Brenda lifted her chin. “Community roadway appearance order 14B.” “That’s not a law,” Morales replied. “It is within the HOA,” Brenda insisted. “No,” a voice called out from behind us. “It absolutely is not.”
Walking down the sidewalk, wearing a sun hat and holding a folded binder against her chest like a shield, was Linda Chavez, the real current HOA president. Not dressed like a soldier. Not dressed like a cop. Just dressed like someone who was very tired of dealing with stupid people. She came to a stop beside Captain Morales and opened the binder, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Brenda,” she said, “you were removed from the HOA board three months ago. Unanimously.”
A murmur rippled through the growing crowd of neighbors. Brenda’s face turned a shade redder than the clay-tiled roofs behind her. “That vote was illegitimate,” Brenda snapped. “No, it wasn’t,” Linda corrected calmly. “You were cited for abusing authority, issuing fake citations, and attempting to install private surveillance cameras on other people’s property.” “That was for safety,” Brenda protested. “That was for ego,” Linda replied.
Captain Morales looked at me again, then back at Brenda and Dale, and said, “You two are impersonating authority and obstructing federal personnel. Step away from the vehicle.” Dale tried to move casually, like he was just repositioning himself and not backing away from the United States Army, but it didn’t help. One of the MPs stepped forward, tapped on his car window, and said, “Sir, is that light on your dashboard registered with emergency services?” Dale swallowed hard. “It’s for volunteer enforcement.” “Is it registered?” the MP repeated. “No.”
The MP opened the car door, reached in, and removed the flasher like pulling a toy out of a child’s playroom. “This is being confiscated.” Brenda gasped like they’d just seized a priceless artifact. “That’s necessary for community safety,” she yelled. “No,” Morales said. “That’s necessary for TikTok.” A few soldiers laughed under their breath.
Chaos rippled through the neighborhood. People stepped out onto their porches. Phones came out. Voices whispered down the block. What’s happening? Is that Brenda again? Is that the Army? A kid on a scooter yelled, “Mom, Brenda’s getting arrested,” which wasn’t technically true, but emotionally accurate. I stayed in my truck, watching the entire HOA apocalypse unfold from the best seat in the house.
Then Brenda, poor delusional Brenda, made the biggest mistake yet. She marched right up to the captain, actually marched, and pointed a trembling finger at me. “This man refused to follow my lawful commands,” she declared. “He endangered my community and undermined my authority, and I want him cited immediately.” Captain Morales inhaled slowly. It wasn’t anger. Not yet. It was the kind of breath you take before delivering a reality check someone won’t survive emotionally.