Her face was already flushing a deep, blotchy red. “This is an R2 zoned district. Commercial enterprises are strictly prohibited. Do you have a vendor’s permit? Do you have a health department rating? Is that unpasteurized citrus?” “It’s free, Brenda,” Big Mike said, picking up a red cup. “Can’t be a business if there’s no money changing hands. It’s charity. I’m a charity case. I’m thirsty.” “It doesn’t matter,” she yelled. “It is a visual blight. A table on the driveway? It looks like a flea market. It looks like poverty.” “I think it looks festive,” I said. “And the sign is very informative.” She read the sign again. The vein in her forehead began to throb. “Pending litigation? Bad vibes? That is slander. That is libel. You are writing lies about me on a placard visible from the public roadway.” “Is it a lie?” I asked innocently. “The vibes are pretty bad, Brenda.” She let out a sound that was half scream, half growl.
She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her phone. “I am calling the police,” she announced. “I am calling them right now. And I am not just reporting a noise complaint. I am reporting an illegal, unlicensed food stall, harassment, defamation of character, and loitering with intent to distribute.” “Intent to distribute lemonade?” Mike asked. “Is that a felony now?” “Go ahead, Brenda,” I said, leaning against the table. “Call them. Make sure you tell them it’s an emergency. Tell them I’m out of control.” “Oh, I will.” She stabbed at her phone screen. “Officer Miller gave me his direct extension. You are done, Jason. You are finished in this town.” She put the phone to her ear. She turned away from us, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk like a lawyer in a courtroom. “Yes, this is Brenda Miller at 405 Maple. I need a unit at 402 immediately.
He has set up an illegal storefront. He is mocking me. He has a sign with my name on it. I feel threatened. He’s inciting a riot.” Mike looked around the empty street. A lone tumbleweed of grass clippings blew by. “Hell of a riot,” he muttered. “Yes, now he’s aggressive. He has a large man with him, a hired thug.” Mike pointed at himself. “Thug? I’m a licensed contractor with a five-star rating on Angie’s List.” She hung up the phone and turned back to us with a triumphant sneer. “They’re coming. And this time you aren’t talking your way out of it. I’m going to have them cite you for every code violation in the book. I’m going to have that table seized as evidence.” “Okay,” I said calmly. “Okay?” She blinked. “That’s all you have to say? You should be taking this down. You should be begging for mercy.” “I’m just going to wait for the police,” I said. “I like talking to Officer Miller. He seems like a reasonable guy.”
I walked back to the porch steps and sat down. Mike sat next to me. Brenda stood her ground at the end of the driveway. She wasn’t going to let us escape. She stood guard, arms crossed, tapping her foot, glaring at the pitcher of lemonade as if it were a vat of toxic waste. The wait was agonizingly perfect. 10 minutes, 12 minutes. Then we saw it. The familiar cruiser turning the corner, Officer Miller. And this time he wasn’t alone. A second cruiser followed him. Brenda had apparently sounded the alarm so effectively that they sent backup. “Showtime,” I whispered to Mike. I reached into the bag sitting by my feet. I pulled out the Manila folder. I held it in my lap. The cruisers pulled up. Officer Miller got out of the first car. He looked at the lemonade table. He looked at the sign. He looked at Brenda. Then he looked at me. His shoulders slumped. “Mr. Bennett,” Miller said, walking up the driveway. “Brenda.” “Officer!” Brenda lunged at him. “Look! Look at this! He’s selling lemonade without a license. And look at the sign. It’s a hate crime.” Miller walked over to the sign. He read it. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Ma’am, a sign excluding you from free lemonade isn’t a hate crime. It’s well, it’s rude, maybe, but it’s not illegal.” “It is harassment,” she shrieked. “He is targeting me. And look at the structure. A table on the driveway? That violates HOA Bylaw 7.3 regarding temporary structures.” “I don’t enforce HOA Bylaws, ma’am,” Miller said wearily. “I enforce the law. Is he selling it?” “It says complimentary,” Miller noted. “That means free.” “It’s a trick,” Brenda insisted. “It’s a front. He’s using it to lure people into— to give them hydration?” I offered. “Officer,” Brenda switched tactics. “I want him arrested right now for disturbing the peace.
He is disturbing my peace intentionally. He is provoking me. I am a tax-paying citizen, and I demand you remove this criminal element from my neighborhood.” Miller sighed. “Ma’am, I can’t arrest a man for giving away lemonade. I can ask him to take the table inside if it’s blocking the sidewalk, but—” “It’s not blocking the sidewalk,” Mike piped up. “I measured. 3 ft of clearance.” “You see?” Brenda yelled. “They are mocking the law. If you won’t arrest him, I will call your supervisor. I will call the mayor. I know people. I have a clean record, and I am a victim here.” A clean record. The words hung in the air. I stood up. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but my hands were steady. This was it. The moment Sal had promised me. “Officer Miller?” I called out. Miller turned to me. “Yes, Mr. Bennett? Can we just put the table away and call it a day?” “I’m happy to put the table away,” I said, walking down the steps. “But before you go, there’s something you need to see. Since Brenda brought up records—” Brenda scoffed. “Oh, please. What is he going to show you? His library card?” I walked past the lemonade stand. I walked past Brenda, who recoiled as if I were contagious. I stopped in front of Officer Miller and his partner. “My neighbor has been very vocal about the law,” I said, keeping my voice loud enough for the neighbors, who were now peeking out of their windows, to hear. “She’s very concerned with rules, ordinances, warrants.” “Get to the point, Bennett,” Miller said. “I hired a private investigator,” I said.