by Rachel Ford
“Exactly.”
“With her movie star ex, on the set of a movie she loves,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m just saying, she’ll be back before you know it. And, in the meantime, it’s not like you’re alone.”
Alfred grimaced. “If you’re about to say because you’re all here for me, or some motivational-poster nonsense…”
Justin wrinkled his nose. “Jesus, man. No. Don’t be creepy.” He shook his head. “I was going to say, you’ve still got little Satan.”
The taxman rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me. You know, he knocked over my bran flakes this morning?”
The other man shook his head, a bemused expression on his features. “Bran flakes? I don’t know, dude. He might have been doing you a favor.”
The hours crawled by as slow as he’d predicted. By time lunch rolled around, Justin was back. “Hey, me and the new guy are going to that sandwich shop on Fifth. You want to come with?”
Alfred didn’t, and excused himself with, “Not today. Too much work.”
The other man offered a sympathetic nod. “Well, don’t work too hard, Freddie.”
“Alfred…”
He didn’t spend his lunch working, though. Not on anything he’d been assigned, anyway. He spent it pouring over the Lorina case. His presentation was the next day, and the fact was, he still hadn’t finished his slides. He’d started with a clear idea of where things were going. It was a simple tribute to industry and dogged determination. It was the story of David versus Goliath, of a humble, unknown taxman taking down a vaunted, celebrity cop.
Except, as much as Alfred would have loved to tell that story, it wasn’t the one he saw in front of him. Ray Lorina wasn’t a dirty cop. He was sure of that. Whether Walton Kennedy was dirty, or if he’d been taken in with everyone else, he couldn’t guess.
But, at best, the IRS agent in this story was a patsy. At worst, he had done the bidding of a crime syndicate, and helped put a good man behind bars – and then, in the ground. With just over twenty-four hours to go before he gave his talk, Alfred began to feel the pressure.
He went back and forth on how to handle his hunch. He half-determined to pull another name out of his files, and throw them in instead of Ray Lorina. Awhile later, he decided to tell the full story, and all that he’d learned. Then, he’d remember that it was nothing more than guesswork and hunches on his part. He had no evidence.
Round and round he went, making no headway whatsoever. Lunch ended, and Justin slithered back into his office. A moment later, he heard the kerplunk of keys on the desk, and the dreaded padding of feet, headed his way.
“Freddo. How was lunch?”
Alfred glanced around his desk, realizing he hadn’t, actually, left to get anything to eat yet. “Oh, I haven’t had a chance yet.” Then, he added pointedly, “So much work.”
“Right.” Justin nodded. “Well, you didn’t miss anything coming with us. Other than the company, of course.”
He shivered. If that was the best recommendation Justin had, the taxman certainly made the right call in staying behind.
“The sandwiches kind of sucked. The soup was too thick, they didn’t put enough cheese on mine, and the waitress…” He shook his head. “Dumber than a box of rocks. I told her I wanted extra bacon, and I ended up with none.”
Alfred blinked at the other man. “Wow, dude. Rough. Really rough.”
“People these days, am I right?” He shook his head. “Speaking of people…how’s Nance doing?”
“Fine.” She’d texted a few times that morning, giving him status updates on their layovers.
Maggie had found a t-shirt in one of the airports with a kitten on it, that looked just like Fluff. “I told her you’d love it,” she’d written, with a winking emoji.
Their long layover was taking too long, too. “I wish I could have found better flights. Still, at least there’s wi-fi, right?”
And she’d asked about him. “How’s the presentation going? You figure out what you’re going to do yet?”
“Good. Cool.” Justin nodded. “Well, I should head back. Make sure you get something to eat, Freddie. Self-care is important, you know.”
Alfred was still mulling what to do when Nancy called him that evening. “Babe,” she greeted, as the video chat engaged.
He smiled to see her face appear on the screen. “Hey Nance.”
“Hey back at you.” She scrutinized him, from the other side of her phone. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m just…still haven’t figured out what I’m going to do about my talk.”
“Oh.”
“But, tell me about your trip. How’s Hollywood? How’s…” He tried to keep the disapprobation out of his tone. “Josh?”
“Good, and good. We’ve got a room onsite, right next to the studios where they’re filming. It’s incredible, babe.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe we’re actually here.”
He smiled, now, too. Her enthusiasm was, as always, infectious. “Well, it sounds awful, but I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
She laughed. “I am. But…” She shrugged. “I miss you, babe.”
He was glad to hear it. “Well, I miss you too.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then smiled. “Well, how’s Fluff doing? He miss his momma?” They flinched at the same time, at her choice of words.
The taxman laughed. “Yes, babe, he misses you. He hasn’t stopped screaming at me since I got home.”
“Make sure you give him lots of attention.”
He harrumphed. “Yeah, yeah. I have been. But he’s not interested in me. He wants you.” This was true enough. The kitten barely tolerated his attentions, opting instead to wander the house yowling. It aggravated him on one level, but on another…well, he understood.
“This is actually a good opportunity for you two to bond.”
“Ugh.”
“Come on. It’ll be good: you’ll have to get to know each other a little better.”
“It’s a cat, Nance, not a coworker.” He shrugged. “Not that I’m particularly interested in getting to know them better, either. But at least they’ve got personalities.”
“Oh, babe – Fluff has a personality.”
“Yeah: concentrated evil.”
He smirked, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. He’s definitely got a personality.”
“By definition, Nancy Abbot, he cannot. Since you need to be a person to have a personality.”
She laughed now. “Alright, but you know what I’m saying.”
“I do.” He smiled at her. “But enough about that brat. What are you guys up to? How’s Maggie?”
“Well, Josh is taking us out to eat in about twenty minutes. As far as Maggie…well, we bumped into Dave Yankovic during our tour of one of the sets, and…” She shook her head, grinning fondly. “She hasn’t stopped talking about it since.”
“Imagine having a crush on someone named Clodhopper.”
Nancy laughed. “Come on, that’s his comic book alter ego. But when he’s not buried under CGI, he’s pretty cute.”
Alfred harrumphed again. “I swear, that’s all you nerds see in superhero movies: chiseled features and spandex-clad backsides.”
“Oh, come on, Alfred.” Her eyes twinkled. “That’s not all we see. Not that the backsides don’t help, but there’s amazing storyline too.”
He laughed. “No, there’s really not, babe.”
“You might think otherwise, if you didn’t snore your way through them,” she needled.
“That was only once, Nancy Abbot. You can’t hold that against me for the rest of my life.”
“Oh, you’d better believe that I can, and will, Alfred Favero.” A knock sounded at the door behind her, now. “One minute, babe.” Turning, she called, “Enter.”
A pretty young woman stepped into view. She was about the same age as Nance, with lighter hair but similar features and physique. It was Mag
gie Abbot. “Josh is ready, if you – oh, sorry, didn’t realize you were on the phone.”
“No worries.”
Maggie lifted a hand, waving at the phone. “Hey Alfred.”
“Hey Maggie.” He didn’t know her particularly well, but she was one of the few Abbots who lived near-ish Nance, so they’d met a few times. Alfred liked her, though not especially at the moment.
Nance turned back to the phone. “Hey, babe, I got to go.”
“Yeah, no problem. I should get back to my presentation.”
“Yeah – and make sure you let me know what you end up deciding to do, okay?”
“I will. Have fun, babe. Love you.”
“Love you too. Night, Alfred.”
The next moment, she hung up, and the taxman found himself staring bleakly at his phone display, and the messaging app. He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a mournful meow.
It was Fluff, who had, sometime during his chat with Nance, jumped up onto the table in front of him. “Darn it, Satan, stay the hummus off the table.”
Twitching its tail, the kitten yowled again. The sound was so pitiful that the taxman found himself grimacing. “Fine, fine. You miss her too, huh? Alright, you can stay. Just…don’t get into any trouble. Any more trouble, that is.”
Chapter Seven
Alfred made a point of stopping for a cup of coffee the next morning, like he and Nance usually did. The idea was that maintaining his routine, going about his business as usual, would help keep his mind off her.
It didn’t. On the contrary, it only made him feel her absence the more keenly. He’d received a text from her that morning. “Hey, I know you’re probably still asleep. Just wanted to say good morning. Love you, babe.”
He had been asleep, and by time he woke and responded, she must have been otherwise occupied. He heard nothing back.
Indeed, he heard nothing all morning. The hours ticked by, and his phone was silent: no text messages, no gifs, nothing. She didn’t even send one of her signature emoji glyph messages for him to translate – those cryptic, but admittedly adorable, texts that contained nothing but cartoon faces and images. There were times when he felt something like a pre-Rosetta stone archeologist milling around ancient Egyptian tombs, staring blankly at the hieroglyphs carved onto the walls. Sometimes he could make out a meaning, and sometimes he had no idea what she was saying.
But by time the lunch hour rolled around, he would have been happy to expend his mental energies translating yellow smiley faces and goofy pictures.
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.