"You came charging at me."
"I walked down three steps."
"You raised your voice."
"You poured paint on my windshield."
Brenda looked toward the houses across the street.
"This is exactly the behavior I warned the board about."
Adrian's face changed.
"What behavior?"
She hesitated.
"The hostility."
"To you vandalizing my car?"
"You have challenged every enforcement action this association has issued."
"Because half of them made no sense."
Brenda laughed sharply.
"There it is."
"There what is?"
"The attitude."
Adrian stared at her.
For nearly a year, every disagreement with Brenda had eventually arrived at that word.
Attitude.
When he asked why his trash enclosure had been cited while three identical ones remained untouched, he had an attitude.
When he requested photographs showing the supposed oil stain on his driveway, he had an attitude.
When he asked why an architectural committee approval had taken seventy-four days when the bylaws required thirty, he had an attitude.
When he requested meeting minutes, he had an attitude.
Questions became disrespect.
Evidence became obstruction.
Disagreement became hostility.
Adrian had learned that people who disliked being questioned often described questions as aggression.
So he stopped arguing emotionally.
He documented.
That habit was about to matter.
Brenda looked back toward the street.
A dark gray sedan was parked near the corner.
Adrian had noticed it before.
He had assumed it belonged to a visitor.
Now Brenda lifted her left hand.
She pressed two fingers against the center of her chest.
Then she pointed casually toward a house three doors down.
The movement lasted less than two seconds.
Adrian almost missed it.
The sedan's brake lights flashed.
Once.
Then off.
Brenda lowered her hand.
Adrian frowned.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"That signal."
She looked at him.
"I scratched my jacket."
"You pointed at the Henderson house."
"I did no such thing."
The sedan began rolling forward.
Adrian turned his phone slightly, capturing it.
Brenda immediately stepped into his line of sight.
"Stop recording other residents."
Adrian shifted the phone around her.
"Who is in that car?"
"I have no idea."
"You just signaled them."
"You're becoming paranoid."
The sedan reached the stop sign.
Then a police cruiser turned onto the street.
The sedan paused.
For a moment, neither vehicle moved.
The cruiser continued forward.
The sedan turned right and disappeared.
Brenda exhaled.
It was small.
Barely noticeable.
But Adrian saw it.
Relief.
The patrol car pulled to the curb.
A white male officer in his early forties stepped out.
Another officer, a younger Latina woman, exited from the passenger side.
Brenda immediately walked toward them.
"Thank you. Finally."
The first officer looked at the SUV.
Then at the paint can.
Then at Brenda.
"Who called?"
"I did," Adrian said.
Brenda turned.
"You called?"
"Of course I called."
Her expression changed.
For some reason, she had assumed the police were responding to her.
The officer approached.
"What's going on?"
Adrian pointed toward his windshield.
"She poured that paint on my vehicle."
Brenda lifted her folder.
"That is an HOA enforcement matter."
The younger officer looked at her.
"You poured the paint?"
Brenda answered carefully.
"The vehicle was in violation."
"Did you pour the paint?"