Chapter 1
I pressed the doorbell, smiling at the tiny integrated camera.
“Go away!” a shrill voice blared.
Perhaps he couldn’t see me?
“Hi, Colonel Zervic. This is your neighbor, Terrence Winkworth.”
“I know who you are,” the voice replied. “Go away!”
I looked to Jim for assistance, but his face was blank.
“Why are you still here?” the voice roared from the doorbell. “Leave my property now!”
“I was hoping for a word.”
“You were hoping for a word, were you? Stay right there. Let’s see how wise that was.”
After a moment, the front door flew open, and an older gentleman appeared. He stared at me with an abundance of malice.
I stayed the course.
“Hi. It’s nice to meet…”
“Mr. Winkworth, do you know what a Belgian Malinois is?” the colonel interrupted.
“It’s a breakfast pastry,” I replied, pleased by the opportunity to bond over food. “Cousin to the croissant, if I’m not mistaken.”
His facial features tightened.
“No, you fool. It is the finest breed of military dog known to man. They can scale walls, climb trees, think tactically, and tear a man to shreds when so commanded. I’ve trained dozens of them.”
I nodded approvingly.
“Good for you! It is important to stay active in retirement.”
This only seemed to anger him more.
“I don’t mean right now! I mean I spent thirty years in the military training them!”
I knew the revelation was meant to impress, but the scales fell from my eyes.
I had always imagined the man commanding tanks, not doling out treats.
“So, you were the Marines’ answer to the dog whisperer?”
He began to tremble.
“I am a man who can unleash devastation with the sound of my voice. I think you should be aware of that.”
“Got it. Thanks. Anyway, I was wondering if we could discuss the little misunderstanding over my camper?”
“There is no misunderstanding. In twenty-seven days, it will be gone, one way or another.”
“I see.”
Anyone could tell that my act was bombing. Time for my big move.
“I brought you a gift!” I offered, with what little cheer I could muster.
The colonel frowned.
“That’s quite all right. My real gift will arrive in twenty-seven days.”
“You should really take it,” I encouraged him. “It’s engraved with your name.”
The colonel was too disciplined to roll his eyes, but an eyeroll was implied by his flat stare, as he accepted the gift.
“Thank you. Please leave.”
I saw little point in prolonging the agony. I said goodbye, then plodded back home with Jim.
It started in October, when Reggie handed me a letter. His manner seemed oddly mournful.
“This arrived in the mail today,” he explained. “It’s from the homeowners’ association.”
I frowned.
“They’re not after my camper again, are they?”
Reggie lowered his gaze. He hated disappointing people.
I read the letter. I was being given 30 days to tow the camper from my property, or the sheriff would do so at my expense.
It was a grotesque example of executive overreach.
I would show the busybody board members that I could not be pushed around. I called Emily, my conservator, to find out what I should do.
“Move into the house,” she said, after I explained the situation.
“I probably shouldn’t have let you live in the camper in the first place,” she continued, “but you can be so exhausting.”
“Why have you always been so anti-camper?”
“It isn’t the camper I worry about, Terrence. It’s the life you are avoiding by hiding out in it.”
I scoffed.
“What a limited perspective. I see myself as another Henry David Thoreau.”
Emily groaned.
I pressed on.
“Should I hire another attorney?”
“Absolutely not,” she snapped. “That would be a waste of funds. Move into the mansion. That’s final.”
“But Reggie and Melissa live there! I don’t want to move in with them.”
Emily exhaled slowly.
“You know you can kick them out, right? No part of Reggie’s contract says that he gets private use of a mansion.”
“But he has children,” I protested. “You want me to dislodge them from the only home they’ve ever known?”
“Yes. How can I make this easier to comprehend?”
I stewed.
“Fine,” I sighed, “have it your way. I’ll take care of it myself.”
I waited.
“You will do no such…”
I hung up.
Stanton Fenwick 