“So, about the plan.” Mike walked up to the porch, stomped on a loose board, and grimaced. “Plan is simple. We rip this rotting toothpick structure out. We extend 12 ft that way, wrap around the corner. Cedar decking. Pergola on top with 4×4 posts. Big enough to land a helicopter. Sturdy enough to host a sumo wrestling tournament. That what you wanted?” “Exactly,” I said. “But Mike, there’s a catch. There’s always a catch.” I pointed across the street. “See that house? The beige one with the lawn gnomes arranged in a phalanx formation? Yeah. That’s Brenda. She is the enemy. She will try to stop you. She will measure things. She will quote bylaws you didn’t know existed. She called the cops on me yesterday for sitting in that chair.” Mike slowly turned his head toward Brenda’s house. He adjusted his sunglasses. “She called the cops for sitting?” “Yes.” Mike spat on the ground, not on the grass, but respectfully on a patch of dirt. “I hate people like that. My ex-wife was like that. She tried to tell me how to stack the dishwasher. You can’t tell a man how to stack a dishwasher. It’s an art form.” He turned back to me. “Don’t you worry, Jason. I speak fluent Karen. Steve, get the demo hammers.”

The demolition began. And with it, the summoning ritual was complete. Within 4 minutes of the first hammer swing, Brenda’s front door flew open. She marched out wearing a pink bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, hair in curlers, looking like a terrifying Easter Bunny. She didn’t come to me. She went straight for Mike. I stood by the front door, coffee in hand, watching the gladiators enter the arena. “Excuse me!” Brenda shrieked. “Excuse me!” Mike was ripping a plank off the deck with a crowbar. He didn’t stop. Crack. “Hey, you!” Brenda yelled, waving her arms. Mike slowly lowered the crowbar. He turned to her. “Morning, ma’am. You’re in a construction zone. Going to need you to put on a hard hat or step back 10 ft.” “It is 7:05 in the morning!” Brenda screamed. “People are trying to sleep! This is a residential neighborhood, not a shipyard. Shut that noise off immediately!” “City ordinance 45 B,” Mike said calmly, leaning on his crowbar like it was a cane. “Construction permitted between the hours of 7:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m., Monday through Saturday. My watch says 7:06. I’m actually 6 minutes late to making noise. I owe the client some extra decibels.” Brenda gaped at him.

She wasn’t used to people knowing the numbers better than she did. She rallied quickly. “Do you have a permit for this? You can’t just expand a footprint without a variance. The HOA requires—” Mike pointed a massive finger toward my front window. “Permit number 2024-899, taped to the glass. Approved by the city planning committee last Thursday. As for the HOA, state law says they can’t override city zoning on structural safety repairs. This deck was a safety hazard. I’m saving lives here, ma’am.” “Safety hazard?” Brenda scoffed. “It was fine yesterday!” “Termites,” Mike lied smoothly. “Invisible ones. Very dangerous. They eat wood, then they move to human bone. You want to take that risk?” Brenda’s face turned a shade of purple that clashed horribly with her pink robe. “I’m calling the board! I’m calling the city inspector! You are blocking the view of the street!” “We’re not blocking anything but your ability to spy on this man’s breakfast,” Mike grumbled. “Now, unless you want to grab a shovel, step off the job site. Liability, you know. If a nail hits you, that’s a lot of paperwork I don’t want to do.” Brenda let out a sound of pure frustration, spun on her fuzzy slippers, and stormed back to her house. Mike looked at me and winked. “Termites,” he whispered. “Works every time.” I knew then that I would follow this man into battle anywhere.