John Sullivan was busy setting up his table for the Flea Market on this bright and sunny Sunday morning. The flea market was located in a popular spot in the heart of the city. John made his money selling glassware and stamps. It was a strange combination, but they were both things that he loved to collect.

Each piece of glassware had to be handled carefully, as it was old and came from what was called the depression era mostly. Some of the pieces were extremely fragile with extensions on many of the pieces. He looked over at his friend Fred who was setting up his things also. They always set up together. He sold mostly old toys and some antique clothing.

The Flea market opened every Sunday at six in the morning, so the two men had already been up since three. It was customary for them to arrive at the Flea Market at around nine the night before, where they would visit with fellow vendors and then take a short sleep, waking up very early in the morning to set up their tables. The two men were used to sleeping under the truck in their sleeping bags. They had come to thinking about it as camping out.

One of the problems with this Flea market, was that the spaces were first come first serve, and this time John and Fred had a flat tire on the way to the market. They had arrived late and their regular spot was taken. They had tried to speak to the man who had parked his truck in their spot, but he refused to move. There were some words said and many people had heard the argument.

John had settled down and gone to his other site. He was still located next to his friend Fred, so that they could watch each others tables if one of them needed a break of some kind. The location was not the best, but it would have to do. The next time they would check the tires of the truck before they left.

As everyone was busy setting their tables up John did not see Mark Styles coming up to the table. He was yelling at John at Fred wanting to continue the argument that they had been involved in before. "Just because you are a regular gives you no right to demand a certain space. You have my wife all upset and she wants me to move and give you the space." he shouted at them.

"We are not here to argue with you. We are like you just vendors. We will be here next week and go back to our old spot. I am now almost completely set up and am no longer interested in the regular site." John told him.

"Well, maybe I want this site now." With that he tipped John's table over causing many of his items to break or crack. With the swiftness of anger John ran over to Mark and in a split second had the man on the ground.

Fred was quick but not quick enough to stop the blow that connected John's fist with Mark's face. When he pulled John from off of the top of Mark, Mark now had a bloody nose. Fred yelled at him to leave and Mark stared John down, but left as he realized that blood was now pouring from his nose.

Someone had called the police and when they came over they spoke to both of the men and the witnesses. It was noted in their log, but neither one of them were arrested. John wanted him charged with destroying private property, but the police said he would have to bring him to small claims court. John picked up all the broken dishes and took many pictures. 'Yes, indeed he was going to take him to small claims court and he was going to win.' he thought to himself.

Even though the weather was warm and the sun shone bright the entire day John had very little to sell. His heart just was not in it and he started to pick up his meager sales at just after noon. Fred knew that there was no reasoning with his friend and started packing his boxes at the same time. The two men left at two that afternoon four hours earlier than their normal time.

The ride back to their homes was dismal and neither one of them spoke much the entire forty-five minute ride home. This was not normal as the two men were the best of friends and usually the conversation was lively. As they pulled into the driveway of Fred's house his wife Linda came out. She was surprised that the men had come back so early. The weather was beautiful and they usually had lots of customers on days like this.

As John pulled into the driveway of his house, he was met by his wife Nancy. Linda had called her and told her what had happened at the flea market that morning. Nancy knew that her husband was not a hot tempered man usually and was surprised that her husband had punched the other man. As she stepped out of the house she went over and started to help her husband unload the truck.

John was surprised to see his wife helping, she usually wanted nothing to do with the flea market. He was thankful and as he filled the shed with the broken glass, Nancy grimaced. She could hear all of the broken glass and knew that John was very angry. Once the truck was unloaded Nancy went inside to make dinner while John went and worked on the computer. She thought that he was calming down and that everything was going to be all right, but...

Every person does something foolish at least once in their life and John Sullivan was no exception. As he had gone by his usual spot he had taken down Mark Styles truck plate number. With that he went on to a site on the web that gave him the address of the registration. He thought that he would need the information so that he could sue him for the broken dishes he rationalized to himself.

After dinner John told Nancy that he was going to the store. But in fact he was going to go by the address of Mark Styles. Mark lived in a single family home in a nice part of town and his truck was parked in the driveway. He saw that there were signs of a family living there. He stopped for just a moment and then he saw Mark Styles coming out of the house yelling at him. "You stay away from my house and family" he shouted at him.

"Sorry sucker I just needed to verify your name and address for court." John shouted back.

Larry Clark was out in his yard watering the lawn when he saw and heard the two men shouting at each other. He did not know why but he noted the man in the trucks' plate number. He was going to call the police perhaps, but the man in the truck had left right away.

Perry Mason was seated at his large desk located in the heart of LA in a building called the Brent Building. He looked up to see his trusted personal secretary coming into his office, Miss Della Street. She had been busy in her own office working on some briefs and she was bringing them into his room for his signature.

Mr. Mason was now a famous attorney who specialized in murder cases. But, he also helped many people with other legal issues. He was never too busy to help a friend, though and today was no exception. He had been helping a friend out with a will and was doing so at no charge.

Perry Mason was a large man with big dark blue questioning or threatening eyes. When he looked at you, it was as if he was looking at your soul. Almost all of his cases had been solved by those eyes.

Della was a young and very efficient secretary. She was the right hand of the office and was someone that Perry would never want to lose. She was paid well for her job and worked many hours overtime. She was tall and slender and always wore high heels. Today was no exception as she waited for his signature.

John Sullivan had never found himself in need of an attorney, but he soon would be needing one. Nancy and John lived just down the street from a good friend named Paul Drake. He was a private investigator and John thought about asking him to look into this man Mark Styles, but no he would just take him to court for the damage that had been done to his items.