With a furrowed brow, the behemoth inhaled another ample breath, as he prepared to roar yet again. “Listen, fellas, you need to stop this nonsense…immediately! You’re scaring my wife, and I will tear the limbs from your bodies if all of you don’t calm down! Right now!”

The entire room froze into place with bated breath, including the two maniacal instigators of this fiery conflict currently at play. As I could sense with the others, a part of me was inclined to flee from the scene…but there was another portion that refused to leave and had nailed my feet to the ground beneath me. This train wreck, even though possibly dangerous to myself and Rhonda, still was too fascinating to tear away frm. Noticing that he had my attention along with the rest of the room, the giant lowered his arms and raised his chin in a supreme triumph, needing only a beard on his bare face in order to resemble the almighty Zeus. He was about to issue another thunderbolt of a proclamation when a gentle but firm voice addressed him from behind.

“Honey…Stop being such a bully! You know better!”

I could see his mild-mannered wife pulling on his shirt, and he turned to face the disapproving miniature presence. His towering physique leaned down to hear the quick utterance of a susurrous scolding. True, I couldn’t make out an actual word of it, but I knew almost instinctively from its tone that it was likely a stern reprimand. As with the case of every human language, every expression has its own musical cadence, and just like a pop song repeated tirelessly against your battered eardrums, you only need a few notes to recognize it. If asked to, I could audibly identify a Russian mother berating a small child from a sampling of uttered phrases, though I know only a few actual words in that tongue…and much like that example, there were a few key notes being played by the small spouse that evinced an almost pedantic nature. Consequently, the music did sooth the beast, and the giant turned to face us once again as a changed man. Though his face betrayed no apology, he did seem to be a little less tall now.

“To all of you,” he began, “ I apologize for my outburst. That was very un-Christian of me to threaten all of you like that. Sometimes I lose my head when I get frustrated, and then I get a little crazy. I promise that I’m not going to tear any limbs off of anyone. I just…I just want the yelling to stop.” He paused. “I hate yelling.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to see you angry,” confessed Raymond jokingly. Some general laughter, fueled by relief, broke out among the various homeowners in attendance. “Tell me, my Goliath of a friend, what are your names?”

The giant’s countenance softened and molded into a sheepishly apologetic expression, looking almost comical on his menacing frame. “Oh, right, I’m sorry. Good point. My name is Brian Steelkilt, and this is my wife Carol. I would introduce you to our son, but he’s still a work in progress.” He placed one of his large mitts on his wife’s slightly swollen abdomen, caressing the area with a paternal solicitude. “We’re expecting him in a few months.”

Raymond joyously clapped his hands a few times. “God bless you! Our building family will actually get its first child! Congratulations to you both!” Rhonda and I joined the general smattering of applause that broke out, and a few amiable shouts of Congrats were echoed around the garage.

Surprised by this sudden emergence of warmth from the very people that he had threatened only moments ago, Brian’s facial color changed from a warpaint red to a blushing pink hue. “Thanks, everybody…that’s really nice of you.”

I noticed that this interruption had only caused Babbu and Vinny to suspend their quarrel for the time being, but their gladiatorial postures still betrayed their bloodthirsty desire to recommence combat. Their anxious looks at each other caught the eye of Raymond as well. “Okay,” began the loquacious property manager, “back to our slight quabble from before. Now, sirs, can we put aside our differences for now, especially in order to calm the situation for my friend Brian and his expecting mother? I think that it’s a sign of providence that our Goliath was defeated by a loving, beautiful mother-to-be instead of a cast rock. So, how about we just agree to disagree, gentlemen?”

Vinny tersely shook his head. “That’s a no-can-do, guys…he’s still got a knife.”

“You idiot,” shouted Babbu in a defiant excitement, “I already told you…”

Up until this point, the police captain Richie had been attentive but taciturn, obviously allowing Raymond to be the official spokesman of their joint leadership. However, at this point, I could see from his body language that his patience had cracked like the surface of a frozen lake (which must feel like this goddamn floor, I thought), and his resignation immediately retired from the scene. He stepped between the snapping pair, showing a palm to Babbu but turning his body in order to address Vinny. “That’s enough,” he commanded the two of them. “Mr. Singh, please calm down. Vinny…I am not your CO, but have you attended your community awareness training yet?” When Vinny didn’t respond after a few moments, Richie continued. “Well, if you had, you would have learned that the Kirpan is an important article of the Sikh faith, and it’s to be allowed on his person as a religious right. Is that understood?”

After hearing Raymond speak at length, I had gotten the general impression that he was fairly competent, but I didn’t get any sense of a leadership quality. After only hearing a few words from Richie, however, I understood how he had perhaps attained such a rank within his precinct. His mere presence gave an immediate impression of authority. It worked even more on Vinny, whose disposition was clearly altered and gave way to calm.

Though somewhat begrudgingly, Vinny nodded at Richie. “Understood, sir.”

Richie, in turn, nodded back before raising his voice to address everyone present. “Okay, so that’s settled. If the two of you wish to continue your discussion, you can do so afterwards. In order to not waste the time of everyone here, let’s now get back to the meeting. Raymond?”

“Absolutely,” began Raymond. “Thanks for the assist there, Richie. Now, I think that we should quickly go around the circle and introduce ourselves. It helps me so that I can associate a name with a face…”

“Brummer! Hasselhoff! Komm zurück…Schnell!”

Along with these quick shouts, I suddenly heard a commotion at the other end of the garage. Claws could be heard raking across the concrete, as two quadrupedal creatures scrambled toward us from the shadows. Only a few feet from Babbu, they stopped close enough in order for the overhead light to reveal their identities as two large German Shepherds. The darker-colored one fixated upon Babbu, barking ferociously at him; the lighter-colored one began to run around the outer perimeter of our circle, as if to select a separate target for his own machinations. At this point, the truce arbitrated by Richie and Raymond immediately fell apart, and the simmering sense of panic among the homeowners ignited into a small conflagration. Some of the homeowners erupted with shrieks of fright, and a few people even began to run towards the stairwells in the corners of the garage. Rhonda and I stood our ground, clasping hands and discussing our next step in a silent exchange between our eyes.

Vinny once more started to reach for his sidearm. “I’ll shoot it. Babbu, get out of the way!”

“If you hit me, I’ll sue all of your police buddies and your family!” retorted Babbu.

I could clearly see Mike as his husky frame undulated in fright. “Oh, shit, man…this situation is all fucked up!”

The escalating cries and the loud yelps from the menacing canines reignited the flame that had been doused in Brian, and his irritation served as an incantation, channeling his inner demons once again with their horns raised. Protectively, he put his body in front of Carol. “If somebody doesn’t take care of those dogs, I will! And nobody get in my way!”

Peter Bolton is the author of Blowing the Bridge: A Software Story and has also been known to be a grumpy bastard on occasion.

“Why are you here?” demanded the Sikh gentleman. “Did you follow me? I will sue you for harassment, buddy! I promise!”

Giving no quarter, Vinny started walking towards him. “You try it, pal! My union’s lawyers will eat you alive!”

I looked at Rhonda and mouthed the words What the fuck? as we tried to understand the situation unfolding before us.

Raymond quickly placed an arm against Vinny’s chest in order to prevent any escalation. “Whoa, whoa, hold on a second, Vinny. Gentlemen, surely we can come to some sort of understanding.” Calmly, Raymond redirected his attention to the newcomer. “Excuse me, sir, who are you?”

In response to being addressed in such a civil manner, the Sikh gentleman ameliorated his stance and regained some of his composure, though the anger never left his eyes. “My name is Babbu Singh, and I apologize for my outburst…but this maniac deserves no respect. He should be stripped of his rank and thrown out of the police force!”

“This,” shouted Vinny in response, “is the lunatic that I was talking about at the bar! Some cute, drunk chick squeezed his butt and gave him a little wedgie…and he yelled at her until she broke down and started crying. What kind of an asshole does something like that? I almost whipped out my mace!”

“She touched my Kachera!” screamed Babbu, with his eyes glazing over with a slight madness. “They are holy undergarments that should not be ridiculed or disrespected! And I still demand that she be tried and punished for hate crimes!”

I surreptitiously questioned Rhonda. “You still think that he’s a nice guy?”

“Hate crimes? What the hell is wrong with you?!?” shrieked Vinny. “She was flirting with you, dummy! She was probably trying to fondle your junk…you were gonna get laid, towelhead! Who gives a shit about getting a skid mark in your magic underpants? So fuckin’ stupid…That’s it! I’m gonna tase him just for being a goddamn retard!”

“Jesus,” confided Rhonda, “Can you believe that this guy carries a gun?”

“She was oppressing me…just like you! You heard him! He’s going to murder me!” proclaimed Babbu, swiveling his head in order to address all of us. “I’m going to bring you up on charges, buddy! And I’m going to record all of this!”

As Babbu opened his suit jacket and retrieved his phone from an inside pocket, I saw the shimmer of something metallic, dangling in the clutches of a holster. I couldn’t exactly make it out from my angle, but Mike appeared to have the best view. Upon identifying the mysterious article, the girthy gangster was suddenly infected with the spreading contagion of insanity. He placed a protective arm in front of his girlfriend Lisa, and he pushed the both of them back as he pointed towards Babbu’s mid-section. “Woah! Check it!” bellowed Mike. “Bin Laden’s got a knife! He’s gonna start slicing us all any minute!”

When this heated argument had begun, the pleasant candor from the start had quickly become evanescence, as the paroxysmal debate compelled the diameter of our enclosed circle to slowly widen. In particular, the various homeowners had begun to put distance between themselves and the two combatants. Now, with Mike’s proclamation, our tense gathering began to teeter on the edge of panic.

Noticing that the entire room was now focused on his every move, Babbu turned to face his accuser. “What are…are you talking about my Kirpan?” With a flourish, he pulled back his jacket in order to display an ornate sheath and blade in a tight holster. “You mean this? Do you even know what this is? And did you just call me Bin Laden? Just for that, I’m going to bring you up on hate crimes as well!”

“Put the knife on the ground,” commanded Vinny, in a tone without any jest. “Put it down, now.” Vinny slowly moved his hands down his sides, creeping smoothly towards his sidearm.

Babbu noticed that the situation was becoming serious, and the tone of his voice softened a bit…but only a bit. “Listen, you ignorant rednecks, my Kuchera isn’t even sharp. It’s a holy relic that I must keep on my person. And if you don’t back down right now, I will call my lawyer and have the both of you in deep shit!”

I grabbed Rhonda’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Rhonda…I’m thinking that we might want to get out of here…”

From my peripheral vision, I noticed some movement from a couple to my left. A petite woman had been flanked by her giant husband since the onset of our gathering, and at this moment, the giant firmly moved his wife to the side as he stepped forward. His pallor shockingly shifted from a normal shade of pale to a seething cauldron of red, as the boiling in his mind seemed to sublimate the sweat from his bald head. He used the both of his hands in order to point at the two parties of this ridiculous debate.

“That’s it! I’m gonna kill everyone here!”

Peter Bolton is the author of Blowing the Bridge: A Software Story and has also been known to be a grumpy bastard on occasion.

“So, ladies and gentlemen, congratulations on being condo homeowners at this new address!” proclaimed Raymond. “I’m sure that you’ll enjoy your new home here at Casa de Perros, here in this wonderful ethnic neighborhood of Little Peru. Yes, for those of you who know Spanish, that does translate to ‘House of Dogs’…and, yes, we did know that before we started using it.” Raymond smiled at the few laughs that came his way. “As it turns out, dogs were an important part of the ancient Incan culture in Peru, and the name is a tribute to that heritage.”

In response, a few of the white couples nodded their heads approvingly. The phrase how progressive could be heard a number of times among them.

Raymond continued. “I happen to know quite a bit about Little Peru since I’ve been visiting this neighborhood for decades. Richie and I go way back, having grown up in the next town over. We saw the empty lot on this spot for a long time and talked about how much a bunch of God-loving families would love to live in this upcoming neighborhood. So, Richie rounded up some of his friends from City Hall, and I rounded up a few business friends. Together, we formed a partnership that was able to construct this wonderful building for all of you!”

As some of the other owners politely clapped their hands, I nodded my head approvingly and leaned in close to Rhonda’s ear for a whisper. “The police captain and people from city hall helped to build this place? Man, this place is as legit as it gets.”

“Though, ladies and gentlemen, “ continued Raymond, “you shouldn’t actually ask me any questions about the building work. Richie knows more about that, since his dad used to be in construction. Instead, you can save the more general questions for me, since I’ll be your property manager. Who’s better at managing your property than one of the guys who helped build it, right? And contrary to what you may have heard, not all property managers are thieves. I certainly don’t have it in my heart to steal from blessed families like yourselves. Actually, the real thief that you should watch out for is time. It robs us of everything, doesn’t it?”

As several couples clasped hands and exchanged glances after reflecting on Raymond’s philosophical musing, I noticed one portly white fellow briefly talking with his wife before finally raising his hand. Put your hand down, buddy. We’re not in fifth grade. His attire was reminiscent of hip-hop culture, with enough space in them to be considered large on Biggie Smalls. In fact, they might have actually been worn by Biggie Smalls. I nudged Rhonda. “Ten bucks says that chubby is gonna ask if he can go to the bathroom.”

Rhonda suppressed a laugh as Raymond addressed his questioner. “Yes, sir. Do you have a question?”

“Yeah,” began the inquiring fellow. “I was wondering where we can find our butler?”

Raymond looked perplexed before responding. “Uhhh…your what? What’s your name, sir? Go ahead and introduce yourself.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” he said awkwardly, clearing his throat before continuing. “Yo, my name is Mike, and this is my girl Lisa. We was wondering about the butler situation. You feel me?”

“I’m not sure…do you mean the building super?” asked Raymond, with a raised eyebrow.

Mike shook his head. “No, man. You know…the guy at the front desk when you walk into the lobby. Like in those big buildings on the waterfront in Jersey City. You feel me?”

I stepped close to Rhonda, lowering my voice. “I think that 2 Live Chew is talking about a concierge. And I dare you to go feel him.”

I thought that Raymond was having a similar thought (without the need to ‘feel him’), since his countenance suddenly switched from perplexity to comprehension. “Ah, I see,” began Raymond. “I think that I know what you mean…”

“Sorry, everyone! I finally got here!”

Raymond and everyone else turned their heads at the sudden interruption. Quickly approaching our enclosed circle, a dark-haired gentleman headed towards us in a grey police uniform and in knee-high leather boots. His slicked-back hair and his long thin nose made his head particularly aerodynamic and aquiline. His boots made quick clicking sounds as he moved quickly across the cement floor, proceeding with a cadence that would inspire jealousy from any goose-stepping soldier.

“Hold up, fellas! Sorry that I was late. I had to respond to a call from a bar, and my bike’s engine choked up a bit on my way here. That incident at the bar took most of my time. Some loon was yelling at a woman over God knows what…it took me forever to diffuse the situation and get him to shut up…I was this close to shooting him with my Taser!”

I looked at Rhonda questioningly (and somewhat frightfully), and she nodded her head in affirmation. “Yep,” she said, “That’s the cop from the floor below us.”

As the Gestapo-reminiscent officer took a place by Raymond, the latter held out his hand to greet the newcomer. “I’m sorry, sir. You are…?”

“Vinny Rizen,” said the newest guest to the circle, shaking Raymond’s hand in the process. “I just bought my place in the building, too. On the third floor.”

Raymond’s moustache pulled at his lips to sport a broad smile. “God bless you! Welcome then! For a second, I thought that you were one of Richie’s guys. But then I remembered your name in the building’s files. You work in another town, along the waterfront. Right, right…well, good to meet you. We were just about to make introductions between everyone…”

“Stop! Stop! Hold up!”

As Vinny fumbled with his ringing phone, everyone else once again turned to see a figure dashing towards them, frantically waving in a clumsy run.

I sighed. “For fuck’s sake,” I quietly rasped, “when are we actually going to start this thing? At this rate, we should just go ahead and build a goddamn campfire with some tents…I can feel my warmth draining through my shoes, into this cold floor…”

“Tell me about it,” agreed Rhonda. “Wait a minute…I think…yep, that’s the Sikh guy. I talked to him in the lobby that one time. He seems nice…”

The lanky fellow in a dark suit and a blue turban was panting when he finally arrived a few feet away from me and Rhonda. He waved both hands at everyone while he stood catching his breath, shining a warm smile at everyone around us. He was in the midst of scanning the group with a kind gaze when his vision stopped on the penultimate arrival to the group. His amiable pose gave way as his attention focused on Vinny, and his face transformed into a vicious scowl, with his lips curling to form the next word at the motorcycle cop. “YOU!!!”

The hissing tone finally distracted Vinny from his phone, and he raised his head in order to meet the menacing look of the Sikh gentleman. Vinny’s visage also twisted to match the disapproval of his challenger. “Oh, shit…Of all the fuckin’ luck! Not you again!”

Peter Bolton is the author of Blowing the Bridge: A Software Story and has also been known to be a grumpy, muttering bastard on occasion.

“Is this where we’re supposed to meet?!?”

I knew that it was…but that didn’t stop me from posing the question out loud, as a polite way to insinuate that everyone else should hurry the fuck up and get here. I didn’t want me and my wife to be the only ones in this dimly-lit, cool cave. After all, if we were suddenly ambushed by surreptitious ninjas, we’d need more numbers to even the odds. Of course, the chances of being assaulted by a gang of ninjas was pretty close to nil, especially within a Jersey parking garage that faced Manhattan. But hey…stranger things have been known to happen…

“Stop being so impatient! You’re gonna make the both of us irritable.”

Even though I saw her viewpoint, I didn’t say anything in response…mainly since I didn’t want my wife to have the satisfaction of being right. Like any other couple who’s spent more than 5 years together, every disagreement naturally takes on the form of a contest of wills; it’s just the way of things. Standing on the rim of a large pool of light, we continued our vigil. I feel like I’m Bob Woodward waiting for Deep Throat…but with a less noble cause. I kept my eyes trained forward on the doors, while Rhonda kept us abreast of the general news in the world via her phone. In the midst of describing yet another annoying comment on Facebook, she paused her story when we both clearly heard a sound from the shadows in front of us.

She dropped the phone to her side and looked at me. “What was that?”

I squinted at the surrounding darkness. “I think that someone else is here.”

As the figure moved closer towards us, more details about our newcomer could be made out. He was tall with dark hair, and he moved with a certain amount of confidence. Within a few feet of the pool’s rim, I could make out a police uniform.

As a greeting, I yelled out my inquiry. “You’re here for the meeting, too?”

He stopped directly across from us, with just the bottom half of his face was illuminated. Only the tips of his shoes were brave enough to venture out from the shadows. “Yep,” he replies. “I guess that I’m in the right place. Where’s everybody else?”

“They should be here soon,” replied Rhonda quickly.

I gave him a nod and a salute. “Officer O’Bannon, right? Good to know that we’ve got the town’s best police captain on our side. Maybe I could get you to help us with a few parking tickets…?”

“I don’t see why not,” he replied. “What’s a few parking tickets between friends?”

My icebreaker did its magic, and we all chuckled a bit as we waited for the remainder of our plenary gathering. After a few more minutes, other people took their places in the light’s circle, and we soon had the full circumference occupied by various sorts of people. In total, there were somewhere around a few dozen people in the garage now.

I directed a whisper to my side. “You talked to any of these people, yet?”

“No, not really. A few words here and there…but all in all, not much.”

I took a quick look around. “Some of these guys seem like weirdos…but I guess that we’ll just have to make do with the given situation.”

“Stop being so pessimistic,” chided Rhonda. “I bet that everything will work out. Wait…there are some people missing. Who’s not here?”

“Hmmm…I think that the Sikh guy isn’t here yet. And I don’t see the other cop, either.”

“Well,” shrugged Rhonda, “maybe they’ll show up later.”

People politely talked with each other about the weather, and the general murmur continued in the room for several more minutes before a booming voice could be heard from the front of the garage. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen! I’m so glad that so many of you could make it to our meeting! God bless all of you.”

All the heads of our shadowy council turned to look at the figure who approached with a slow, confident pace. As the light removed the darkness covering him, we could see an older gentlemen in a modest suit with expensive shoes walking towards us, and he sported a slight grin under his thin moustache. The expression on his face matched his gait: calm and measured. When he was only a few feet away, he ground his spent cigarette on the back of a small black case and put the butt within its confines.

“I didn’t know that Mr. Vitalona was a smoker,” remarked Rhonda in a low voice.

I shook my head. “Neither did I. He must have some sort of technique for disguising the smell. Tricky devil.”

Mr .Vitalona took his place at the side of Officer O’Bannon with a friendly pat on the back. After they quickly shook hands, Mr. Vitalona turned to face the group that encircled them. “Isn’t it funny to see good and evil shaking hands, everyone? Only in New Jersey! As most of you already know, I am Mr. Vitalona, but since we’re all friends here, I insist that you call me Raymond. Also, I’m standing next to my long-time friend and colleague Richard O’Bannon, but we insist that you call him Richie. Right, Richie? In any case, we’ve got a lot to get done here tonight. So, let’s start now and finally get down to business.”

Peter Bolton is the author of Blowing the Bridge: A Software Story and has also been known to be a grumpy, muttering bastard on occasion.