The Time Travelling Taxman Series Box Set

by Rachel Ford

  “It’s the death of an icon,” Randy declared soberly. As she agreed, Alfred forced a somber expression onto his own features. Dave Contrino just nodded.

  Mercifully, other than retelling their own part in the story, they didn’t linger long on the tragedy of Swell Dude’s downfall. Conversation returned to happier topics, and the two couples parted with the firm promise to get together again.

  “That was nice,” Nance said as they walked back to their room, his arm slung over her shoulders. “I’m glad we did it.”

  He nodded. “Me too.” Then, he added, “I’m glad we did it all. The whole weekend, I mean.”

  She grinned up at him. “Really? Even after almost being shot?”

  “I could have done without that part,” he admitted. “Hopefully, when we go next year, they won’t have invited any killers.”

  She laughed. “Careful, Mr. Favero. I might hold you to that.”

  “I hope you do.”

  They’d reached their room now, and he took his arm away from her long enough to unlock the door and for them to step inside. He flipped on the light as they entered, and caught sight of himself, in the reflection of the long mirror that hung against the bathroom door. He stared back at the strange, green-tinted apparition.

  From the pointy ears to the fake eyebrows, he couldn’t remember having worn anything so silly since he’d trick-or-treated as a kid at Halloween decades ago. But the fact was, it didn’t matter. He was happy, happier than he could ever recall being. He was deliriously happy.

  “Nance?” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  She smiled back at him, with a sweetness that nearly made his heart stand still. “I love you too, Alfred Favero.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Their final day at MarvelousCon passed far too quickly. There’d been an announcement in the morning that, at three o’ clock, Rick Ashworth and Kate Dallas would be making a special announcement in ballroom ten that would be broadcast to all the other rooms. “An announcement for an announcement,” Alfred remarked. “Sounds very serious.”

  They didn’t think much of it, spending their time at other sessions. She was particularly delighted to get a spot in a beta-play session of Station 49. “That’s one good thing about so many people leaving,” she grinned. “More open spots.”

  Soon enough, though, it was three. Nancy and he had got seats in ballroom ten right by the stage, finding – with a measure of surprise – that they’d been reserved specifically for them. “What’s going on, I wonder?” Nance mused.

  Alfred shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re going to kill off Swell Dude or something.”

  Her forehead puckered at the thought. “I hope not.”

  “I’m kidding, Nance.”

  They were not left to wonder long, though. Ashworth came out first, saying, “Good afternoon everyone. Thank you all for being here today.”

  Kate followed him a moment later, echoing these statements. “Thank you for sticking with us, despite the – well, incident last week.”

  Now, Eugene Miller stepped on stage. The crowd’s enthusiasm picked up at the sight of the director. “Thank you everyone. It’s a pleasure to be here with you again.”

  “So,” Rick said, “there’s been some shakeups in the MDC universe. That’s not going to surprise anyone here.”

  “But,” Miller spoke up, “we’re here today for a few reasons. The first, we want to assure everyone – because we know, you’ve all been wondering – that MDC is not going anywhere.”

  Applause met this declaration, and he continued, “Neither is Swell Dude.”

  Nancy clapped now too.

  “Swell Dude is an ideal,” Kate put in. “We’re still reeling – like all of you – from the news about Chris, and everything he did, and tried to do. But Swell Dude is bigger than Chris, or any one individual. Swell Dude is the ideals of justice and fairness and compassion, that Rick had in mind when he created him.”

  “What Swell Dude represents,” Ashworth said, “can’t be killed by one man.”

  “Not unless he’s got Plutonium Zeta, anyway,” Miller declared to the crowd’s laughter.

  Alfred threw a blank stare at Nancy. “It’s the only thing that can kill him,” she explained in a whisper. “In the comics.”

  “So today, we’re here to tell you that Swell Dude will be back.”

  The crowd cheered, and the trio waited until the cheering died down. “But,” Ashworth said, “we’re in the hero business. It’s our job to recognize heroes. And Friday, we met a real life, honest to goodness, flesh and blood superhero.”

  He turned now to the stage entrance, and Alfred’s jaw nearly dropped as Josh Stevenson, grinning nervously, walked onstage. Nancy cheered, and the crowd joined in.

  “You all saw the news, the livestreams, the pictures. You all know Josh Stevenson, the man who disarmed Chris Becket and stopped a shooting right here at MarvelousCon.”

  “Well,” Eugene Miller said, “Allow us to present Agent Kilbourn, the latest member of BLAB.”

  Nancy grabbed Alfred’s arm, and was screaming with delight. “Oh my God!”

  When he could finally be heard over the crowd – and her – he asked, “Who the heck is Kilbourn?”

  “He’s the human attaché to BLAB, in the comic books. He’s not a huge character, but he’s a real badass. Big fan favorite. Everyone’s been waiting for him in the movies. Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s going to be Josh!”

  Alfred shared her amazement. Strategically, it was, he supposed, a good move for MDC. If the crowd’s raucous reception was anything to judge by, it would be well-received. Josh’s muscular physique, good looks, and military bearing would fit the role well enough. As long as they didn’t let him speak. The marine, he decided, would probably do alright if there wasn’t much acting required. And it was surely good business acumen to capitalize on his heroic efforts rather than letting attention linger on the ignoble behavior of one of their leading actors.

  Still, the idea of Josh Stevenson playing a superhero, even a minor one, was a little hard to swallow.

  Nancy was delighted, though. “Oh my God,” she gushed, “I know Kilbourn – we know Kilbourn. You know what this means, Alfred?”

  He was almost afraid to ask, “What?”

  “You’ve got no excuse not to see the next movies with me.”

  After the session, Kate and Rick offered their thanks a final time. “We can’t thank you enough, you know, for what you found out about Chris.”

  Josh, meanwhile, grinned, “Well, Nance, what do you think of that?”

  “I can’t believe it. That’s so awesome.”

  “I would have told you earlier,” he said with an apologetic shrug, “but I couldn’t. No one could know before the announcement.”

  She nodded. “It was a hell of a surprise. I’m really happy for you, Josh.”

  “Thanks, Nance.” Then, he smiled. “Well, I’ll let you guys go. I should go get packed anyway.”

  “You’ll join us for dinner, won’t you?” Kate asked as Nancy and Alfred started to make their own goodbyes. “Eugene will be joining us too.” She smiled. “So, if you have any questions about the new movie – off the record, of course – you might get some answers.”

  Nancy’s eyes sparkled, and Alfred grinned. “I think that’s a yes from us, Ms. Dallas.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  There was already a stack of newspaper clippings and printouts waiting at his desk for Alfred when he returned. There was a hand-written note from Caspersen, too, that said, “Looks like you’re famous now, Favero.” It was accompanied by a front-page article from the local paper, headlined, “Local trio thwarts shooting at MarvelousCon.” Alfred tried not to cringe at the picture of himself, screaming wildly.

  At least, he thought, I wasn’t in costume. That would have been truly hard to live down.

  Still, he smiled as he looked through the clippings. He had seen some of t
hem, of course, but he and Nance had been too busy to pay too much attention to the reporting of the incident. “It’ll all be online afterwards, anyway,” she’d advised.

  His office was a nonstop hub of activity, too, with people from all over dropping in to congratulate him. Even Jeff Filmore stopped by. “Hey Alfred, that’s pretty cool that you’re friends with Kilbourn. You think you’ll get any kind of onset invites or anything?”

  It wasn’t until just around eight-thirty, though, that the dreaded but inevitable visit from Justin came. “Holy smokes Freddo,” he declared. “I saw the news. That was one heck of a weekend away.” He laughed.

  “Yup,” Alfred managed. “Sure was.” He stood up. “Well, I’ve got the audit in about five minutes…”

  Justin made no move to stand aside, though. “Well, I’m just glad you and Nance made it through without any added aeration.” He laughed again.

  “Me too,” the taxman grimaced.

  “And, I saw in the news that that Josh fella was there too.” He shook his head, and Alfred’s grimace deepened. “Gotta say, Freddie, that’s very openminded of you. To let your girlfriend bring her ex along on your romantic weekend, I mean.”

  “Oh, Nance had nothing to do with that,” Alfred said casually. “I invited him.”

  Justin laughed, until he realized that Alfred was serious. Then, an eyebrow arched. “You?”

  “That’s right. Nance didn’t even know until we got there.” He shrugged. “It was a surprise to her.”

  Justin blinked, then soundlessly flapped his gums a full three times. He looked, Alfred thought with a smile, like a fish out of water. “A…surprise?” he managed to sputter.

  “That’s right,” Alfred nodded. “But, like I say, I got to get to my meeting.” He left him standing mutely, mouth agape, in the doorway to his office, to mull over that tidbit and draw whatever conclusions he might. “Have a great day, Justin,” he called over his shoulder.

  Time Slips & Tax Thieves

  Book 4

  By Rachel Ford

  Chapter One

  Alfred Favero sighed. He was a senior analyst with the Internal Revenue Service, a man of learning; an accomplished professional, one of the top in his field. And yet, here he was, grunting in the dirt like a common animal, beads of perspiration dripping down his face as he wielded a tiny yellow mallet against, of all things, a tent stake.

  That he seemed to be losing the fight only made matters that much worse. They’d pitched their tent in a gravel-covered patch of their campsite. “That,” Nancy told him, “will have better drainage.” He didn’t doubt it. The rest of their site was a veritable swamp, oozing with mud from yesterday’s rainfall.

  Still, driving a tent stake into gravel was darned near impossible as far as he was concerned. How Nance had managed to get the other three stakes in baffled him.

  Alfred and Nancy Abbot worked together. He was one of the tax analysts, and she was the information systems team lead. But more to the point, she was his girlfriend and the love of Alfred’s life. Which is how she managed to talk him into getting into awful predicaments like this one. A few months earlier, it had been a comic book convention that nearly left them both dead. For the next two weeks, it would be camping.

  He’d already done a risk analysis, and the odds were not great. Aside from predators – bears, wolves, even the odd mountain lion – there were the less obvious dangers – insects, and all the diseases they brought with them. Then there was the increased risk of skin cancer that came with prolonged exposure to the sun, and the heightened danger of other forms of cancer that came from using the various repellents he’d packed.

  That, he supposed, was some manner of cosmic jest played out on poor fools like him: the only way to keep safe from Lyme disease, from anaplasmosis and the various spotted fevers, from all the pathogenic, viral, and protozoan infections that insects could transmit, and from that great nemesis of human kind, skin cancer, was to douse yourself in more chemicals than a pesticide factory floor. And that, of course, increased your risk to other cancers. If God had a sense of humor, it was decidedly dark.

  Nancy, though, had just laughed off his chart, reminding him that people went camping all the time and managed to survive. “You’ll be fine, babe.”

  “You’ll be sorry when we both die of cancer,” he’d warned her grimly. Not that it had made any difference. Here he was, after all, fighting with a tent stake: an apex predator at the height of human advancement, wrestling with rock fragments and a little strip of metal.

  This is going to be a long two weeks.

  “How’s that going?” Nancy called from the vehicle.

  “It’s going.”

  “If it’s not cooperating, maybe try-”

  “Nancy,” he said, frowning up at her, “I think I can get a stake in the ground.”

  He wasn’t, of course. But he certainly wasn’t going to admit as much to his girlfriend, either. He was going to get that stake in, or, dammit, he was going to die trying.

  Fortunately, it didn’t come to anything so drastic. A few muttered curses – “Fudge muffins” and “you son-of-a-biscuit” – later, the stake slipped into place. Not entirely into place; Nancy’s stakes were flush with the ground, but his peaked a good inch or so above it. But close enough. It’ll hold, he decided.

  Now, sucking in a lung full of moisture-heavy air and swiping perspiration from his brow, he stood. “Alright, what next?”

  “You want to grab the cooler?”

  “Sure.”

  “Put it there, under that patch of trees.”

  He followed the direction she indicated with his gaze, then nodded. This was more suited to his camping skillset. See heavy thing. Lift heavy thing. Move heavy thing. Be done.

  He’d never been one for camping. He’d gone now and again with his family, but his dad and brother always enjoyed it more than he and his mom had. If not for Nance, he would have happily spent the rest of his days with camping relegated to a distant memory.

  But though she’d been able to talk him into it, it had been a long time since he’d last tried camping. His memory of what to do was spotty at best, so he relied on her for direction.

  And, for better or worse, Nance was nothing if not the gal with the plan. She’d made spreadsheets of what they needed to bring before they left. She’d printed off a checklist to confirm they had everything, and assigned each of them tasks. She’d even made spreadsheets of their meal options, laying out how much food they had, and what any given option meant for the remaining choices. “So, on the breakfast tab, you see the eggs? If we just have eggs for breakfast – fried, boiled, eggs in a nest – that means we have fewer egg options later on. But if we mix in pancakes now and then, we stretch our options – because you only need one egg per recipe of pancakes. Of course, pancakes does cut into our milk and oil…”

  That was a mess he was going to let her solve. He’d be more than happy to do his share of the cooking, but she was the one who had brought math and spreadsheets into it. She’d be the one to sort them out.

  In the meantime, though, he’d focus on unloading their gear. After the cooler came the air mattress and duffel bag of their clothes. “I’ll get those,” she said. “You grab the cook stove and propane.”

  Here, Alfred’s jaw dropped. Sugar cookies. Though he managed to keep the cursing internal, he couldn’t keep apprehension out of his voice. “So, uh, theoretically, Nance, how bad would it be if I forgot the propane?” It had been on his list, and she’d reminded him a few times. He vaguely remembered something about not being able to cook without the propane, but he was hoping she’d been exaggerating.

  Nancy poked her head out of the tent. “What?”

  “Suppose I, say, forgot the propane…how badly would that impact our trip?”

  Rolling her eyes, Nancy said, “There’s no ‘suppose’ about it, Mr. Favero: you did forget the propane. I saw it was missing during my last check.”

  “Oh.” She seemed a lot less c
oncerned than he was. Maybe it wasn’t a problem after all. “So…not a big deal then?”

  “Sure, if you like eating raw food.”

  Now, Alfred was confused. Her blue eyes were twinkling, but the revelation struck him as rather dire. “Well, what are we going to do?”

  “I grabbed it before we left. It, and your clothes.” She shook her head at him. “You forgot those too.”

  “Oh. Did I?”

  “Yup.”

  He felt a little silly at that. “I don’t know how. I checked your list twice. Are you sure it was on there?” At this, she pulled a face, and he nodded. “Of course you are. You data nerd.”

  She ducked back into the tent, and he was just congratulating himself on routing her with his wit when a large white projectile shot out in his direction. He started a moment before something soft collided with him. “Heads up,” she called. “Pillow incoming.”

  Sputtering, he grabbed it. “Hey, stop that. That’s my pillow.”

  “Yup.” She was grinning. “It is. Good thing you didn’t drop it in the mud.”

  “Good thing for you,” he declared, tossing it back to her.

  “Oh no,” she said, feigning a fumble. “There it goes.”

  Despite the buzz of mosquitos around his ears, the drip of sweat on his person, and the general anxiety of the dangers all around them, he laughed. “Alright, where should I put the grill thing?”

  “On the picnic table.”

  “Okay.”

  “And then get the tub of cookware.”

  “Alright.”

  “Once I’m done here, I’ll get us some coffee going.”

  Alfred rolled his eyes. “Great. Camp coffee. I might as well just chomp a mouthful of grounds now.”

  “I said I’d get it going, darling,” Nancy smirked back. “Not you.”

  Alfred stretched out his legs and sighed. This time, it was a contented sigh. He wasn’t sure how Nance had managed it, but she’d made a good cup of coffee. He would have preferred the addition of a nice caramel syrup, but for regular coffee with regular milk, this was very good.