Death, Taxes, and a Sequined Clutch

by Diane Kelly

  “Gracias,” I called as I stepped into the elevator.

  Ten hours later, after sleeping the restful sleep of the newly vindicated, I watched the morning news as I fed my cats and ate a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. The weatherman suggested Dallas residents take an umbrella with them today, as drizzle was expected. Medical researchers had discovered what could be a new, virulent strain of flu. Urk. Some chick with purple hair had been voted off the island. Was that really news?

  Next came the local business reports. The Gertz firm had filed their lawsuit the minute the court clerk’s office opened this morning, and word had already spread of the infringement claim. The value of H2 stock was plummeting like a guillotine. The image on the television screen showed a field reporter standing in front of a one-story office building with a handful of furious investors who had attempted to storm H2’s headquarters only to find the office empty and the doors locked. My guess would be that Hunter and Tanner were meeting with their attorney at his office, trying to determine how best to put out this raging wildfire.

  Given that I received no tongue-lashing from Lu when I arrived at the IRS office, it appeared Nathan hadn’t followed through on his threats to contact my boss. He’d had a few hours to think things through by then and probably realized that trying to get me in trouble could backfire on him. Though he’d been careful to pursue only women who were not in his direct chain of command and thus avoid a sexual harassment suit, Martin and McGee’s managing partner would be none too pleased to know of Nathan’s exploits. Nathan’s job could be on the line. He’d wisely chosen to suck it up, take the punches I’d dealt him, and call it even.

  Still, while I didn’t receive a tongue-lashing, Lu did insist I wear my ballistic vest to my meeting with the Hildebrand brothers and their attorneys. She stood in my doorway, her arms crossed over her ample chest, her strawberry blond beehive wig towering over her head. I sometimes feared her hair might be prehensile, that one of these days the beehive was going to reach down and give me a bitch slap.

  “You heard me.” Lu’s eyes became slits, her false eyelashes drawing inward. “You’re not leaving this office until I see you put that vest on.”

  Nick joined her in my doorway, crossing his arms over his broad chest as well. “That goes ditto for me.”

  I rolled my eyes. The Hildebrand brothers might be a pair of creepy clones, but they were computer geeks, not violent criminals. Still, given my history since joining the IRS, I couldn’t blame Lu or Nick for insisting I wear the vest. I’d been shot at on several occasions and had had to return fire. It seemed I couldn’t resolve a case without some type of altercation. Not that I ever started it, but still. It couldn’t hurt to err on the side of caution. And knowing Nick was concerned for my safety, well, that kind of made me rethink things. Maybe I would breast-feed his Godzilla spawn after all.

  I slid out of my black blazer and reached for the vest I kept in my briefcase. I made a circular motion with my hand. “Turn around.”

  Lu turned her back to me, but Nick didn’t, instead shooting me a chip-toothed grin and raising a brow. Lu slapped at his arm. “You turn around right now.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”

  I turned my back to them, too, quickly unbuttoning and removing my blouse. I slid into the vest, put my shirt back on, then topped it all with my blazer. “All right,” I said. “I’m good.”

  “Okeydoke,” Lu said, giving me a nod. “And one last thing—”

  “I know, I know.” I heaved a loud sigh. I knew exactly what she’d planned to say next. I’d heard it a million times before. “Try not to shoot anybody.”

  Sheila and I arrived at Martin and McGee’s office five minutes prior to our scheduled meeting time. I’d forwarded the certified letter to her earlier in the morning and followed up with a phone call to discuss the lawsuit. She’d run by the courthouse and obtained both a copy of the petition in the copyright infringement case and an arrest warrant for the Hildebrand brothers.

  Nathan’s secretary escorted us back to Nathan’s office this time. He looked up as we entered, his expression one of a dog that had been cowed. I noticed one of the arms of his chair was missing. Looked like he’d broken it last night in his attempts to escape, like a coyote that chews off his leg to get out of a trap.

  Still, despite what had happened between us, Nathan and I were on the same side now. Both of us were pissed that the Hildebrand brothers had been dishonest. But while frauds like them kept me employed, their fraud could have put Nathan’s career at risk. Hence, this case had once again taken a personal turn for him.

  Jerry Macklin bore a benign expression, but no doubt he was simmering with anger at Tanner and Hunter, too. No one wanted a client who withheld evidence and lied to them. It was a betrayal. Still, Macklin had a job to do, one for which he was being paid 450 bucks an hour, plus expenses. He held out his hand, took the arrest warrant from Sheila, and quickly perused it. He handed it back to her. “We don’t know all the details yet. Let’s not make a circus of this, okay?”

  “Fine with me,” Sheila said.

  It was fine with me, too. I enjoyed the clowns and the trapeze artists at the circus, but elephants and tigers and bears being forced to perform tricks in a ring was just plain unnatural. After the years I’d spent in my cubicle here, I knew what it was like to feel caged. My heart went out to the captive creatures. Not that Macklin had been referring to a real circus, but still.

  Sheila slid the warrant back into her briefcase. “If they’ll come willingly to the courthouse to be arraigned, I’ll spare your boys the handcuffs.”

  Nathan cut a perturbed glance my way at the mention of handcuffs. Macklin simply nodded. Since insider trading and fraud weren’t violent crimes, the Hildebrands would most likely be released on bail. Even if the judge set the bail high, the twins had plenty of money in their Swiss bank account to cover a bond. I hoped it would take a day or two to wire the funds back to the States. It would serve them right to spend a night or more in jail before being released to await trial.

  “By the way,” Sheila said, checkingthe clock on Nathan’s wall, “where are your clients?”

  I consulted the clock, too. It was three minutes after eleven.

  The Hildebrand brothers were late.

  Macklin was evasive. “Caught in traffic, I suppose. The rain probably slowed them down.”

  It was possible. Drizzle tended to cause fender benders, especially in Texas, where people tended to drive like rabid bats out of hell despite the state’s motto: Drive Friendly—The Texas Way. I’d been delayed by a wreck this morning myself. Still, the Hildebrand brothers could be anywhere. Well, anywhere within the United States. Their passports had yet to be issued, thank goodness.

  We sat without speaking for several minutes, the only sounds the whirr of Nathan’s computer, the clickety-click of his secretary typing on her keyboard just outside the office, and occasional footsteps as staff members moved about the floor. The light precipitation accumulated into drops on the window behind Nathan, an occasional droplet surrendering to gravity and streaming down the window.

  When I grew bored watching the rain, I pulled out my cell phone and checked my e-mail. Brett had sent a link to the evening’s movie listings. Viola had sent an e-mail reminding the agents to turn in their monthly expense reports. Nick had sent a message asking me to bring him more chili. The guy was a glutton for punishment, huh? I slid the phone into the pocket of my blazer.

  The clock proceeded to ten minutes after eleven, then fifteen. Sheila motioned to Macklin. “Try calling those boys, see what’s keeping them.”

  Macklin gave her a look that said he didn’t like to be told what to do, but he nonetheless nodded and stood, stepping out of the office to speak privately with his clients. He returned a couple of minutes later.

  “Well?” Shelia asked.

  Macklin shrugged. “I tried both their mobile numbers and their home and office phones. All my calls went to voice mail.”
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  Sheila sat up. “This doesn’t look good.”

  Macklin raised a palm. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions now. They might be in the parking garage or elevator. Reception can sometimes be spotty in these buildings.”

  True. Then again, the twins might have realized now that the lawsuit was filed the SEC would learn they’d been aware of the copyright infringement claim for some time and willfully failed to disclose it to investors before dumping their shares. Nobody would’ve bought interests in H2 had they realized the software it produced was illegal. I had a sneaking suspicion the twins had taken off for parts unknown. Sometimes guilty people didn’t want to risk going to jail and attempted to flee. O. J. Simpson had killed his ex-wife and her friend, then led cops on that ridiculous low-speed chase. Scott Peterson had bleached his hair a hideous shade of blond and tried to escape into Mexico after murdering his wife and unborn child.

  Eek. Thoughts of those gruesome killings made me glad Lu and Nick had insisted I wear my ballistic vest, even if it was making my back sweat.

  Nathan cleared his throat, his expression sheepish. “I spoke with the Hildebrand brothers earlier this morning.”

  “And?” Shelia motioned impatiently with her hand for him to continue.

  “I told them I didn’t appreciate them withholding information about the copyright claim. They could have cost me my CPA license.”

  As angry as Nathan had been at the “freaky fuckers” last night, I’m guessing the exchange wasn’t exactly pleasant. Sheila shot me a look, apparently figuring out I’d been the one to tell Nathan about the new evidence against the Hildebrands. Still, I hadn’t thought Nathan would be stupid enough to confront them about it. He’d probably told them what I said about the handcuffs. If the Hildebrands knew for certain they’d be arrested at our meeting today, I suppose it was no surprise they’d decided not to join the party.

  Five minutes later, Sheila’s patience was gone. She phoned her assistant at the SEC and instructed her to have marshals sent out to the Hildebrands’ residence and to notify the airlines, bus services, and law enforcement to be on the lookout for the brothers.

  Macklin tried calling the brothers several more times with no luck.

  Sheila and I gave them until noon to show.

  They didn’t.

  They were now officially federal fugitives.

  Chapter Eleven

  Another Chance to Get Banged

  Nathan rode the elevator down with Macklin, Sheila, and me, phoning in his lunch order to a nearby deli as we descended. The four of us walked across the lobby, out the revolving door, and onto the sidewalk in front of the building. While the sidewalks were normally teeming during lunch hour, the crowd was much smaller today. Thanks to the rain showers, many of those who might normally venture out for lunch had decided to order delivery or had packed a lunch.

  We snapped our umbrellas open, huddling under them.

  Sheila pointed first at Nathan, then at Macklin. “Either of you hear from the Hildebrands,” she said, “give me a call immediately.”

  A loud noise met our ears, a pop like a firecracker exploding. But when a hole appeared in Sheila’s black umbrella and a projectile lodged itself in the potted ornamental tree behind us, we knew in an instant what the noise was.

  Gunfire.

  Sheila sent her umbrella reflexively into the air, bolted sideways, and shoved the bar of the revolving door to rush back inside. The bullets pinging against the metal frame and penetrating the glass behind her discouraged the rest of us from taking that route.

  Macklin flung his umbrella aside and took off running, holding his briefcase over his head for protection. Not a wise move. Two layers of leather and a legal pad were no match for a bullet. But the guy was in a panic. Hard to think logically under these types of conditions. Luckily for him, the shooter didn’t seem interested in taking him out. He would’ve been a fairly easy target.

  The other pedestrians scattered in all directions, running down the walk or rushing into buildings and doorways to take cover. Those in their cars were initially unaware of the shower of bullets raining down on the sidewalk and continued to drive up the street. But soon the fleeing pedestrians caught their attention. They realized something was up and that this might be a good time to get the hell out of Dodge. Tires squealed as they floored their gas pedals, their horns honking as they ran the red traffic light.

  In a split second, my subconscious took in the data and computed the trajectory of the bullets. They were coming from above, from the other side of the street. Fortunately, the Hildebrands appeared to be lousy shots. Unfortunately, given enough ammunition, even a lousy shot would eventually hit its target. Given the number of bullets whizzing past me, the Hildebrands seemed to have no shortage of ammo.

  I scanned my surroundings for something—anything!—that might provide cover. A blue mailbox was the only thing in sight.

  I shoved Nathan with all my might in the direction of the box. “Get down!”

  He launched himself at the mailbox. The impact of his body hitting the box gave off a kerklunk as the aluminum bowed inward, then snapped back into place. Nathan crouched and spun around, sitting on the ground with his knees curled up to his chest, his face bent forward, his arms bent protectively over his head. He’d assumed the crash position suggested by flight attendants, but I supposed the position would serve him well in this situation, too.

  I joined him behind the box, yanking my gun from my rhinestone-studded holster. A bullet pinged off the side of the mailbox, and Nathan shrieked. He grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me over him, hunkering under my body to use me as a human shield, burying his face between my breasts just as he’d done on our “amazing night.” At least this time he didn’t do that stupid motorboat thing. As if that would turn a woman on.

  I looked down at his face, framed by my boobs. “Been here, done this.”

  “Protect me!” he screamed up at me. “You’re a federal agent! It’s your job!”

  This guy wanted me to risk my life for him when he hadn’t even had the courtesy to give me an orgasm? Sheez. Still, if I could help it, I didn’t want anyone, man whore or otherwise, to get shot under my watch. I had a perfect record to uphold.

  I peeked around the corner of the mailbox, scanning the area, my eyes moving up to the balcony of the Fairmont Hotel, where Alicia and I had dined earlier in the week. Two identical figures wearing two identical dark raincoats stood there in two identical wide stances. Two identical guns flashed in unison as two identical bullets pierced the back side of the mailbox.

  The Hildebrand brothers.

  I thought they’d seemed like a couple of cocky, immature assholes. Looked like I’d been right. I’d just been wrong to assume they were too geeky to be violent.

  I jerked my head back lest a bullet pierce my gray matter. My cell phone went off in my pocket, playing Michael Jackson’s “Workin’ Day and Night,” my special ringtone for Lu. Appropriate, given the workload my boss saddled me with, huh? I answered the call, punching the speakerphone button and placing the phone on Nathan’s quivering back so that I could keep two hands on my gun.

  “Hi, Lu.”

  Her voice came through the speaker. “I hear there’s someone shooting downtown.”

  News travels fast in these days of texts and Twitter.

  “It’s not you, is it?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “You’re killing me, Tara.”

  Seriously? I was the one being shot at by a couple of creepy clones, but I was the one killing her?

  Two more bullets hit the mailbox.

  Time for action. They didn’t call me the Annie Oakley of the IRS for nothing.

  I peeked around the corner of the mailbox, raised my gun, and sighted, firing off two rounds in quick succession, putting a bullet in the left thigh of one of the Hildebrands and the right thigh of the other.

  The twins were identical no more. Good. The prison wardens wou
ld be able to tell them apart.

  The brothers screeched a string of curse words and limped away from the railing. I couldn’t see them anymore.

  “Sorry, Lu,” I said, picking up my phone and putting it to my ear. “But those last two shots were mine.”

  “I told you not to shoot anybody!”

  “You only told me to try not to. Besides, you should know by now it does no good.” Really. When would the woman learn?

  My phone bleeped as a text came in. I pulled the phone away from my ear to check the message. It was from Brett.

  Shooting downtown. Plz tell me its not u.

  Another text came in, this one from Alicia.

  Bldg on lockdown. R U OK?

  A final text from Nick.

  When ur done shooting, bring me that chili I asked 4.

  By that time, Dallas PD had arrived and blockaded the intersections with cruisers to keep traffic off the street. Officers crouched behind their vehicles, guns at the ready.

  I returned the phone to my ear. “Look,” I told Lu. “I gotta go. I’ll see you back at the office in a bit.” Unless, of course, the Hildebrands resumed firing on me. Then I might be seeing her at my funeral. That would be a bummer. I didn’t want to die with Nathan’s face mashed against my breasts. Actually, I didn’t want to die period.

  The cops were too far away for me to yell to them, so I dialed 911 on my cell phone and gave the dispatcher the facts, keeping an eye on the terrace all the while. The dispatcher kept me on the line while she relayed the information to the officers on the street.

  An alarm sounded at the hotel. The operator returned to the line a minute later to tell me the Hildebrand brothers had been spotted fleeing through an emergency exit at the back of the hotel and were quickly apprehended by officers in the alley.

  The jig was up. And I still had most of my clip left. All in all, not a bad day.