“Show me the signed rule.”
She lowered the paper.
“You’ve had ample opportunity to cooperate.”
“Show me the rule.”
“This is exactly the kind of obstruction I’m tired of.”
The Homeowner stared.
Then looked toward the Tow Operator.
“What company are you with?”
The man pointed toward the door of the tow truck.
A familiar logo.
The Black Homeowner became very still.
He already knew the answer.
The HOA President noticed his expression.
Apparently she interpreted it as defeat.
“Yes.”
she said.
“I hired a professional company.”
The Black Homeowner looked at the logo again.
Then at the Tow Operator.
The Operator looked back.
Something flickered across his face.
Recognition.
Not of the man.
Of the shirt.
The Black Homeowner’s royal-blue T-shirt carried a tiny embroidered company emblem near the left sleeve.
Not a logo most homeowners would notice.
The Tow Operator did.
He stared at it.
Then at the Black Homeowner’s face.
His posture changed.
“Sir…”
The HOA President interrupted.
“Don’t let him intimidate you.”
The Black Homeowner almost laughed.
“I haven’t said anything.”
She pointed toward him.
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Standing there like you own everything.”
The Tow Operator’s eyebrows rose.
The Homeowner looked toward him.
Then back at her.
“No.”
he said calmly.
“Just one of the companies involved.”
The HOA President frowned.
“What?”
The Homeowner took out his phone.
He called a number from memory.
The Tow Operator watched him closely.
The call connected.
A dispatcher answered.
“Metro Recovery, dispatch.”
“It’s me.”
The voice changed instantly.
“Boss?”
The HOA President stopped moving.
The Tow Operator closed his eyes briefly.
The Black Homeowner continued.
“I’m standing at my house with Unit 214.”
The dispatcher became confused.
“Your house?”
“Yes.”
“Why is 214 there?”
The Homeowner looked at the Tow Operator.
The man looked like he wanted to disappear into the asphalt.
“Apparently they’re towing my pickup.”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
The HOA President looked toward the tow truck door.
Then toward the Homeowner.
Her expression changed slightly.
The Homeowner put the phone on speaker.
“Pull the authorization.”
Keyboard sounds.
The dispatcher found it.
“HOA tow.”
“Who submitted?”
The dispatcher gave the HOA President’s title.
The Homeowner nodded.
“What property classification?”
Another pause.
“Association-controlled common area.”
The Black Homeowner looked toward the HOA President.
She went still.
He continued.
“Location?”
The dispatcher read his street address.
“GPS?”
The dispatcher checked.
“Truck is twenty-eight feet inside residential parcel boundary.”
The Homeowner lowered his phone slightly.
The Tow Operator swore under his breath.
The HOA President said: