"Morning, gentlemen," he said, pulling off his helmet. "Beautiful day for motorcycle work."
Dolores practically bounced with excitement. Her dangerous biker gang was assembling right on schedule.
What she didn't know was that Rodriguez's duffel bag contained body cameras, recording equipment, and paperwork that would change everything.
At exactly 10:45, Dolores made her move. She marched across the street, phone already dialing, face flushed with righteous fury.
But instead of staying on the sidewalk like in previous confrontations, she walked straight into my garage.
"911. I need immediate police response. There's illegal business activity, excessive noise, and I think these men have weapons."
She was standing three feet from my workbench, screaming into her phone while staring directly at Rodriguez, who was calmly cleaning a wrench with a shop rag.
"Ma'am, I need you to step out of my garage," I said firmly.
"Don't you dare tell me what to do. I'm documenting criminal activity for law enforcement."
Rodriguez looked up from his wrench. "Criminal activity?"
"You people think you can terrorize this neighborhood with your noise and your criminal behavior? Well, I have news for you. I know people in this town, important people, and this ends today."
The irony was so thick you could cut it with a socket wrench.
Carlos set down his tools. "Lady, we're fixing a motorcycle. What's criminal about that?"
"Illegal business operations, unlicensed vehicle repair, disturbing the peace. The police are already on their way to arrest all of you."
Rodriguez stood up slowly, still holding the wrench. "The police are coming to arrest us?"
"That's right. And when they see what you're really doing here, you'll all be in handcuffs where you belong."
She was so focused on her dramatic performance that she didn't notice Rodriguez pulling something from his back pocket.
"Ma'am, I have a question for you."
"I don't answer to criminals."
"Do you know what this is?"
Rodriguez held up a small leather wallet.
Dolores squinted at it. "I don't care what that is. The police will be here any minute."
Rodriguez flipped open the wallet, revealing a gold badge and official identification.
"This is a police badge. Specifically, Chief of Police Rodriguez's badge. And you're right. The police are already here."
The color drained from Dolores's face like oil from a cracked pan.
"That... that can't be real. You're just some criminal biker."
"Ma'am, I've been coming here every Saturday for three months to help my friend Nathaniel restore his father's motorcycle. And you just filed a false police report claiming I'm a dangerous criminal."
Dolores started backing toward the garage entrance, her phone call forgotten. "This is impossible. You can't be. I did my research."
"What research? Following me? Taking photos? Because I've been documenting your harassment campaign for weeks."