Story code: ST-000369
Part 2: Lawful Orders
Chloe’s eyes locked onto the black metal of the firearm, unable to tear her gaze away from Vance’s thick thumb hovering near the safety. The bright afternoon sun seemed to dim, the distant sounds of lawnmowers and barking dogs fading into a rushing, high-pitched ringing in her ears. The sheer absurdity of the situation slammed into her-this was a petty dispute over neighborhood bylaws. And yet, the heavy, lethal intent radiating from the man standing in front of her was undeniably real.
Her mind raced through her limited options. No installation, no matter how much time and money she had poured into its construction, was worth taking a bullet to the chest on her own front lawn. Reaching into her pocket for her phone might be interpreted as drawing a weapon.
Chloe took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing her locked joints to bend. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the uneven idle of his oversized truck parked in her ruined grass. She raised both hands to shoulder height, palms facing forward to show they were empty. “Okay, Vance. You can go in.”
She took a slow, crunching step backward on the gravel path. Then another. She kept her hands raised, pressing her back against the smooth vinyl siding of her house, giving him a wide, unobstructed berth to the wooden side gate.
Vance’s upper lip curled into a sneer of pure contempt, clearly taking her surrender as a hard-won victory. He left his right hand resting on the holster, using his left to heft the heavy steel crowbar. He turned his broad shoulders, presenting his back to her as he marched toward the gate.
He didn’t bother with the latch. He drove the chisel end of the steel crowbar directly into the narrow gap between the wooden gate and the main fence post. With a violent jerk, he splintered the wood. The sharp sound of snapping pine echoed like a gunshot through the quiet street. Chloe flinched, pressing her shoulder blades harder against the house. Vance wrenched the crowbar a second time, tearing the metal locking mechanism completely out of the wood. The gate swung wildly inward, banging aggressively against the interior fence with a hollow crack.
As Vance stormed through the opening, Chloe stood completely frozen. She looked desperately toward the street, hoping for a witness. Mr. Henderson, an elderly neighbor from across the cul-de-sac, was standing on his porch. Chloe locked eyes with him, pleading silently for help. The older man’s eyes widened in alarm before he quickly turned his back, hurried inside, and firmly shut his front door. The rest of the neighboring houses sat completely silent, their decorative blinds pulled tight. The realization crashed over her like freezing water: she was entirely alone with an armed, unstable man.
She couldn’t stay in the front yard. If she ran, he might shoot her in the back. If she hid, she would have no concrete evidence of what was happening on her property. Her phone was sitting heavily in her back pocket. She slowly reached down, her trembling fingers brushing the cold casing of the device, but she didn’t dare pull it out.
Chloe crept forward, stopping cautiously at the splintered threshold of the gate. She peered into her own backyard, maintaining a twenty-foot distance.
Vance stood squarely in front of the cedar and tempered-glass installation that had been the sole focus of his obsessive daily citations. He raised the steel crowbar high above his head and brought it down viciously on the nearest glass panel.
The tempered pane shattered inward with an explosive crunch, raining thousands of glittering cubes onto the soil of her garden beds. Chloe bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper, forcing herself to remain silent. She watched him swing again, the metal denting the thick cedar framing. He hacked relentlessly at the structural supports, grunting loudly with every impact.
But the installation had been professionally reinforced to withstand severe weather. The heavy cedar posts barely yielded to the blunt force of the steel bar. Vance swung wildly, his initial burst of furious adrenaline burning out quickly. Sweat rapidly soaked the collar of his black tactical windbreaker. He paused, leaning heavily on the crowbar, gasping for air as he surveyed the minimal structural damage he had actually managed to inflict. The wooden frame still stood upright, stubbornly refusing to fall.
Chloe held her breath, praying he would simply give up, declare his authoritative point made, and get back in his idling truck.
Instead, the exhaustion radiating from Vance morphed into a dark, terrifying frustration. His face flushed a deep, mottled purple. He threw the heavy crowbar onto the grass with an enraged roar.
He spun around to face the broken gate, his furious eyes locking immediately onto Chloe. He didn’t utter a single word as he reached down to his right hip. The metallic snap of the holster’s retention strap releasing sounded deafeningly loud.
Vance drew the black pistol.
Chloe let out a strangled gasp, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She braced herself for a blinding flash and a deafening crack.
But Vance didn’t point the weapon directly at her chest. He held it at a low angle, his finger resting dangerously close to the trigger. He closed the distance between them in four long, heavy strides, stopping just three feet away.
“You think you’re smart,” Vance spat, his chest heaving as sweat dripped down his red face. “You think you can embarrass me on local television and get away with it. You think a few thick pieces of wood can stop a mandatory community compliance order.”
“Vance, please,” Chloe begged, her voice cracking, her hands still raised. “Just take a breath. It’s just a garden structure.”
“It’s an illegal obstruction!” he bellowed, a fleck of spit landing on her cheek. He gestured sharply with the barrel of the gun toward the side door of her house, which led into her attached garage. “Open the side door.”
Chloe blinked, hot tears of pure terror finally welling in her eyes. “What?”
“You have a heavy-duty reciprocating saw in there. I’ve seen it when you leave your garage open like an idiot,” Vance growled, raising the gun an inch higher, pointing it directly at her stomach. “Get the saw, plug it into the exterior outlet, and bring it out here. You’re going to cut down those main support posts yourself.”
Chloe stared down at the dark, hollow hole of the barrel. He wasn’t just going to destroy her property; he was going to force her to demolish her own victory under the direct threat of death.
“If I go in there, I’m calling the police,” Chloe warned, her voice trembling so violently she could barely form the words.
Vance stepped squarely into her personal space, the cold metal barrel of the gun pressing firmly against the soft fabric of her shirt, resting directly over her violently pounding heart.
“If you touch a phone,” Vance whispered, his eyes wide, glassy, and completely unhinged, “I will be forced to defend myself against a non-compliant resident aggressively resisting a lawful order. Now walk.”