My fire only cost about $3000 to fix but the phone call from the tenant next door was one I'll never forget. I had a doper that I had worked with mainly because his topless dancer wife was trying so hard to keep it together. The money finally dried completely up and I got tired of banging on the door just to see her trying to hide her black eyes. I told them to move and he started running around the 'hood telling people that "someone" should whip my butt because I was putting his baby on the street. He was universally disliked so everyone who heard him and knew me, including his connection(!) made it a point to tell me. He moved right out, it might have had something to do with me discussing the police and his wife's black eyes and him running around hitting the pipe with his kid in the car in the same conversation. I went out on a party boat the day he moved and hoped for the best. I got back and went and checked out the trailer, most of their stuff was gone and there was no damage above and beyond what I already knew about. I go home, totally relaxed with positive thoughts on how this is going to turn out OK, and I go to bed. Around 1 AM the phone rings and I let the machine pick it up. It's the girl next door, completely terrified. "Brad, he came back! The trailers on fire"! I missed her and she didn't answer when I called back so I didn't know if it was her trailer or what. I hit the door and hauled butt down there, couldn't get down into the dead end because of the fire trucks. I hit the next street and ran through the sticker bushes barefoot through the graveyard to get over there. Somebody had torched the trailer he moved out of. The back fence neighbor and the girl's husband had put it out before it did much damage. The fire department did most of the damage and the fire was out before they got there. The doper shows up the next day and totally misses the burn marks and axed siding. He sees the windows open and knocks on the trailer next door to see if I had taken it back. That caught him a butt whippin', those folks were still a little nervous. Then he comes to my house. I nicely set him down and called the Fire Marshall. The Fire Marshall talks to him about three minutes and then does diddly. He swore to crying that he didn't do it, he didn't get a butt whippin' there but the thought crossed my mind. The funny thing is, he didn't do it. He had a beef going with a parolee across the street and I think the parolee did it as a set up. I had known that guy for years and fires had a habit of following him around. He lived on his dad's property and torched his girlfriend's, owned by his dad, trailer a week later, same M.O.. This was right across the street from the girl's trailer, by this time she was ready for a nervous breakdown. And another house a month later. The parolee finally moved into an apartment, I think his dad got tired of the thieving and fires, and torched it twice before they finally busted him. He copped to 14 fires. I had to talk to the VFD to find out he did it, the Fire Marshall was no help at all. Of all the problems you can have I think a firebug has to be the worst.