by Boyd Craven
“Now, I know a bunch of you heard about the problems we had here a couple weeks back in our community, where one of our kids was viciously attacked by another member here. I won’t get into that overly much, but it sort of ties in with what I would like to get a consensus vote on. The Taylors, new to our community, have two violations against the HOA that have yet to be addressed, and they are defiantly refusing to come into compliance.”
Angry murmurs from some of the crowd; a confused buzz seemed to come from the other.
“Furthermore, there are some ongoing concerns, and I would like to speak to you about some proposed rule changes. Steve and Angela Taylor have been members of this community for almost two years now, and the first violation I would like to address is the gate that has been cut into their rear brick wall separating their property from adjoining farmland.”
“What’s wrong with that? There’s nothing in the HOA convention about that being against the rules,” Steve shouted.
“You didn’t get the Home Owner’s Association permission before you did it,” Doug Morris called out.
Jeff banged the gavel on the plastic table to quiet the mumbling from the two outbursts.
“I don’t need to,” Steve went on without asking them. “It’s just like the constitution, anything not spelled out goes to the states like the Tenth Amendment. In this case, I pulled a permit to have it done, and I did have permission from the property owner to do it and go on the property whenever I wanted.”
More murmurs.
“Can I go on?” Jeff asked dryly.
“This is going to take all night if you don’t let him finish his charges against you,” Cheryl Jacoby, the HOA’s only female board member, said.
“Charges? Like you think you’re going to fine me? Jail me? Throw me out?”
Jeff smiled. “Second violation that has been confirmed by Mr. Taylor’s own lawyer, is that he’s running a home business out of his residence. This is expressly forbidden under our convent.” Jeff said with a wicked grin.
There was an angry murmur with that, and as Jeff looked around, about a third of the men and women in the meeting were talking to each other. Steve started to worry when a woman raised her hand.
“Yes? Mrs. Bacon, is it?”
“Yes. Mr. Arellano, if home businesses are against the HOA operations, how is it you’re running a real estate office out of your house?”
The smug smile on Jeff’s face slipped and his eye twitched.
“I’m not running a real estate office—”
“Your wife’s business cards list your house with your house number,” the woman said pulling something out of her purse and holding it up. “There’s a ton of people here who’ve got home businesses. We were under the impression that as long as customers don’t visit us here—”
“We’re getting off the topic,” Jeff interrupted. “My wife had those cards made up when she retired. She is not actively selling real estate in any manner. She keeps those for former clients so she can direct them to—”
“Mr. Arellano?” Matthew interrupted, slapping on the table till people quieted down. “Is your wife the connection to the developer that’s trying to buy Mister Abbot’s farm and your friend on the planning board who’s trying to get a lot of the area rezoned for a new sub full of McMansions put in here?”
“That’ll increase all of our property values,” Jeff snarled, surprised to have been ambushed from behind the table.
“So,” Steve said standing up, “it’s ok if you break the rules as long as it’s for the greater good, is that what I’m hearing?”
“That’s not what—”
“I’d like to speak!” Doug Morris said, standing up.
His shout was thunderous, and even the lawyer looked up sharply at him. Steve sat down, but not before touching his side, an almost unconscious habit.
“Fine, go ahead…since there seems to be no order tonight,” Jeff said dryly.
“Steve Taylor has willfully flaunted the HOA rules. He plants a garden in his flower beds, knowing that gardens are prohibited, he makes modifications to his property that makes it different than the others and no longer conforming to the look and standard of the community…”
Steve smiled, amused at the old gripes as they were being aired.
“He fires off his guns in his backyard, causing concern from neighbors in the area—”
“Excuse me,” a man said shouting from near the back, “but since when has this part of Georgia become a liberal cesspool?”
Some clapping and a couple wolf whistles sounded off until Jeff banged on the gavel again.
“Let me finish,” Doug said. “And to make matters worse, he refuses to quiet his daughter’s jeep, which sounds like it has no muffler. Then he designed and put up a trap on somebody else’s property, viciously attacked a community member’s son to the point to where he’s had to have surgery to repair the facial damage…and he pulled a gun on him. I’d like to see the council take action against the Taylors.”
This time the murmurs didn’t sound like they were sympathetic. That’s when the woman who was sitting behind Angela rose to her feet and raised her hand.
“Yes ma’am…I don’t recognize you. Can you give me your name and address please?”
“My name is Deputy Lucy Javier,” she said crisply and watched as the entire room went silent, “When Mr. Taylor told me about the problems in this community, I thought he was joking. That’s why he invited me here—”
“Surly this isn’t a police matter,” Jeff interrupted.
“But I can see right now that a statement from the Sherriff’s department is in order.”
“He tried to cave my son’s skull in, and you didn’t arrest him,” Clark Wilson screamed from the front, as his wife Sarah tried to pull him back into his seat.
“Your son attacked Mr. Taylor with a weapon, causing a concussion and the stitches and bruising you see on him right now,” she said, and the entire room turned to stare at Steve. “Mr. Taylor showed remarkable restraint in how he handled the situation. Concussed and losing blood, he elected to subdue your son with his fists instead of other means.”
“Other means? My son needs surgery!” Clark yelled from his seat.
“Mr. Taylor has a legal concealed carry permit. He elected to take the hit to the head and not use his firearm in his own self-defense. This could have gone quite different, Mr. Wilson, and I think you know that. If a perp is running at an officer with a weapon, well, they better hope we have our taser handy, but I’m a righty and on my right hip is where I normally hang my gun.”
The room was deathly quiet, and Sarah Wilson, with tears in her eyes, was holding onto her husband with both hands, whispering furiously to him.
“As I understand it,” Matthew Fitzpatrick said, “the Wilson boy is being charged with numerous felonies and remains in lockup, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Lucy said, and sat down. “I just wanted to clear that up.”
“I would like to propose a rule change, one forcing all community members into compliance with both structure and having a normal set of guidelines including everything from fences, planter boxes, noise ordinances, and some sort of reasonable firearms policy since it’s apparent we have none.”
“Excuse me,” Sam Parish said, standing, “you do understand how this looks in the court of law?”
“Who the Sam hell are you?” Jeff said, losing his patience with all the interruptions.
“Well, my name is Sam Parish, not Sam Hell. I’m the Attorney on record for the Taylor family. You are the HOA President, Jeff Arellano?”
“Yes, I am?”
Sam pulled out a sheaf of papers and turned. Lucy stood and walked over and took them and walked them up to the white plastic tables and tossed them in front of Jeff with a thump.
“What is this?” Jeff asked, his voice somewhat quiet.
“Sir, you’ve been served,” Lucy said and started walking back.
She dropped a wi
nk, whether it was for Steve or Sam, the Taylors couldn’t tell.
“Why is he such a meany head?” Amy whispered to her dad as Jeff started reading.
Jeff’s face turned a bright scarlet and he passed it down the line.
“Shhh, be quiet, short stuff,” Amber hissed to her sister.
“That,” Steve said in a loud voice, “is a cease and desist. After researching you and your wife’s background, your involvement with the zoning board, and the undisclosed fact that your wife’s sister is the developer’s cousin, I think it’s pretty clear that you are not working for the community like you say you are.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Jeff thundered. “I have no—”
“Mister President,” Sam said, standing up and pulling another sheaf of papers out of his briefcase as he did so, “I’d like to show the community some future site planning I was able to get—thanks to my friends with the county—on a proposed community expansion.”
“You’re out of order, and you’re not even a part of the—”
“You mean the expansion onto my property that I own and haven’t sold?” Dwight asked in a loud voice, making almost everyone turn to stare at him.
It was like a soap opera, an episode of Colombo, and a gameshow all rolled into one. The people who came here with one set of ideas were finding out the world had been flipped topsy-turvy, and nothing was what it seemed. At least, that was Steve’s impression from the shocked look on people’s faces, except for Matthew’s. He was smiling. Shocked, but smiling.
“Yes. See, the portion of land they want to ‘annex,’” Sam said, using his fingers to make air quotes, “is landlocked. They needed a new entrance to get in, and where else would be better than the back of a small cul-de-sac?”
“I don’t; you didn’t—”
His words were interrupted when Sam threw another packet of papers on the white table, this time in front of Matthew. He snatched them up before Jeff could launch himself halfway across the table sideways. Matthew stood up, held a hand out to stop him in case he tried to bum rush the big man and then paused to read. Everyone was staring, and when he flipped a page or two, you could almost hear a pin drop.
“This is bullshit,” Doug said finally.
Several people threw their folded agendas at him, and he put his hands over his head as if to ward off multiple attackers.
“This is the most disgusting overreach I have ever seen,” Matthew said after a moment.
“What’s it say?” Thomas Durazo, one of the HOA leadership, asked from the other side of Jeff.
“It’s exactly as bad as the Taylors and their attorney are implying,” Matthew said, and walked it over to him and put it down.
Jeff snatched for it, but Matthew put a big arm out and put it on his chest and pushed. He put a little more oomph into it than intended, and the off-balance president went flying backwards as his chair folded up when his legs went over his head. Screams of surprise were shouted out, and Matthew turned to immediately bend over and help Jeff Arellano up. As he was pulling the older, much smaller, man to his feet, Jeff’s arm shot out, hitting Matthew in the mouth. The blow barely moved the big man’s jaw, but rage clouded the big man’s features as pandemonium broke out in the crowd.
Lucy had seen that things had the potential to turn ugly and had stood and moved to the side of the left aisle when Matthew snatched the paperwork away from Jeff the first time. The second time Jeff tried to get it, she was already moving through the crowd. She saw the big man make a pushing motion knocking the president over and the punch. She made it to the front of the table as Matthew grabbed the front of Jeff’s shirt in one palm, his right fist lining up on a shot that might very well kill him.
Her last step launched her across the table and she grabbed his arm just as he started moving. Her weight threw him off balance and he spun, toppling himself, pulling Lucy Javier over with him. They ended up in an undignified tangle of arms and legs as Jeff cursed and spat, the homeowners shouting, screaming, and dozens of phones out recording the fracas.
“Now you know why I hate to come to these things by myself?” Steve shouted to Sam.
“You’re never going to one of these without me again,” Sam said shouting back.
That’s when the lights went out.
CHAPTER 15
“Dad, I’m sick of this power rationing,” Amber griped.
“Yeah, sweetie, me too,” Steve said, pulling his shirt away from his body and fanning himself.
In the last three weeks or so, rolling blackouts had hit almost every area east of the Mississippi. The news claimed a hot summer and everyone running their air conditioning caused rolling blackouts, much like what happened in 2012. What wasn’t happening was that things came back on right away. There was a cascading effect that left a lot of the areas still without power. The short-term solution was to work on some sort of power rationing, giving home owners power long enough to have their freezers and fridges time to cool down enough to maintain the cooler temps and preserve food.
Some systems were given higher priority, such as utilities like the water and sewage plant and they were kept running by both generator and the power grid. Right off the bat, people flocked to their vehicles and RV’s to fire up the air conditioning during the hottest parts of the day, but fuel prices seemed to double their already high prices. Food in the grocery stores went up in price as everything transported in had a sharp increase in cost to the stores. There was less product on the shelf, but there was also fewer people buying last minute items at inflated prices.
“Can I go with you today?”
“To Home Depot, or to the community meeting later on?” Steve asked.
“I just want to get out of the house some. Since my job shut down, I really don’t have anywhere to go, and Matt’s dad has been having Matthew work with him.”
“Really? I hadn’t…I mean…why?” Steve asked, knowing Matthew’s business had been pretty rock solid.
“Because he doesn’t have to pay his kid the way he has to pay for union help,” Amber griped. “But to be fair, Matt likes working with his dad…I’m just…bored.”
“Hm…you must be, you hate going on prepping runs with me. Amy,” he said turning to see both her and Angela walk in from the back yard. “Would you and your mom like to ride along with me today?”
“I’d love to,” Angela said pulling her shirt away from her body, fanning herself, “Gives us an excuse to run the AC.”
“I wanna go, Dad!” Amy said.
“Good, I’ll take all the help I can get,” Steve said, rubbing his hands together and making a good impression of a cartoon villain’s laugh.
“Tell me again, why do we need two different types of solar panels?” Angela asked, a bit annoyed.
Money was tight, and although they had money in the bank, some of Steve’s clients had quit paying as their finances and businesses crumpled.
“Well, what would you think if I could say…get you girls some air conditioning? Spend some money on making something that will run when the power is off?”
“How many solar panels do you need?” Amy asked, picking up a box nearly as big as she was.
“I’ve got all the big panels I need. These smaller ones are for the air conditioning,” Steve told her.
“So we’re good?” Amy asked.
“Almost. I need to pick up a couple of big coolers, a vent fan from the heating and cooling section, and a couple of lengths of galvanized ductwork.”
Amy knew her husband read a ton and on topics that he wasn’t an expert on, but she had no idea how he was going to build what he claimed he was going to. She watched as they piled supplies on two flatbed carts. One of them full of solar panels and a box he called a charge controller. She asked about batteries once, but he told her he wasn’t worried about those yet…but he was buying what looked like furnace ductwork parts, a washable furnace filter, a large white cooler from an endcap and then they went to the plumbing department and found a very smal
l pond pump that was the size of a fish tanks air pump.
Then he bought more odds and ends: hacksaw blades, jigsaw blades, hand tools. The girls were ready to revolt and steal his keys when he announced they were done. The store, much like everyone right now, was open, but whether or not they had power and when was anybody’s guess. When the power was out, people had to pay cash only. This was one of those instances. Steve had been adding things up on a calculator and a piece of paper and when the clerk told him a price that was 20 percent higher than he figured he looked up sharply.
“Excuse me, but I think you’re off. I’ve been keeping track right here,” Steve said pulling out his notepad.
The clerk looked at it. He was in his mid-twenties and looked like the power outage hadn’t been kind to him. He smelled like he hadn’t showered recently, though with the heat and lack of air conditioning, everybody did to some extent. His hair was greasy and he had a nervous look about him that made Steve’s spidey senses tingle.
“No, my math is right. It’s one thousand, three hundred and twenty-seven dollars and thirty-three cents,” the associate said.
Steve looked at his sheet, “One thousand, one hundred and thirty-two dollars and forty-nine cents is what I came up with.”
“Four percent state sales tax and fourteen percent local municipality sales tax,” the clerk said, his eyes shifting.
“No, that’s not—”
“Steve, it doesn’t matter,” Angela said, pulling on his arm.
“Help you with something?” Another orange-aproned associate came up, probably noting the angry look on Steve’s face.
“14 percent local municipality sales tax?” Steve asked loudly.
The head cashier looked between Steve and the cashier who suddenly found a spine and stood up a little straighter.
“That hasn’t gone into effect,” the head cashier said and took the pad of paper and the calculator.
After a minute of adding, he turned to the Taylors, “With tax, it’s one thousand, one hundred and thirty-two dollars and forty-nine cents.”
Steve peeled off money from the small wad he’d brought with him and paid the associate, who was giving his boss and Steve ugly looks. Without comment, he handed the changeover. Steve started to push one of the large carts away when the head cashier called, “Have a nice day.”