Clark would make himself the victim.
People like Clark are very talented at that.
I didn’t want to hurt him.
I didn’t want to damage his vehicle.
I didn’t want to create anything dangerous.
I simply wanted one thing.
I wanted Clark to feel what it was like to be exposed.
So I finally called Katie.
When I finished telling her about the confrontation, she went quiet.
“He called you greedy?”
“Yes.”
“And shut the door in your face?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Okay.”
The way she said it made her sound like a military commander.
“We’re going to handle this differently.”
She came Saturday morning.
We sat at my kitchen table with coffee and a notebook.
“First,” she said, “we save everything.”
She downloaded the footage.
Then discovered the camera had recorded Clark on three separate nights.
Three dates.
Three clips.
Three trips across my lawn with his red gas container.
She backed everything up.
“Airtight,” she said.
Then she installed a second small camera facing Clark’s porch.
“For later.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She smiled.
That afternoon, we prepared our surprise.
Ellen had loved making homemade holiday decorations and dyes.
Some of her old supplies were still stored in the garage.
Among them was a very strong blue coloring concentrate.
There was also an old novelty stink spray my son had once given me as a joke.
Completely harmless.
Absolutely horrible smelling.
Katie and I packed both into an ordinary gift box protected by a plastic liner.
Inside, I placed a note.
THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN TAKING FROM ME EVERY NIGHT.
NOW EVERYONE KNOWS.
— YOUR GREEDY NEIGHBOR, FRANK.
Attached were three photographs.
Clark beside my truck.
Clark siphoning gasoline.
Clark carrying the red container home.
We wrapped everything in cheerful paper and put a bow on top.
“Grandpa,” Katie said, staring at the finished package, “Grandma would think this was ridiculous.”
“She’d tell me to forgive him.”
Katie grinned.
“And secretly love every second.”
We waited.
Two nights later, the driveway camera sent an alert shortly after two in the morning.
I stood beside my bedroom window.
There he was.
Clark.
Again.
Hose into my tank.
Red container filling.
I could have shouted.
Instead, I watched.
This time I wasn’t angry.
Because I knew something he didn’t.
Tomorrow morning would be very different.
Clark finished.
Replaced the cap.
Walked home.
I sent Katie one message.
Tonight.
From the guest room, she replied:
Showtime.
At 6:45, I carried the wrapped box across the lawn and placed it directly in the center of Clark’s welcome mat.
Then Katie and I sat on my front steps with coffee.
Slowly, the neighborhood woke up.
Mrs. Petrova came outside for her newspaper.
Walt happened to be taking an unusually convenient morning walk.
Someone loaded a car.
Another neighbor walked a dog.
At 7:10, Clark’s front door opened.
He stepped outside dressed for work.
Pressed shirt.
Nice trousers.
Travel mug.
Car keys.
Then he noticed the box.
He looked around.
Then smiled.
That was my favorite part.
He genuinely believed someone had left him a gift.
Maybe a client.
Maybe his wife.
