combat pay

Frank's next-door neighbor came at me with a baseball bat this morning as I started walking the dog. Then he burst into Frank's apartment, with the bat raised, going straight to the back window. He looked out the window and on the back porch.

"What the fuck's going on?" he shouted, eyes aflame. "What?" I said, "we don't know what you're taking about."

"Don't lie to me! You know what I'm talking about! The wires come right over to your apartment!" He kept the bat raised, occasionally with two hands on it; ready to swing. And he appeared to be aiming for my head.

For I am a spy and he is under my surveillance.

Ummm ... hmmm ... no, no! Dennis! Really, I just walk the dog, do the dishes and laundry, and make sure that Frank eats, gets his insulin and can get out of his chair! When would I have time to spy? Oh, wait ... smoke breaks. Out in the parking lot. Pretending to look at the constellations but somehow peering into your life instead. I don't know, I'm just speculating here, trying to find his logic.

So, as soon as Dennis left with his bat, I told Frank to call 911. I locked the door. We saw Dennis circling the building and looking at nearby buildings. Frank was shaking from fear and couldn't talk to the 911 dispatcher, so I gave her detailed information.

The Sheriff's deputies arrived and Dennis went straight up to them, hopeful (I suppose) that the spy would be taken into custody.

Instead it was his turn to take a vacation from the day-to-day grind. The cops took him in under Florida's Baker Act - a mental-health statute whereby an individual is taken in for a minimum of 72 hours of psychiatric observation. He may (will probably) be kept longer if he is deemed to still be dangerous. It is the best thing, really; I have an embarrassingly large number of Baker Acts in my past. (But mine were all voluntary. "Come and get me before I hurt myself.")

Then I could finally walk the poor dog. I found the property management crew and told them what the cops said to me: Dennis had been in the attic pulling out 2x4's and other structural features, and air vents and lighting fixtures from the apartment proper. There were supposedly cameras and microphones hidden in these places, so he stuffed rags into the leftover holes. He showed the cops pieces of lint and said that they were "bugs" he had pulled out of the ceiling.

The maintenance crew knows Dennis and described hearing the same paranoid rants from him recently. They were appreciative that I had told them about the damage and put it at the top of their to-do list.

My gut, based upon experience and education rather than trained medical diagnosis, suggests one of the following:
- stimulant psychosis (cocaine, amphetamines, etc.); notorious for paranoia and hallucinations; or
- some late-onset schizoid disorder

I lean toward the drugs, personally. He is usually a friendly and outgoing fellow. But if it is an organic disorder he can be treated easily with medication. I have seen almost miraculous changes in seemingly hopeless people who began taking the correct medication in the appropriate dosage - and disastrous declines in the same individual when they stopped taking their psych meds.

As I left to come home, Frank told me that I should get hazardous duty pay now.