Story code: ST-001426
Part 3: Property Values
Marcus shoved his hand against the dashboard, bracing himself as he stared down the barrel of Leo’s gun. The street outside the tinted window was quiet, but the imaginary wail of sirens already echoed in Marcus’s head. He had seconds before the HOA president actually hit the dial button on her phone.
“She already sent the picture of your plates to the precinct,” Marcus lied, his voice a harsh, commanding whisper, channeling the dark authority he used to wield on the east side. “If the cruisers roll up and see this car, you’re doing ten years for the iron in your hand. Pull into my garage. Now. We hide the car, let them drive past, and figure this out.”
Leo’s jaw worked furiously. He glared out the window at Mrs. Higgins, who was aggressively tapping her phone screen on the sidewalk. The kid wanted blood, but he didn’t want a cage. With a sharp exhale, Leo dropped the gun to his lap, slammed the transmission into drive, and gunned the engine. The heavy sedan lurched up the concrete driveway, its tires chirping as Leo banked hard into Marcus’s open two-car garage.
Marcus threw his door open before the vehicle even came to a complete stop. He scrambled over the oil-stained concrete toward the wall console to hit the garage door closer. If he could just shut the heavy metal door, he could isolate the threat. He could trap Leo inside, pay Higgins her five hundred dollars through the mail slot, and figure out how to smuggle the kid back to the city after dark.
“Don’t touch the button, Marc.”
The voice was a deep, gravelly rasp that did not belong to Leo. It came from the darkest corner of the garage, right next to the water heater.
Marcus froze, his hand inches from the glowing plastic button. He slowly turned his head.
A massive, broad-shouldered figure stepped out from behind a stack of moving boxes Marcus had never bothered to unpack. It was Dante. He was older than Leo, built like a cinderblock, wearing a heavy canvas work jacket that concealed whatever else he was carrying. Dante’s eyes were flat and devoid of the nervous energy that plagued Leo. In his right hand, he held a heavy steel pipe wrench he had lifted off Marcus’s workbench. He tapped the thick metal head against his palm in a slow, steady rhythm.
“Dante,” Marcus said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “You’re out of bounds. The truce-”
“The bosses don’t care about a truce when some suburban broad is extorting you,” Dante interrupted, stepping further into the dusty shafts of sunlight filtering through the open door. “They sent Leo to make some noise. But they sent me to make sure the message was permanent. I’ve been waiting for a chance to earn my stripes, Marc. You know how it works. A public insult requires a public response.”
Leo stepped out of the sedan, tucking his pistol into the waistband of his jeans. “I had it handled, Dante.”
“You were arguing through a window,” Dante scoffed, never taking his eyes off Marcus. “Marc, step aside. We’re gonna walk out there, cave her head in on the sidewalk, and leave her for the rest of these khaki-wearing chumps to find.”
“No one is dying in my driveway,” Marcus said, squaring his shoulders, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. He was unarmed, wearing only socks, trapped between a volatile teenager with a gun and a hardened enforcer with a steel wrench. “You do this, you bring the federal government down on the whole crew. You think this HOA is a joke? They have cameras on every doorbell. You’ll be on the news before you hit the highway.”
Before Dante could answer, a shrill beep echoed through the garage.
Marcus spun around. A sensible beige walking shoe had just stomped over the invisible laser sensor at the base of the garage tracks.
Susan Higgins stood in the threshold, her hands planted firmly on her hips, her clipboard tucked under one arm. She had marched straight up the driveway, utterly oblivious to the lethal tension radiating through the confined space.
“Do not think you can simply hide your vehicle in here, Marcus!” Susan barked, her voice echoing shrilly off the drywall. She marched forward, stepping directly between Marcus and the front bumper of the matte black sedan. “I have already dialed 9-1-1. The police are en route. You are harboring unregistered vehicles, and you are creating a public nuisance.”
“Susan, get out,” Marcus pleaded, dropping all pretense, holding his hands up toward her. “Walk away. Go back to your house. Right now.”
“Do not use my first name!” she snapped, her face flushed with indignant suburban rage. “It is Mrs. Higgins to you. And I am not going anywhere until the authorities arrive to impound this car and arrest your delinquent nephews.” She turned her sharp, judgmental gaze toward Dante. “And you! Put that tool down this instant! I will add menacing to the police report!”
Dante stopped tapping the wrench against his palm. He stared at Susan, a look of genuine disbelief crossing his scarred face. Marcus knew exactly how Dante’s world operated; on the avenues, people dropped their eyes and crossed the street when the enforcer walked by. To see Dante scolded by a woman in a floral blouse and a sun visor was a fatal collision of realities.
“You called the cops?” Dante asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, terrifying whisper.
“I most certainly did!” Susan said, lifting her chin, stepping even closer to Dante, acting entirely protected by the invisible, useless shield of her neighborhood authority. “And I am documenting your aggressive posture as we speak. You have no power here, young man. You are in Oakview Estates.”
Marcus watched the absolute certainty in her voice shatter the last of Dante’s restraint. The enforcer’s face contorted, his cold professionalism giving way to raw, unchecked fury at the profound disrespect.
“Susan, run!” Marcus screamed, lunging forward.
He was too late. Dante roared, his boots scraping against the concrete as he snapped, bringing the heavy steel wrench back over his shoulder and lunging with brutal, terrifying speed straight for the woman’s head.