by Boyd Craven
Other names like Clark and Sarah Wilson signed on as well as Doug and Linda Morris, John Hinton and Vanessa Baker. At first, he was furious but after sitting and thinking, he realized that it was the leadership council and maybe three or four households who had requested him to be at the meeting. He looked at his phone and saw he had a couple of hours before the meeting. The reasons listed? Noise ordinance violations. Nothing else.
He decided to walk over and see if he could find Dwight for an hour. He’d wandered around the house aimlessly and then settled down at the computer desk to go over some lists until Angela’s cleaning fanaticism ran him to distraction. He thought about napping in the storm shelter, but the kids would have been home soon, and now he had something else to worry about.
One thing he had been doing, is watching the developments. The video coverage was spotty, but every talking head in the mainstream media was waiting to hear from the President and what was going to be done. Overnight, a submarine was sunk by a US sub and the Chinese were howling that we were provoking things worse than ever and force would be met with force. The US responded by sending all heavy tonnage in their direction, at least that’s what they said on the TV.
“You headed to Dwight’s?” Angela called out the back door.
“Yeah, you want to come?” he shouted back.
“No, how about you invite him over for dinner later on?”
“Sounds good,” he called back and let himself out the gate.
As he was turning to latch it, he saw the curtains next door move, as if somebody had been watching from out the window. He doubted it was Billy, probably the nosier of the Wilsons, Sarah. He took off down the pathway along the back of the fences so he didn’t step in the middle of a field that had corn growing in it. He didn’t want to have to change again by getting covered in corn silk, if he was going to go to the meeting tonight at the neighborhood clubhouse.
It took him ten minutes to walk around to where another pathway made by truck and tractor led towards the barn. The sun was hot and his clothing started sticking to him, making him rethink whether or not he’d have to change anyways. He didn’t see Dwight out working from a distance and the barn was closed up. He started towards the house. A couple of minutes later, he was knocking at the door.
Steve heard the heavy steps from Dwight long before he saw him. Dwight opened the door and motioned for him to come in. He was holding a sheaf of papers in his hand and headed back towards the kitchen table and plopped down. Steve closed the door and kicked his shoes off and joined his friend, loving the blast of air conditioning. He pulled his own papers out and recognized a torn open envelope on the table.
“You got a summons too?” Steve asked after a minute.
“Yeah, don’t know what to make of it heads nor tails. It ain’t signed by a lawyer, nor notarized. One of the deputies dropped it off, said they were paid to.”
“Huh,” Steve said and opened his up and looked at the first page again. “Mine doesn’t either.”
“What do you make of that?”
“It’s a bunch of busybodies who are demanding we show up, and they have no legal backing for asking us. I’m half tempted to show up and tell them to blow it out their asses. What did they ask you in for, noise violations?”
“Noise, smell, improper fencing, and something about having farm animals makes people want to come over to the farm to pet them and it could be a hazard or some such.”
“The Department of Ag was out here a couple of months ago, I didn’t think they’d have any leg to stand on?”
“The developer has wanted more land. I refused to sell it. I think this is some sort of horseshit for them to try to push the zoning board to their way of thinking…hey, you out of work early?”
“I worked late last night so the boss gave me the day off,” Steve said. “And actually…I would still be at work when they requested me to show up for the meeting….” His words trailed off thoughtfully.
“Almost like they wanted to create a paper trail but didn’t want you to dance at their party?”
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Steve asked with a grin.
“You got your fancy boots on, or the mud stomping boots?”
“Mud stomping,” Steve pointed to the door where they were lined up next to Dwight’s.
“Oh yeah, you walked over. How’s about we take a walk through the pig waller and mosey our way up there, nice and slow like.”
“We’ll get hot and sweaty,” Steve said after a second.
“And stinky.”
“Now, I’d like to go on record that—”
Both Dwight and Steve walked into the clubhouse together, a full half hour before the summons. They were lucky, because the meeting and agenda had been read already, and they were about to start the discussion. The small meeting room was half filled with about two dozen people, many of which Steve recognized. The HOA council was seated behind two folding tables that separated them from the rest of the folding chairs that had been set up, almost as if a panel of judges were addressing a crowd or a jury.
“I…” Jeff Arellano, the president of the HOA stuttered. “The meeting is already in progress, you’ll both have to come back.”
“Well, see here, I got me an official notice, signed by yourself and many of the folks in this room,” Dwight said. holding up his sheaf of papers.
“And according to the HOA bylaws,” Steve said, “you need to hold the meetings at the stated time or give notification of at least twenty-four hours that the time has been moved.”
“I’m sure we gave twenty-four hours’ notice,” Jeff said out loud.
There was muttering in the room and Dwight looked at Steve as if to ask what he wanted to say.
“I’ll go first I guess…I know I didn’t get twenty-four hours’ notice, because Doug there dropped this in my mailbox. It had no postage on it, so no timestamp.”
“So it’s just your say so,” Doug said, “because I’m not sure what you’re implying here. Were there any witnesses?”
“Well, you weasel dicked, poor excuse for a dried-up dog turd, you put this in my mailbox. I saw you, I had the day off…since you aren’t us, or a mailman, I’m sure the post office would love to hear about you tampering with—”
“We’ll not delve into name calling in this meeting, or you’ll be asked to leave,” Jeff said, banging a gavel, of all things, on the plastic Walmart folding table.
“And you fools had me served by a sheriff’s deputy, and I happened to know this one. Said the same no-account gave him the fifty dollar fee and papers not an hour before I got it.”
“Excuse me, but what’s that smell?” Lucy Javier, a small mousy woman near Steve’s age asked.
Both men looked down at their boots and saw the caked-on mud and pig excrement and then back up to the crowd and shrugged. Then they walked over and casually took a seat on either side of the woman. She sat there a minute and then stood up and moved to the other side of the room.
“So, would y’all like to fill us in on what we’ve missed so far, since we can establish that the governing body of the HOA has been deliberately trying to obfuscate the truth in this matter?” Dwight asked loudly.
Several people winced and then looked up at the plastic tables and to the President, Jeff. He looked back and forth and cleared his throat.
“Doug Morris isn’t a part of our governing body. He probably got the notices out too late and the council apologizes for any mishaps that might have caused. Nevertheless, you are here now. There should be agendas on every seat. I can read it, if you want, or you can go through it yourself while we wait on you two to get caught up.”
“I’ll read it first,” Steve said and grabbed two of them sitting on an empty seat to his right.
He handed one to Dwight and they started reading. Dwight started reading aloud after a couple moments, embellishing the written word.
“…and these lily-livered, piss ant liberal crybabies moved in next to a farm…” The c
rowd murmured. “And then complained that farm smells don’t agree with them. And noise, well shit, I guess I done make too much noise, do I?” Dwight said turning to Steve and pushing him on the shoulder.
Steve knew he was hamming it up and playing a stereotype. It was all he could do not to bray donkey laughter at them as everyone sat in silence and listened to a crusty old man’s commentary, held captive by their own tomfoolery by trying to pull a fast one on both of them. Dwight knew it well, and he made them squirm.
“…and if the roosters ain’t too loud, it’s all the shooting and tooting coming from my property. What’d they get you on?” He asked Steve aloud, even though it was written on the page.
“An unmuffled Jeep, considered an Off-Road Vehicle, which is against the HOA’s acceptable vehicles to have parked on the property, and discharging a firearm which is against HOA ordinances.”
“You’re shooting guns off in your itty bitty little back yard?”
“Nope,” Steve said turning the empty chair in front of him around and kicked his feet up on them. Dark, smelly, squishy stuff stuck to the chair by transference from the boots.
It was like a horror show they couldn’t turn away from. Some folks got up and moved even further when the smell hit them and soon the two men had the back-left portion of the small room to themselves, though there was really no way to get away from the stink of pig shit.
“Are you quite ready?” Jeff asked after both men were silent for a good solid minute while they smirked at the busybodies.
“Sure, but I want to let ya know something,” Dwight said, “Nothing here is legally binding to me. You can hem and haw, piss and moan…just know that there is nothing you can do or force me to do. I’m not part of your homeowner’s covenant, nor am I contractually obligated to recognize any of this. Hell, I didn’t have to show up. You can’t legally compel me.”
Steve spoke up. “As far as me having an unmuffled ORV, I don’t. It’s got a state inspection sticker, which it wouldn’t be able to if it didn’t have a muffler,” Steve said, “and I don’t shoot in my little backyard; that’d be really stupid. I go over to Dwight Abbott’s,” he said, hooking a thumb in his friend’s direction, “where he’s got enough land and setback to do it. You folks have been fighting me since I put in a gate on my fence and a whole slew of other stuff that makes no sense to fight me on. You were wrong then; you’re wrong now. I think you sent out this phony summons and then changed the time when you knew he’d usually be at the auctions and I’d be at work to start a paper trail.”
“That’s why I called up the zoning commission while Steve and I were discussing things in the pig waller,” Dwight picked up without missing a beat. “Seems that Jeff and several others have petitioned along with the developer that they want my land rezoned.”
There were murmurs in the group, but they weren’t all sympathetic. Some were angry that the two even had the gall to show up, let alone use their own words and rules against them.
Matthew Fitzpatrick, a man Steve thought was the HOA treasurer, leaned forward. “It was my understanding from Doug Morris and Clark and Sarah Wilson that your daughter’s Jeep was out of compliance and both had said they spoke with you about how loud it was.”
Steve shot them a look and none of them looked up at the two men, their focus remained on the back of the heads in front of them.
“No, that’s not true and neither is the claim I shoot in my backyard. I can easily prove both claims beyond a reasonable doubt.” Steve said. “Now, I have a question for the group here, because y’all seem to think my time is so useless that you are free to waste it with this clown court you are trying to run...What do you all think I do for a living?”
There were murmurs, and Sarah Wilson raised her hand. Jeff Arellano shrugged and pointed to her.
“It’s something to do with farming, isn’t it? The old truck and jeep?”
“Nope. Your husband is what, an attorney?” Steve shot back, knowing she was a housewife.
“CPA,” she said softly.
“Ah, ok. Who else has a guess?” Steve asked.
Doug stood and turned to face them. “I really don’t care what you do. You have brought about clutter and unsightliness to our neighborhood. It’s not fair that you, and you alone, are bringing down our property values.”
Several people murmured agreement.
“Anybody else?” Steve asked.
“You’re a handyman, it’s why you come and go with your truck always loaded full of supplies.” A man with the name tag Richard Hunter said from behind the plastic tables.
“Ehhhhhh, wrong again.” Steve said. “I’m a senior systems analyst and head programmer for a network security firm. I probably have more invested in my house than any two of you folks combined if we’re talking about money. Something that Doctor Toodles there seems to be concerned about, judging about his property value concerns. See, I make more than he does. Did you know his salary is public record?”
Steve knew he was poking him deliberately, riling the man up. Part of him wondered if he could make him so angry that he’d throw a punch. He almost hoped he did, but he knew that wasn’t a very Christian thought. His words though, they almost pushed the professor over the edge. He stood up again, his finger pointing and his hand shaking when Jeff slammed the gavel down on the table several times to quell the growing volume of everyone in the room.
“So, I, unlike you all, value my time. I spend it on things that are meaningful to me. Fighting you guys over things that aren’t against the HOA conventions is just a waste of it. I already have my lawyers kicking your ass in court about a gate on my fence—that I own…I’m going to have them start issuing the HOA bills for every hour wasted. I know my boss bills us out at about 300 dollars an hour when she does quotes, so I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll only charge 200 dollars an hour next time you guys want to start a war. The governing body can figure out how to split the bill up to all the complainers next time. Sound good?”
There was a heavy silence and nobody was looking at the two of them.
“And I might be a humble ol’ farmer, but they say my property is worth a couple million nowadays. I’d rather leverage it out and pay for lawyers than let any of you two-bit hucksters try to scare me into selling it.”
“Two-bit hucksters, you cantankerous old—”
“Shut up, Doug,” Steve said. “Don’t let your mouth write checks your ass can’t cash.”
“What does that mean?” Sarah Wilson asked her husband loudly.
“It means if he doesn’t shut up, this Yankee is gonna drag him outside and beat his ass,” Clark said.
“That’s barbaric,” a woman in a row over said.
“Is this really your intention?” a man asked who lived one street up from Steve.
The gavel banged again, and everyone shut up.
“No,” Steve said after a minute. “But I have stayed within the HOA guidelines every step of the way. I don’t care if you all don’t like it. I follow the rules. You can’t just change the rules on a whim to force somebody’s hand.”
“Would you like to bet?” Jeff asked coldly.
“Love to see it enforced El Jefe,” Dwight said and watched the smug smile vanish. “I’m sure I’m not the only one with access to lawyers…and now we have a whole room full of witnesses to subpoena should this go to court, so like any good public record, I’m taking a copy of the sign-in sheet before we leave.”
There were several people who had enough at that point and got up and started moving to the door.
“Think we poked the bear enough?” Steve asked Dwight quietly as people started filing out, leaving the council looking shell shocked behind their cheap white tables.
“Yeah, we do anymore it’d be like beating a dead horse. Let’s get.”
“Do you think we went overboard?” Steve asked.
“Not really, but maybe a little. We came here to prove a point,” Dwight said and started for the door.
After a mom
ent, Steve followed. Everyone who was left in the room sat in a shocked and stunned silence as the men made sure to wipe their feet on the rug near the door before heading outside. Dwight, true to his word, took out his cell phone and snapped a picture of the sign in sheet just outside the meeting room doorway and then turned and threw a jaunty wave to Jeff before both of them went outside.
“I thought you said this would work?” Doug asked Jeff from across the table, one of the last holdouts in the room other than the governing body.
“This was deliberate?” Matthew asked Jeff, turning to the president.
“The meeting, the complaints? No, they are all true.”
“No, I mean the late notices, the zoning, changing the rules on a whim?” he asked.
“I did what I had to,” Doug said loudly from across the table.
“By making us,” Matthew said pointing at the five behind the table, “look like a bunch of idiots?”
“You don’t need my help for that,” Doug snapped back.
“Watch your tone with me, Professor,” Matthew said standing up.
Jeff was about to talk but he realized two things at that point. Matthew was about twenty years younger than he was, and he was a lot more imposing than the usually quiet man who sat in their weekly council meetings.
“Or what?” Doug asked.
“Or you’ll find out that I’m not as polite as the Yankee. I’ll knock your teeth out of your fool head and then wipe the floor with you while your wife wonders if you’ll be wearing dentures the next time you kiss her.”
“You can’t say that to me; you threatened me. He threatened me, Jeff!” Doug pointed, but his wife was tugging on his arm, having had enough for the day.
“Matthew, this isn’t helping, we don’t threaten—”
“And you. You aren’t a part of any government, law enforcement, or even a lawyer. You’re the president of the HOA. You’re a retired postman…and I notice none of you gave a reasonable explanation to Mister Taylor or refuted their allegations. To me that sounds like some sort of scam or collusion.”
