The Association

by Bentley Little

  Maureen explained, "that he feels cheated and personally insulted that he can't take a flight up to the Lunar Hilton on his vacation."

  "Space travel's important," he insisted.

  Ray nodded. "The future's arriving at a much slower pace man everyone thought. My father went from a world of horse-drawn carriages to a world of cars and planes and rockets and televisions. I think everyone thought that pace would be maintained. And it hasn't."

  "Don't complain," Maureen said. "We may not be Things to Come, but we're not Escape From New York, either."

  "Or Farenheit 451 or 1984 or Brave New World." Liz sipped her wine, smiled. "Contrary to what Ray may think."

  "Only because the homeowners' association doesn't have the technology,"

  he said. "Not for a lack of willingness or inclination."

  Liz wrinkled her nose mischievously. "See what I have to live with?"

  Barry laughed and was about to chime in with a defense of Ray, when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw colored lights and movement. For a brief crazy second, he thought it was a UFO, but he recognized almost immediately that the strobing red and blue lights were on the ground, coming from some sort of law enforcement vehicle. In the dark and through the trees, the lights seemed amplified, illuminating trunks and branches, the side of a house.

  "What's going on?"

  "I don't know." Ray stood by the railing, squinting into the night.

  "But whatever it is, there's at least two or three patrol cars down there."

  "How come we didn't hear any sirens?" Maureen asked.

  "Beats me." Ray turned away from the railing. "I'm going to check it out." He nodded to Barry. "Want to come along?"

  "Sure."

  "I guess the little women will stay home," Liz said loudly to Maureen.

  "Since we can't accompany the men on their manly mission, maybe we can go back to the kitchen and make them a nice dessert for when they return. They'll probably be hungry."

  Ray looked at her, surprised. "You want to come, too?"

  She smiled. "No. But it would be polite to ask."

  "Sorry."

  Barry looked quizzically over at Maureen, who shook her head. "You boys go have your fun. We'll just stay here and gossip about you behind your backs." She turned toward Liz. "Now, if you want to know what he's like in bed..."

  The two women burst out laughing.

  "Very funny," Barry said.

  Ray motioned him toward the door. "Come on. I can tell when we're not wanted."

  "Don't worry," Liz told him. "We'll have all the world's problems figured out by the time you return."

  There must have been some residual heat from the barbecue on the porch, because when they walked up the driveway and out to the road, the temperature dropped. Goose bumps popped up on Barry's arms, and he suddenly wished that he'd brought a jacket.

  He and Ray walked down the hill, passing Barry's house and stopping for a moment to get their bearings since the lights could not be seen from ground level. They ended up going down the street that led to the east bridle trail, and there, right before the post that marked the trail's entrance, stood a small crowd of people and two sheriff's cars, patrol lights on and flashing.

  Barry's first thought was that it was Stumpy, that the limbless man had crawled onto the road and been run over by a car or something. But there was no car in sight other than the sheriff's vehicles, and the tarp-covered body by the side of the road appeared to be full-sized.

  Wally Addison, the young deputy who'd taken their vandalism report, was standing next to a mean-looking older man who could only be Sheriff Hitman. Several neighbors had walked either up or down the street from their houses to see what all the commotion was about and were milling around, talking in low, hushed voices. There was no police ribbon up, no authorities ordering people to stay back, but the onlookers seemed to be observing an invisible barrier, and they remained behind the cars, far away from the side of the road where the covered body lay in the dirt.

  Ray walked past that invisible line and directly up to the sheriff.

  "Saw your lights from up the hill," he said. "What happened?"

  Hitman nodded toward the tarp. "Dead body. Annie Borham found him.

  Looks like he fell in the ditch and hit his head on a rock. Probably bled to death."

  Indeed, there did seem to be a lot of blood on the dirt and stones of the culvert, and Barry could only imagine what the man looked like under the tarp.

  "Who is he?" Ray asked. "Anybody know?"

  "Deke Meldrum. We arrested him up here recently for harassing a young woman."

  The deputy said something to Hitman in a low, inaudible voice, and the sheriff raised his eyebrows, looking over at Barry. "I guess that was your wife."

  Barry nodded, his stomach tense. The second he'd heard the name he recognized it, and he was glad that Maureen had decided not to come with them. He tried to speak, but no sound came out, and he cleared his throat. "I thought Meldrum was locked up."

  "Oh, he made bail day before yesterday. Court date's set for next month when die circuit judge comes through, but until then he's out on his own recognizance."Hitman paused. "Or was."

  The sheriff turned away, obviously not intending to answer any more questions, and Ray went over to talk to some of the gathered residents.

  Barry followed. Around them, the pine trees seemed taller than they did in the daytime, the black bulk of their closely grown forms blocking out all but a thin strip of stars. The flashing red and blue lights created a sort of shield about them, boxing them in against the darkness of night, and the faces of the crowd, bathed in the strobing colors, were unreadable.

  The scene was surreal, made even more so by the realization that Stumpy was probably hiding out there in the woods, watching this, taking it all in. Barry scanned the lower bushes and the beginning of the bridle trail, looking for a telltale glint of eye shine and though he saw nothing, he shivered.

  Ray was asking Russ Gifford, a young man Barry had met at the Dysons’

  party, what he thought had happened.

  "You got me. I just saw the lights and came out to investigate I

  thought it was probably an accident or something, maybe a burglary. I

  didn't expect anything like this." He nodded toward the bearded man on his left. "Hank says he heard the guy was creeping around, casing the neighborhood, and he tripped and cracked his head open."

  "Is that true?" Ray asked.

  The bearded man shrugged. "I don't think anyone was actually there to see it, but that's what I heard Annie told the law. And she was the one that found the body."

  Annie Borham , a fitness freak of the first order, had apparently been on one of her nightly jogs when her flashlight in had illuminated Meldrum's feet poking out of the ditch. II She'd run home and dialed 911.

  "She never came back out here, though," Hank said. "I guess she was pretty freaked out about it, didn't want to see it again. They probably interviewed her at her house."

  A middle-aged woman standing next to a young man who could have been her husband, could have been her son, said that she heard Meldrum had been hit in the head with a rock, and that that had knocked him into the ditch, where he hit his head on another rock and died. The retiree next to her said that it was kids, that teenagers from town had been hiding in the brush, throwing rocks at passing cars, and they'd accidentally hit Meldrum , taking off and running back to the highway so they wouldn't get caught.

  Rumors were rampant. No one in the crowd seemed to really know anything--most of them had simply been drawn by the lights the way they themselves had--and after waiting for the ambulance and watching it take away Meldrum's dead body, lights and siren off, Barry and Ray started back up the hill the way they'd come. They had company until they reached Barry's street, but then their silent companions headed in the opposite direction, and the two of them continued on alone.

  Neither of them spoke for a moment.

  "Did you see all the
blood?" Ray said quietly.

  Barry nodded. "Yeah."

  "Looked like an awful lot for someone just tripping and falling on a rock."

  "You think those guys were right? You think he was hit before he fell?"

  Ray didn't respond.

  "What?" Barry said.

  Ray shook his head.

  "Come on."

  "You don't want to hear what I think. / don't even want to hear what I

  think. I'm just a paranoid old buzzard who should be on the Internet all day spreading conspiracy theories."

  "Tell me."

  "Forget it."

  "Come on."

  "You really want to know?"

  "Of course."

  Ray stopped walking and turned toward him. "I think the homeowners'

  association bailed him out. I think they did so because they knew he'd return here and they could get a little vigilante group going and run him out of the county, maybe out of the state. But I think something went wrong. I think they meant to just scare him but somehow things got out of hand and they ended up accidentally killing him."

  Barry laughed. He couldn't help it. "That's wild," he said.

  Ray shrugged and started walking again. "Told you."

  The laughter faded, and despite the outrageousness of the claim, Barry found that he was unable to dismiss it entirely. While he didn't exactly believe it, he could believe it. Such a scenario was within the realm of possibility.

  That in itself was frightening.

  They walked in silence for a moment.

  "Is there any way to check, to find out for sure who bailed him out?"

  "I don't know," Ray said. "But I'm going to call the sheriff's office tomorrow."

  "What if it's true? What if the association did bail him out and now his dead body's found up here in Bonita Vista? You think the sheriff'll look into that? You think he'll see a connection?"

  Ray shook his head. "I told you before. He's in their pocket. I

  don't know whether he's getting actual kickbacks or whether this is just the usual law enforcement kowtowing to moneyed interests, but he's beholden to them, and there's no way he's going to upset the applecart by investigating them."

  "You think Meldrum has family in town?"

  "I don't know."

  They trudged up the hill.

  "If that is what happened," Barry said, "if the association did bail him out because they knew he'd return here, and then they killed him, and no one investigates it and the case is closed... that means that they'll get away with murder."

  Ray didn't answer.

  They walked the rest of the route without speaking.

  Maureen and Liz were no longer on the deck. The bugs had apparently grown immune to the scent of citronella, and the two women had come inside to avoid being eaten alive. They seemed to be in a good mood, but when Barry and Ray gave them a rundown of what they'd seen, it put an end to any hope of finishing the evening on a high note, and Barry and Maureen went home soon after.

  In bed, getting ready to fall asleep, he told her Ray's theory, that Meldrum had been bailed out of jail by the homeowners' association specifically because they knew he would return here, and that they'd gathered together a vigilante group to scare him, but things had gotten out of hand and he'd ended up dead.

  "That's ridiculous," she scoffed.

  He had to admit that here in bed it didn't sound quite so logical, but when he thought back to the scene on the road, the black trees illuminated only by the flashing lights of the patrol car, the covered body on the ground, the blood on the dirt, the staring crowd, he could not help feeling a twinge of queasiness.

  They were both silent for a while.

  "I'm glad," Maureen said quietly.

  He'd thought she'd fallen asleep--he was about to doze off himself--and though the words came out of nowhere, had no context, he knew exactly what she was talking about.

  She rolled onto her side, facing him. "I'm glad he's dead," she said.

  Barry said nothing, not knowing what to say.

  "Does that make me a horrible person?"

  "No," he told her, and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "No it doesn't."

  They came over while Liz was taking a bath.

  Ray didn't know if that was intentional, but the idea that the house was under surveillance, that his and his wife's movements were being monitored, made him both uneasy and angry. He was near the entryway, and he opened the door at the sound of the knock. Neil Campbell stood on the welcome mat, Chuck Shea and Terry Abbey just behind him. As always Neil carried a clipboard, and he nodded brusquely in his annoyingly officious manner. "We need to talk to you alone for a few minutes, Ray."

  "Alone?"

  "Yes."

  "How do you know I'm alone?"

  "What do you mean, Ray?" The innocence was a little too innocent.

  "Where do you think Liz is?"

  "I'm sure I don't know."

  "She's in the bath. So I am alone. Pretty damn convenient."

  "All I meant was that we would like to speak to you outside of the presence of your wife. I thought we might chat behind a closed door in some room of your house. But, yes, the fact that Elizabeth is bathing at this time is quite fortuitous."

  The uneasiness increased. "What do you want?"

  "May we come in?" Neil asked.

  Ray favored him with a tight smile. "No you may not."

  "Then we will conduct our business here on the porch."

  "I have no business with you," Ray said. "As I've told you assholes before: get off my property."

  They made no effort to move, and Chuck's mouth curved upward in an amused smile. "You know very well that we're not trespassing. We have the right to be here."

  "Why?"

  "The association has been informed that you spoke with SheriffHitman ,"

  Neil said, "and attempted to discover the identity of the person who bailed the late Deke Meldrum out of jail."

  "So? What business is that of yours?"

  "When behavior of an individual reflects badly on Bonita Vista, the homeowners' association naturally takes an interest. As you know, it is our goal to avoid tarnishing the reputation of our community and to do everything within our power to make sure that property values are maintained. Needless to say, the death of a man, even a transient, even by accident, is cause for concern."

  "What does that have to do with my trying to find out who bailed out Meldrum?"

  "We are simply trying to stave off potential embarrassment. It is clear from the questions you asked and from your past behavior that you are somehow trying to place blame for this man's death on the association, and we're here today to ... dissuade you from that course of action."

  "Got something to hide, Campbell?"

  Chuck stepped forward. "Ray, Ray, Ray. You still haven't learned that sometimes you need to just leave things alone, let them be."

  "Yeah? Why is that?"

  They moved fast: Chuck grabbing him by the left arm and pulling him out onto the porch, Terry stepping quickly behind him and yanking on his right arm. The two of them held him, while Neil thwacked his genitals with the clipboard. There was a sudden sharp flare of pain, pain so intense that he wanted to cry out and clutch his balls, but he refused to give these bastards the satisfaction of a response, and he willed himself to remain stoic.

  Neil grinned, and there was real enjoyment in it. Malice and pleasure, a lethal combination. For the first time since he and Liz had moved to Utah, Ray was scared. Really and truly scared. A line had been crossed, and it was impossible to go back again, to pretend it hadn't occurred.

  Neil lovingly stroked the clipboard as he paced in front of the stoop.

  "You're not a team player, Ray. Bonita Vista is a community, and you are part of that community. You and your wife are not hermits or recluses, living on your own. You live here, with us, in respectable, civilized society." There was steel in his voice, in his eyes. "You need to play ball."

  "Tell
your goons to get their hands off of me."

  Neil punched him in the stomach and Ray doubled over. He remained standing only because Chuck and Terry were holding him up, and he was humiliated to hear that the sounds he made while trying to suck in air sounded like sobs.

  "Bonita Vista is your home, and you'd better start showing it more loyalty, more respect. The reason you have such a nice house in such a nice neighborhood is because of the standards maintained by the homeowners' association, because of our vigilance in going after those who do not follow the rules and regulations. Your life is easy because we have made it easy. Yet you are ungrateful, always looking for the cloud behind the silver lining, always imagining nefarious schemes behind perfectly innocent efforts to improve life in our neighborhood."

  "It's a free country," Ray reminded him.

  Neil smiled. Behind him, Chuck and Terry laughed harshly.

  "A free country? Do you know why we have a homeowners' association?"

  Neil asked. "It's because we are not under anybody's rule. The federal and state governments do not concern themselves with our petty little problems, and the county, even if it wanted to, doesn't have the means. We're in an unincorporated area, so there is no local government that has jurisdiction. We are on our own. We have been forced to provide for ourselves, to take care of ourselves, to look out for our own. And you're right, we are free. Free from government interference and meddling and micromanagement. But it is only our self-sufficiency that makes it so."

  It sounded like a militia attitude, particularly in the fervency of its delivery, and that was as scary to Ray as anything he had yet heard.

  "This is true democracy," Neil said. "It's not representative government but direct participation. We, the people, are the ones making decisions and carrying them out. We're not relying on others, on outside assistance. And we're doing a damn good job of it. A

  homeowners' association is more efficient than a government agency.

  More efficient and more responsive. This," he said, gesturing to the neighborhood around him with the clipboard, "is the wave of the future.