Silence descended on the street. Officer Davis looked at Mike and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, she's a peach. You guys gonna be okay?"
Mike stared at the closed front door, a profound sense of clarity washing over him. Over the course of his fifteen-year career, Mike had developed a very specific philosophy: he would bend over backward to help kind, reasonable people. But if you were abusive, arrogant, and tried to weaponize the law against him? He would use the rulebook to absolutely crush you.
"Officer," Mike said slowly. "She is entirely correct. We only have legal access to the ten-foot easement. We cannot use her side gate. We cannot walk across her lawn."
Davis frowned. "So how are you going to get in? Pole vault?"
Mike pulled up the plat map again. "The easement borders an unpaved city alleyway behind her property. We can access the easement directly from the alleyway."
"But she's got a six-foot solid vinyl fence back there," Davis noted. "You can't get through it."
Mike zoomed in on the map. He traced the property line, then looked at the location of the fence on the satellite overlay. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face.
"Officer," Mike said, pointing at the screen. "Look at this. Her property line ends here. But her fence is built ten feet further back, bordering the alleyway. She built her expensive vinyl fence directly on the outer edge of the utility easement. In fact, her entire row of Italian roses, and about a third of her prized lawn, are entirely within the ten-foot easement zone."
Davis leaned in, studying the map. "I'll be damned. She built on county right-of-way."
"Yep," Mike said. "And my work order requires me to dig up a section of ground that is currently covered by her roses, and blocked by her fence. Now, normally, we'd just walk through the front gate, use some hand shovels, carefully dig around the roots, fix the wire, and try to leave the plants alive. We do it all the time to be nice."
Mike looked at his two crewmen, Dave and Luis, who were suddenly grinning ear to ear.
"But," Mike continued, his voice dripping with malicious intent, "the homeowner has expressly forbidden us from stepping outside the easement. If we try to dig a six-foot deep hole by hand in a ten-foot space, we won't have anywhere to put the displaced dirt without spilling over onto her private grass. And she threatened to sue if we touch her private grass."
"So what are you going to do?" Davis asked, intrigued.
"I have to follow her rules to the letter," Mike said innocently. "I have to stay strictly within the easement. Which means I can't do this by hand. I need precision equipment. I need machinery."
Mike keyed his radio. "Dispatch, this is Unit 4. The police have cleared us to proceed, but the homeowner has restricted access and enforced strict boundary compliance on the easement. Hand digging is impossible due to space constraints and legal threats regarding soil displacement. I need you to authorize and dispatch the heavy cavalry."
There was a pause on the radio. "Unit 4, are you requesting the mini-excavator?"
"Negative, Dispatch," Mike replied. "The soil is deeply compacted and I need to ensure maximum vertical precision to avoid violating the homeowner's boundary line. I am requesting the John Deere 310L Backhoe Loader. Have them bring it down the rear alleyway."
Luis let out a low whistle. Dave started laughing out loud. The John Deere 310L was a massive, eight-ton piece of industrial machinery, equipped with a heavy front loader bucket and a deep-digging rear hydraulic arm. It was loud, it was heavy, and it destroyed anything in its path.
"Copy that, Unit 4," Dispatch replied. "Heavy machinery requested. ETA twenty minutes."
Mike turned to Officer Davis. "Officer, things are going to get a little loud. Given the homeowner's aggressive nature, would you mind sticking around to ensure we can perform our duties safely?"
Davis chuckled, leaning against his cruiser. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
Chapter 8: The Rumble of Consequence
Twenty-five minutes later, the ground beneath Oakwood Estates began to vibrate.
From the main road, a massive flatbed semi-truck turned into the narrow, unpaved alleyway that ran behind the houses on Elmwood Drive. Strapped to the bed of the truck was a towering, bright yellow John Deere backhoe, its hydraulic steel arm gleaming in the midday sun.
The truck parked at the entrance of the alleyway, and a heavily tattooed operator unchained the beast. The diesel engine roared to life, a deep, guttural, earth-shaking sound that rattled the windows of the nearby houses. The operator backed the backhoe off the ramp, the heavy tractor tires crushing gravel and snapping fallen branches.
Mike, Dave, and Luis walked down the alleyway to meet the machine. Mike directed the operator down the narrow lane until the backhoe was parked directly behind Brenda’s gleaming white vinyl fence.
"Alright," Mike yelled over the roar of the diesel engine. "The fault is right here, dead center. We need a trench six feet deep and four feet wide. But remember, we have a strict ten-foot boundary limit from this fence line inward. Do not let any dirt spill past the ten-foot mark."
The operator gave a thumbs up.
Mike walked back around to the front of the house. He nodded to Officer Davis, then stepped onto Brenda’s porch and knocked on the door.
Brenda threw the door open, looking smug. "Are you still here? Did you finally figure out you can't get in?"
"Ma'am," Mike said loudly, competing with the distant rumble of the diesel engine. "I am providing you a final courtesy notice. We are proceeding with the repairs, adhering strictly to your demands. We are accessing the easement from the rear, and we will not step one inch outside the ten-foot boundary."