Neil grinned, and there was real enjoyment in it. Malice and pleasure, a lethal combination. For the first time since he and Liz had moved to Utah, Ray was scared. Really and truly scared. A line had been crossed, and it was impossible to go back again, to pretend it hadn't occurred.
Neil lovingly stroked the clipboard as he paced in front of the stoop.
"You're not a team player, Ray. Bonita Vista is a community, and you are part of that community. You and your wife are not hermits or recluses, living on your own. You live here, with us, in respectable, civilized society." There was steel in his voice, in his eyes. "You need to play ball."
"Tell your goons to get their hands off of me."
Neil punched him in the stomach and Ray doubled over. He remained standing only because Chuck and Terry were holding him up, and he was humiliated to hear that the sounds he made while trying to suck in air sounded like sobs.
"Bonita Vista is your home, and you'd better start showing it more loyalty, more respect. The reason you have such a nice house in such a nice neighborhood is because of the standards maintained by the homeowners' association, because of our vigilance in going after those who do not follow the rules and regulations. Your life is easy because we have made it easy. Yet you are ungrateful, always looking for the cloud behind the silver lining, always imagining nefarious schemes behind perfectly innocent efforts to improve life in our neighborhood."
"It's a free country," Ray reminded him.
Neil smiled. Behind him, Chuck and Terry laughed harshly.
"A free country? Do you know why we have a homeowners' association?"
Neil asked. "It's because we are not under anybody's rule. The federal and state governments do not concern themselves with our petty little problems, and the county, even if it wanted to, doesn't have the means. We're in an unincorporated area, so there is no local government that has jurisdiction. We are on our own. We have been forced to provide for ourselves, to take care of ourselves, to look out for our own. And you're right, we are free. Free from government interference and meddling and micromanagement. But it is only our self-sufficiency that makes it so."
It sounded like a militia attitude, particularly in the fervency of its delivery, and that was as scary to Ray as anything he had yet heard.
"This is true democracy," Neil said. "It's not representative government but direct participation. We, the people, are the ones making decisions and carrying them out. We're not relying on others, on outside assistance. And we're doing a damn good job of it. A
homeowners' association is more efficient than a government agency.
More efficient and more responsive. This," he said, gesturing to the neighborhood around him with the clipboard, "is the wave of the future.
The decentralization of government that people have been fighting for for years? We have it."
"I'm a liberal Democrat," Ray said. "I like big government."
Neil punched him again.
The patina of politeness, the attempt to convert through persuasive argument, was gone, and Neil's voice was annoyed and angry. "You're a slow learner, Ray, and we're not going to put up with this forever. Get with the program. We're here today as a courtesy call, to give you some friendly advice before you really get yourself into trouble."
Ray could not breathe, but he managed to croak out a message of defiance: "Fuck you!"
Chuck kicked him in the shins, Terry punched the back of his neck.
Without the support of their hands, he crumpled to the ground, gasping.
Neil said something he did not catch, and then all three of them were walking away, back up the driveway toward the road. He tried to stand up, and was only able to do so by balancing himself against the doorjamb. He ached all over. They'd hurt him, he realized, in a way that would not show, and even if there were some law enforcement agency he could go to, there was nothing he'd be able to prove. He was filled with a deep furious desire for revenge, but it was tempered by fear, by the more realistic assessment that these people were willing to go to any lengths to achieve their ends.
Their ploy had worked, Ray realized.
He had not been afraid before.
Now he was.
He was grateful at least that he had shown no fear, that he had been able to keep up his defiant bravado in front of those assholes, and he moved slowly and painfully back into the house, locking the door behind him and limping into the living room. He sat down hard on the couch, still trying to catch his breath.
A few moments later, Liz emerged from the bathroom. "Did someone stop by? I thought I heard voices."
Ray shook his head. "No," he said. He tried to smile. "It was just the TV."
The Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions Article III, Land Use Classifications, Permitted Uses and Restrictions, Section 3, Paragraph L:
Any member of the Architectural Committee, any member of the Board, or any authorized representative of such, shall have the right to enter upon and inspect any Lot within the Properties for the purpose of ascertaining whether or not the provisions of this Declaration have been or are being complied with, and such persons shall not be deemed guilty of trespass by reason of such entry.
Whatever it was that had initially turned her off to Bonita Vista seemed to have finally and completely died with Deke Meldrum . Maureen pulled the hose around the right front tire of the Suburban as she watered the replanted irises. She looked out at the road, looked up at the sky. She no longer had any reservations about being here, and contrary to expectations, she found that she liked living in a gated community, enjoyed the security such an extra layer of protection provided. She felt safe--not because they were in rural Utah, away from the smog and the gangs and the high crime rate of the major metropolitan areas, but because they were living in Bonita Vista, an enclosed world, a hermetically sealed environment, shielded against all that lay outside. Her reservations had been turned on their head, and what she had originally thought of as drawbacks now seemed like attributes.
Barry said that it was her "accountant side" coming out, and though he'd meant it as a joke, perhaps there was some truth to that. She was neater than he was, more fastidious and methodical, more concerned with order and organization. It was a trait common to those who enjoyed working with numbers, just as comfort with chaos and disorganization seemed to be de rigueur for liberal arts people like Barry, and she had to admit that there was something reassuring about living in well-regulated surroundings.
Usually, she was big on first impressions. And as old fashioned and superstitious as it sounded, she was a firm believer in "women's intuition." Or at least her own intuition. She trusted her gut instincts, and it was rare that she changed her mind once an opinion had been formed.
But change her mind she had, and it was Meldrum's death that had been the catalyst. It was as if he'd been the conduit for the negativity she'd had toward this place. And with his sacrifice, all of that had disappeared.
His sacrifice?
She didn't know where that had come from, but she didn't want to think about it. That was a remnant of those disgraced first impressions, a holdover from before, and she refused to acknowledge that it had any validity. There was nothing untoward about Bonita Vista, and neither the neighborhood nor the homeowners' association had anything to do with that lunatic's death. It was an accident, pure and simple.