for Obama, or so he used to post on Facebook. He offered to introduce me to Obama a few times but I passed. I met Obama several times.
They all would come to the Quad-City Times, all the candidates, both parties, every election season. Iowa caucuses you know.
Bill Wundram’s eyes rolled up inside his head the day Hillary Clinton came. I saw it myself.
As a sober person who essentially lives the life of a monk, with not even a cat to talk to (she’s dead, too, now, just like a Country Western song) there is no SIMPLE answer to those questions.
Or maybe there is.
About four years ago, I went to police after my friend Sam Davis’s dead body was pulled from the Mississippi River. I told them I thought Sam had been eliminated for possibly knowing too much about something. I told them Sam had urgently been reaching out to me wanting to tell me something, but that I had avoided him because I was newly sober. I told them I had sent his Facebook messages to Chrissy Minor as screen shots.
A few days before talking to Kevin Winslow of Illinois State Police on the telephone, I had taken Rock Island County Sheriff’s Deputy Steve Rusk and Rock Island Police Officer of the Year Doug Williams to Mulkey’s for lunch on my dime. I was nosing around for a Healthline story about people who make their own dabs and blow their houses up in the process.
Consequently, I was attacked by the marijuana community for that, which is ironic given my marijuana advocate self. Want more irony? A house down the street blew up last year when someone was trying to make dabs.
It’s true. Ask an RI cop or firefighter.
I basically told the cops about an active human trafficking ring that day at Mulkey’s, and later to Kevin Winslow on the phone.
The Frank Fitzpatrick Factor
What have we learned since?
Well, my neighbors told me my house was illegally searched while I was illegally held in the jail. Then, finally, we found out the son of the man my dad bought the house from was a drug kingpin.
He is now in prison.
His daddy was the Milan fire chief.
The Quad-City Times, where I worked many, many years and for which I won several awards, has completely ignored all of this.
Here’s what I remember about the nights the house was shot at. The house alarm went off both times.
I think all of this has to do with my reporting on human trafficking, even if others will say it’s about gangs and drugs. That too, no doubt, but I think the real story revolves around human trafficking.
I first wrote about human trafficking way back in March 2016. You can check out that LinkedIn column here. The tipster? An LGBT person who works in law enforcement.
Bullet hole No. 1
The first time my house was shot at was two weeks after the FBI threatened me in October. I was too scared to call the Rock Island Police Department at that time, so I didn’t. But in a weird twist of luck, I sent this to Verizon. Verizon had randomly assigned me an advocate because I was having strange problems with my service.
In an email Nov 9 to Verizon customer advocate Bill Craft, I reported:
Bill, something just woke me about an hour ago. It sounded like something hit my house.
The second time my house was shot at was in May. Twenty minutes after my home was struck, a young man named with the biggest political name in Illinois was hauled in on the Iowa side of the river.
Not for shooting my house. I can’t remember what he was hauled in for. And I’m not saying he had anything to do with my house.
But I did hear somebody say once that this person is gay. They said it a long time ago.
And I am sideways with a bunch of criminal gay people in the Quad-Cities, many of whom I now have learned either belong to a gang or are a big daddy to a gang, or so it seems to me.
Then, later, someone came to rip the siding off my house, apparently in an effort to retrieve the bullet. Twenty minutes later? A common street criminal name (also associated with the gay criminal community) hauled in on the other side of the river.
What happened to the video being shot by ‘FBI house?’
So who shot my house up?
I don’t know. The so-called FBI house across the street should have had it on camera, but it turned out that was not the real FBI house, but the now so-called Rock Island County Sheriff’s Department spy house.
You would have to ask my most recently former FBI victim’s advocate (or was he as faux as the house across the street?) to explain all that.
I’m not lying! The house across the street is affixed with all sorts of lighting and surveillance cameras.
And I am not going to discuss the FBI any further because that’s just stupid.
What do the police reports say about the bullet holes?
I have not seen the police reports on the bullets in my house, if they even exist. What a debacle getting a report filed was. I never will call RIPD again because they are not here to protect me anyhow, they clearly are here to protect those who are trying to hurt me.
That really is how it looks to me.
One young woman at RIPD (city police) who acted about 13 said, “Bye-bye” and hung the phone up on me when I told her I nearly was mowed down by a black Charger in the St. Pius parking lot.
Sheriff Gerry Bustos (county cop, appointed to elected position, married to US Rep Cheri Bustos) even sent his boys (deputies) up here for a “welfare check.” I do not live in Gerry’s jurisdiction for such checks and they know I am afraid that I could be murdered by a Rock Island County Sheriff’s Deputy.
And I truly believe that.
And they know that, because the RIPD made a video of me stating as such last winter.
And they chose to perform this “welfare check” the day after another high-ranking Quad-City cop who I had been sharing information with had retired.
Dirty. Filthy. Nasty. Hateful. Mean. Fear-inducing.
And they know I have CPTSD.
I told them to leave.
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