"I won't touch it," I said. "But the tow company will."
His mother laughed and said, "Do you know how much that car is worth?"
I looked at the cracked windshield, the dented door, the missing side mirror, and the way the rear bumper hung just a little wrong.
"Not as much as you think," I said.
The son's face changed like I had hit a nerve. Just for a moment, all that fake confidence slipped. Then it came back, but I had seen enough to remember it.
Two days later, I had a customer coming in with a van that needed brake work. When I opened my garage, the Porsche was there again, but this time it was parked sideways.
Not accidentally sideways.
It blocked the whole driveway like he wanted a reaction.
I checked the cameras. He had pulled in at 7:12 a.m., looked directly at the warning sign, laughed, and walked away.
So I did not yell. I did not chase him. I did not touch the car.
I called the tow company.
Then I stood on my porch with my coffee and waited.
The tow driver showed up about twenty minutes later. He was a big man with a calm face and a clipboard in his hand. He checked the sign. He checked my ID. He checked the driveway. He looked at the car, then at me.
"You're good," he said.
As soon as he started lowering the hooks, the blond guy came sprinting down the street.
"What are you doing?" he screamed.