The Time Travelling Taxman Series Box Set

by Rachel Ford

  Still, no message came. So the taxman worked on his presentation. He’d had no epiphanies overnight. Now, as the hour grew perilously close, he found himself forced to make a call.

  Did he tell the established story, that Ray Lorina was a dirty cop taken down by an enterprising IRS agent? Or did he present his own theory, that tax law had been used as cover to ruin a good detective?

  It wasn’t much of a choice, really. Detective Lorina had lived and died in the service of the law. He might have been from another branch of law enforcement than the taxman, but, he decided, they were cut from the same cloth.

  And Lorina might be dead, and none the wiser about what was said about him now. But Alfred felt he owed his memory the truth.

  So the truth is what he would speak tonight.

  He was about two slides from the end when Greg Baker showed up. “Hey, Alfred?”

  “Yes?”

  “So, uh, we’re going out to lunch. Just checking to see if you wanted to come with.”

  Alfred frowned. “Who is ‘we’?”

  “Well…” the other man fidgeted. “So far, just Justin and me. But I thought it’d be cool if we got a bunch of people. You know, team lunch and all that.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That sounds cool.” It sounded awful, but there was something in the other man’s nervousness that gave him pause.

  “Great. So you’ll come?”

  Greg looked visibly relieved, and Alfred sighed. “Yeah, sure. Count me in.” He wasn’t certain what was going on, but he suspected it had to do with Justin. And he pitied the fool who got caught in Lyon’s web. “Make sure you invite Andy. And Caspersen.” He ran through a few more names, of people around the office he knew and didn’t detest.

  Baker nodded. “I will. Thanks, Alfred.”

  He finished his slides by time the call to depart came. He still didn’t know what was going on with Greg and Justin, but it wasn’t long before he figured it out.

  They’d chosen a place called The Stone Mill. It was a kind of bar and pub, serving a standard selection of burgers, pizzas and the like. The group totaled twelve, when all was said and done.

  Caspersen had joined them. “Thanks for organizing this, Greg.” Then, confidentially, she said to him, “And, I’m told it was your idea. Good job being a team player, Alfred.”

  The taxman blinked, both at the notion that he’d orchestrate something as tedious as a team lunch, and at the implication that his status as a team player might ever have been in doubt. Still, he figured it was best to let it go, on both counts, and he slid into a seat.

  Not slid, exactly, as much as perched, precariously. These were high seats, at an elevated table. He rather hated them.

  Then again, he wasn’t overly fond of pubs, either. Televisions lined the walls, broadcasting various sports events. Men in all manner of silly getups lined fields and pursued balls. Andy and Justin recognized a few of the players and the events.

  Alfred sighed, feeling as if he was truly being punished: Nance was out of town, he was at a team lunch – and now sports too? The universe had a cruel sense of humor.

  Things only got worse, though, when the server approached to take their order. She was pretty, probably not long out of high school, and very peppy. “Good afternoon. I’m Kate, and I’ll be taking your order. How are you all today?”

  A chorus of good’s and not bad’s sounded all around. “Fantastic. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

  Alfred glanced down at his menu. He wasn’t sure why, as he always got water. He wasn’t cheap, exactly, but he also knew that he could buy entire bottles of soda for the cost of a twenty ounce glass. And that kind of markup just didn’t sit right with him.

  Still, he studied his menu, confirming what he already knew about the prices. “I’ll have a water,” he declared, as Kate reached him.

  “With or without lemon?”

  Here, he paused. “With lemon,” he decided in a moment. He was out with the team after all. He might as well treat himself. “Thanks.”

  “Of course. And you, sir?”

  This was said to Justin, who sat across from Alfred. He glanced up, smiling smarmily. “Well, it’s too early for beer, I suppose?”

  She laughed. “That depends on your schedule. If it’s a beer-at-lunch day, we don’t judge.”

  “It’s not,” Caspersen put in.

  “That’s the boss,” Justin grinned. “So I guess no beer for me.”

  The server laughed, a little more awkwardly this time. “We do have plenty of other options.”

  “I see that. Well, I think I’ll have an iced tea.” Then, he frowned in thought. “What kind of sweeteners do you use in your tea, Kate?”

  She blinked. “Uh…I’m, uh, actually not sure. I can find out.”

  “Do you make it here?”

  “Oh, no. It’s premade.”

  “Ah.” Justin sniffed. “Well, in that case, scratch the tea.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll have…hmm…let’s see…you know what, I’ll have a strawberry lime blaster.”

  “Good choice. Those are great. And we just got fresh strawberries in, too.”

  “Ohhh,” Justin scrunched his features up with anticipation. “Fresh strawberries? I can’t wait.”

  Justin half-flirted, half-complained his way through the entire meal, every time he saw Kate. He didn’t like his chicken sandwich. There were too many strawberries in his blaster, and it was a little too tart. Could she get him a little extra sauce? Oh, and maybe more fries. They were so good – but he didn’t want to think what they were doing for his diet. How was he going to survive the Mud King Warrior Challenge, now that he’d found these fries?

  Still, for all his complaints, he thanked her profusely. She was very professional – did she know that? He hoped they paid well here. Everyone was always so nice. And he’d definitely be back.

  Alfred made a mental note that he would never be back, and left the young woman a tip that, he hoped, would make up for dealing with Justin.

  Greg shot him an apologetic look as they returned to the office, and the taxman glared daggers at him. That, he decided, was the last time he would make the mistake of trying to help one of the new guys. He’d leave them to navigate the quagmire that was Justin without his suffering alongside them.

  Then, he shut his office door and checked his phone. Nothing. “Dammit,” he said aloud, and didn’t even care that he’d cussed. He knew Nance was busy, but couldn’t she spare him a quick, “How’s it going?”

  She hadn’t even responded to his text about the presentation. He’d told her the direction he decided on; and not even that was enough to draw her away from her comic book movies.

  Feeling very low, the taxman logged back into his workstation, and tried to concentrate on the tasks he’d been ignoring all day.

  Chapter Eight

  Alfred left the office early, at Caspersen’s urging. “Go home, Favero. You’ve got your big presentation tonight. I want to make sure you do the office proud.”

  He appreciated that. He really did. As bosses went, Director Caspersen was one of the good ones. But he didn’t much feel like giving his talk now. If he could have called in sick, he would have.

  There was nothing to be done, though, but see it through. So, donning his best business suit – he’d be darned if he was going to look like a slouch in front of a room full of tax law professionals – he ran through the slides once more, dropped some kibble in Satan’s bowl, and left.

  He’d just pulled into the hotel parking lot when his phone dinged with a text message alert. It was from Nance. “Hey babe, so sorry I didn’t respond earlier. We’re not allowed to bring our phones back with us. They can’t risk leaks.

  “Anyway, it’s been an incredible day. We’re heading out to dinner. Can’t wait to tell you about it – I’ll call you when we’re done.

  “And I love the direction you chose with the presentation. Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart.”

  This
was followed by a row of kissing emojis. These, he had no trouble deciphering, and they put a smile on his face. Not as big, though, as the smile that the next line elicited.

  “P.S. Make sure you record your speech. I can’t wait to see it.”

  Alfred texted back, “Thanks, Nance. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Alfred.”

  Then, drawing in a deep breath, he got out of the car and marched into the hotel’s convention center.

  He was greeted by some familiar faces, and ignored by unfamiliar ones. That was the beauty of a convention like this one. It was something people in his profession seemed to understand instinctively. Pleasantries were for friends. Mutual silence and incuriosity sufficed for strangers.

  There were always outliers, of course – men like Justin, who flouted the established norms of professional respect. But, for the most part, Alfred was not troubled by errant introductions or unwelcome greetings. He made his way to the speaker’s table unharried, and took his assigned seat.

  He’d already emailed his slideshow to the group’s chair and confirmed that the presentations were, in fact, going to be recorded, so now he had only to wait until it was his turn on the stage.

  He did so with equanimity. He was no fan of public speaking, but he was among his own kind here. Plus, he was the third of four speakers, and he imagined he’d find more dynamism in a funeral parlor than what had been on display so far tonight.

  Indeed, he had to struggle to get through the presentations without yawning. And, when it came to tax law, Alfred was not easily bored.

  After such opening acts, he flattered himself, this was going to be a walk in the park.

  And so it began, anyway. The opening slide, displaying the words Mob Bosses and Tax Losses in a crisp, sans-serif font elicited chuckles.

  The next slide was a little riskier. He’d enlisted Nance to help find him the perfect gif, and she’d delivered: a scene from a forties film, of a stack of bank bonds collapsing on a pair of fleeing mobsters.

  He wondered, at first, if he’d gone too far, when the slide was met with a few wide-eyed stares. But, then he delivered his line about the pitfalls of illegal windfalls, and he had them laughing in earnest.

  The stories of the Gambinis thrilled, and the Quiet Boys chilled, his audience in turns. They seemed to be hanging on every word as he moved onto the Tomassi crime family.

  First, he set the stage, describing the gang – led by the infamous, but elderly, Mario, and his hordes of sons and grandsons. Then he introduced Fat Sal, and his listeners shivered and shuddered as he ran through Salvatore Tomassi’s list of crimes.

  “And now,” he said, switching slides, “we look at the other side: law enforcement.” He introduced Walton Kennedy to a host of knowing, appreciative nods. They didn’t know the man in question, but they knew how this story was going to play out – exactly as the previous two had done.

  At least, that’s what they assumed. Alfred, of course, had something else entirely in mind. And, slowly but surely, the crowd began to realize that this wasn’t going the way they’d anticipated.

  They realized it with frowns and sighs and harrumphs. When, at last, Alfred concluded, saying, “The Ray Lorina case illustrates a truth we would, perhaps, all like to forget: that no branch of law is immune from corruption, no ideal too pure to be perverted by avarice,” he was met with audible sighs of disgust.

  If there had been any room for misinterpretation of this reception, the raucous Q-and-A session that followed laid it to rest.

  “Look,” one man challenged, “not to put too fine a point on it, but it sounds to me like…well, a load of unsubstantiated guesswork.”

  Alfred gaped, and barely had time to run through the list of his primary sources when another man seized the mic. “That’s all well and good, but none of those reports allege Walton had anything to do with the mob.”

  “No, but – as I pointed out on slide thirty-two – he did maintain a lifestyle that seems untenable on an agent’s salary, in that day and –”

  “Seems?” The man snorted. “I don’t mean to be blunt, Mister Favero, but this isn’t a tabloid. We are men of the law. We don’t deal with ‘seems.’ We deal with evidence.”

  “Yes, and the evidence indicates –”

  “That Ray Lorina is guilty,” someone else cut in.

  “The fact is,” the man with the mic continued, “with what you’re saying about Walton, you’re tarnishing the name of a dead American patriot. Honestly, I’m surprised this was ever approved. After tonight, I’m going to be thinking long and hard about renewing my membership to this organization.”

  “I was Galileo,” Alfred moaned to Nancy later that evening, “before the council in Rome. I was Bruno, burning at the stake.”

  Nancy cringed at his metaphors. “It couldn’t have been that bad, babe,” she consoled.

  “It was, Nance. It was worse.”

  She cleared her throat but didn’t argue further. “It does sound awful. I’m sorry, Alfred. I feel terrible for encouraging you to do it, now.”

  “It’s not your fault, Nance. I expected them to be more rational than that. But, I guess, it just goes to prove: we’re as susceptible to human weakness as anyone else.”

  “Who is?”

  “Taxmen.”

  “Oh. Well, uh, yes, that’s definitely true.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “Which is further evidence that Ray was innocent.”

  She didn’t seem to follow his logic. “Umm, at any rate, you said the rest went well, though? They liked everything up until the Tomassi case?”

  He nodded glumly. “Yeah. Not that it matters.”

  “Of course it matters, Alfred. They were closed-minded about your theory, but your presentation was still great.”

  He scoffed. “You didn’t even see it, Nance. How would you know?”

  It was petty, and he regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. “Because you told me about it,” she answered, and there was a hint of hurt in her voice. “And I believe you.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s just been a lousy day.”

  “It’s alright, darling.” She sighed too. “Hey, how’s Fluff?”

  “Eh, he’s fine.”

  “You two getting along any better?”

  “He didn’t knock my breakfast over this morning.”

  She smiled. “See? Progress.”

  He rolled his eyes, but did, he had to admit, feel a little better. “But what about you? You said you were having a great day?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She hesitated. “But, it can wait.”

  “No, Nance. Tell me about it. Just because my day’s been crappy doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear your good news.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure, darling.” The fact that she’d have to ask at all made him feel a proper heel.

  “Well,” she said, grinning, “I have big news about the movie. But you have to promise not to freak out…”

  “You know the odds of that are very low,” he teased.

  Her grin broadened. “You know how I told you we were talking to Eugene Miller yesterday?”

  “Yes.” It had been a source of some delight to both women.

  “Well, today he asked us if we wanted to be in one of the shots.”

  Alfred blinked. “Wait, what?”

  “Just as extras,” she assured him. “You know, faces in the crowd. They’re filming a big fight scene, in the middle of a city, and so there’s going to be tons of bystanders…and…” She shrugged, a smile reaching practically from ear to ear. “Maggie and I might be in. Provided our footage makes the cut.”

  Alfred did freak out, just a little. “You’re kidding? Nance, you’re going to be in a movie?”

  “Maybe,” she cautioned. “Like I say, no guarantees – and it’ll be for all of two seconds, even if we do make it…”

  “Nancy.” Alfred barely heard these caveats. “Oh my God, you’re going to be in a mov
ie. My Nancy, a movie star!”

  She laughed. “Okay, that is definitely not what’s happening here, babe.”

  For a few minutes, though, Alfred forgot all about his own miserable night. He was too excited about Nance being in a movie to think of anything else. He even forgot how much he hated superhero movies. Any director with the good sense to put Nancy onscreen couldn’t be a complete fool.

  Then, though, an unwelcome sight intruded on their conversation: Josh Stevenson. He appeared in the background of her video feed.

  “Hey, Nance, you still on the phone?”

  She glanced up. “Oh, crap. I forgot about the time.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Be right there, Josh.”

  “You have to go?” Alfred asked, his tone a touch petulant. He’d barely had a chance to talk to her, it seemed.

  “Yeah. We’re going to a party.”

  “Oh.”

  Josh, meanwhile, had sidled into view, Maggie was there, too. “Hey taxman,” the marine greeted.

  “Hey Alfred,” Maggie put in. “Today was your big talk, right?”

  Nancy shot her cousin a warning glance, but not soon enough to stop the question. Instead, Maggie’s cheeks reddened, and Alfred, who had not missed the expression, frowned. “That’s right.”

  “Oh. Uh, well, hope that went well.”

  “Well enough,” he lied.

  “I should get going, babe,” Nancy said. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning, before the shoot starts. Okay?”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  “Have a good one, Alfred,” Maggie called.

  “Catch you later, taxman,” Josh said.

  Nancy smiled. “Love you, babe.” Then, her video feed ended.

  Chapter Nine

  Alfred sighed, staring at the phone. “Well, Satan,” he said aloud. “Guess it’s just me and you now.”

  The kitten wagged its tail.

  “You miss her too, huh?” The taxman scratched behind the animal’s ears, and was surprised when it pressed its head into his hand. “You like that?”

  For a few minutes, he pet Fluff, and was surprised anew when the animal started purring. Then, though, the novelty wore off. This fluffy orange creature, with its adorable face and mischievous ways that she loved so much, just reminded him of Nance.