Story code: ST-001426
Part 2: Neighborhood Watch
Marcus burst through his front door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind him with a crack that echoed off the surrounding brick facades. The afternoon sun blinded him for a fraction of a second, but the guttural roar of the sedan’s exhaust provided a clear audio target. He scrambled down his driveway, his sock-clad feet slipping on the slick, sun-baked concrete. He had no time to grab shoes, no time to formulate a tactical plan. The matte black sedan was already creeping forward, its oversized tires crunching over the edge of the manicured lawns. Mrs. Higgins was fifty feet away, oblivious to the threat, aggressively scribbling on her clipboard.
Marcus sprinted across his grass, cutting a sharp angle to intercept the black car before it could pull parallel to the HOA president. He threw his arms up, adopting the exaggerated, indignant posture of an outraged homeowner. “Hey! Hey, slow down!” he shouted, projecting his voice so Higgins would hear him over the rattling bass of the car stereo.
Inside the sedan, Leo slammed on the brakes. The heavy vehicle lurched forward, stopping inches from Marcus’s knees.
Marcus marched around to the driver’s side window, keeping his back to Higgins. The tinted glass was already rolled down. The smell of cheap pine air freshener, stale cigarette smoke, and pungent gun oil hit Marcus like a physical blow.
Leo looked up, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. He was young, barely nineteen, with erratic, bloodshot eyes and a fresh teardrop tattoo on his cheekbone that Marcus didn’t recognize.
“What are you doing, Leo?” Marcus hissed, leaning heavily on the door frame to physically block Higgins’s view of the interior.
“I’m handling your business, Marc,” Leo said, his voice terrifyingly calm, completely at odds with his frantic eyes. “Nobody sends you papers. Nobody puts a tax on our people. I’m gonna air out this old bat and send a message to the rest of these khaki-wearing punks.”
“There is no ‘our people’ anymore, Leo. I’m out. We have a truce.”
“Truce is for the south side,” Leo replied, his right hand dropping off the steering wheel, sliding down out of sight toward his lap. “This isn’t the south side. This is disrespect. I’m not letting them walk all over you.”
Marcus glanced over his shoulder. Mrs. Higgins had stopped inspecting the pavement. She was marching toward them, her clipboard held flat against her chest like a shield, her face pinched into a mask of supreme suburban fury.
“She’s walking over here,” Marcus said, his teeth clamped together. “Drive away. Right now.”
“Let her come,” Leo smiled, a thin, tight expression devoid of warmth. “Saves me walking.”
“Leo, listen to me,” Marcus pleaded, keeping his voice at a frantic whisper. “If you do this, you burn my house down. You bring the cops to my doorstep. The feds, Leo. You think a murder in Oakview Estates goes away like a drive-by on 4th Street? They will tear up every floorboard I have. My cover is gone. I go to prison.”
Leo’s jaw tightened. “You sound like a coward, Marc. They made you soft in this plastic neighborhood. You used to run the avenues.”
“I ran them because I was smart,” Marcus snapped, his eyes darting back to Higgins, who was now only twenty feet away. “Smart means knowing when not to pull a trigger. You pull a gun on a civilian, you break the truce. The bosses will put a bounty on you, and I won’t stop them.”
“Excuse me!” Higgins’s shrill voice cut through the thumping bass. “Excuse me, you cannot park here! This is a private residential community!”
Marcus turned his head, keeping his body squarely blocking the window. “I know, Mrs. Higgins! I’m telling him to leave! He’s terribly lost!”
“He is in direct violation of the municipal noise ordinance!” Higgins barked, pulling a silver smartphone from her pocket. “And he is driving on the Dawson family’s decorative edging! I am calling the authorities!”
Leo scoffed from inside the car. The metallic, heavy slide of a round being chambered echoed from the dark interior. It was a subtle sound, masked slightly by the heavy bass line, but to Marcus, it was deafening.
“She calls the cops, I’m clipping her right now,” Leo said casually.
Marcus pressed his chest harder against the door. He couldn’t attack Leo without violating the street laws that kept his past associates from hunting him down. Striking a made member of his old crew meant a bloody war. But letting Leo shoot an unarmed woman over a mailbox fine meant the end of Marcus’s life anyway.
“Mrs. Higgins, please, wait!” Marcus called out, raising his left hand in a placating gesture. “My phone battery died! He was just asking for directions to the interstate!”
“I do not care what he wants, Marcus,” Higgins said, her thumb hovering over the screen of her phone. She stepped closer, trying to peer around Marcus’s broad shoulders to see the driver. “Your mailbox is still non-compliant, and now you are harboring vagrants. I am documenting this entire incident.”
She raised the phone, aiming the camera lens right at the sedan’s front license plate.
“Don’t take a picture,” Leo warned, his voice rising above a whisper, carrying out the window.
Higgins narrowed her eyes. “I will do as I please, young man. I am the president of this association.” She tapped the screen. A bright, artificial shutter sound clicked loudly.
Leo’s eyes went utterly blank. He leaned forward, lifting a heavy, black semi-automatic pistol from his lap, angling it upward toward the window.
Marcus acted on pure instinct. He reached inside the car, his right hand slapping down hard over the barrel of the gun, pinning it against the plastic door panel. The metal was freezing cold against his palm.
“Leo,” Marcus growled, leaning in so his face was inches from the kid’s. “Do not.”
“Let go, Marc. She took a picture of the plates. It’s done. She’s gotta go.”
“Marcus, what in heaven’s name are you doing?” Higgins demanded, stepping within an arm’s reach of Marcus’s back. “Step away from that vehicle this instant!”
Marcus could feel Leo twisting the gun, the jagged front sight digging painfully into the flesh of his palm. The kid was strong, fueled by adrenaline and misplaced street honor. Marcus was losing his leverage. If he pulled his hand away, Higgins was dead. If he wrestled Leo for the gun, it would go off, alerting the entire neighborhood and bringing the police in minutes.
“Mrs. Higgins,” Marcus said, his voice straining with the immense effort of holding the gun down. He forced a desperate, strained smile onto his face as he looked back at her over his shoulder. “He’s my nephew. He’s… he’s having a severe mental health crisis. Let me get in the car and calm him down. Please. Don’t call the police. I’ll pay the fine for the grass. And the mailbox. Five hundred dollars, today.”
Higgins paused, her finger hovering over the emergency dial button, her eyes sweeping over Marcus’s panicked, sweating face.
Leo stopped struggling for a fraction of a second, insulted by the lie. “Nephew?” he muttered angrily.
Marcus didn’t wait for Higgins to process the bribe. He grabbed the exterior door handle, pulled it open, and shoved the heavy metal door backward into Higgins’s path, forcing the older woman to stagger back. Marcus threw himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him.
Leo stared at him, the gun now freed and gripped tightly in his right hand. “What the hell are you doing, Marc?”
Marcus looked out the passenger window. Higgins was standing there, phone still out, writing his promise of five hundred dollars onto her clipboard.
“Drive,” Marcus ordered, the command slipping out in the old, dangerous cadence of his past life. “Get us out of here. Now.”
Leo slowly turned his head toward Marcus, his face hardening, his index finger slipping casually onto the trigger guard. “You don’t give the orders anymore, old man. And I still have a problem with her disrespecting us.”