Detective Robinson, the vehicle wasn’t reported stolen. It was towed yesterday afternoon under HOA enforcement action. Westbrook Estates authorization. I asked her to repeat that. She did.
I thanked her and hung up. Then I stood in my empty garage for a long time staring at the oil stains trying to understand how a homeowners association had the authority to tow a car from a private garage on private property. The answer, of course, is that they don’t.
But that hadn’t stopped them. I showered, changed into civilian clothes, made another cup of coffee, and then I walked three blocks to the home of Christine Rogers, president of the Westbrook Estates Homeowners Association. Seven terms, 18 years of what she called community stewardship.
I had met her once before at the welcome committee event when I moved in six months ago. She had smiled and told me how much she valued maintaining the character of our neighborhood. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. I should have.
Christine answered the door in a peach-colored blouse and white slacks, the kind of outfit that costs more than it looks. She smiled when she saw me, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Mr. Robinson, what can I do for you this morning? I asked about my car.
Her expression shifted to something between pity and condescension. The look you give a child who doesn’t understand why they can’t have dessert before dinner. Ah, yes, the vehicle. I’m afraid it violated community standards.
Section 12, paragraph 4 of our bylaws prohibits the storage of inoperable or visually degrading vehicles on residential property. I had it removed for the benefit of all residents. I told her the car wasn’t inoperable. It ran perfectly.
I had driven it two days ago. She waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. It was old, rusty, and eyesore. These things lower property values for everyone. I’m sure you understand.
I asked where the car was now. Christine’s smile tightened. Disposed of properly through Gerald’s company. He handles all our towing needs. Gerald, her husband, the man who owned the towing company that the HOA contracted for enforcement.
I asked what disposed of meant. She tilted her head slightly, the way people do when they think they’re explaining something obvious to someone slow. Crushed, Mr. Robinson. Scrapped. That’s what happens to junk vehicles.
The metal gets recycled. It’s actually quite environmentally responsible. She said it like she expected me to thank her. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t threaten her. I didn’t tell her that what she had just described was felony destruction of property,
