by Rachel Ford
The taxman arrived at work before Justin, and shut his door in the hopes that it might ward the other man off. Then, he logged onto his computer, and promptly ignored all the unread emails waiting for him.
He turned back to the printouts, spreading them across his desk. He focused on the images of the trial and sentencing. He studied a photo of Ray in cuffs after the sentence was handed down, being dragged through a gauntlet of reporters and angry citizens.
And in his mind, that famous line of Dumas’ returned: “All human wisdom is contained in these two words – wait and hope.”
The taxman was seized by the thought that hope had abandoned Ray Lorina, waiting had betrayed him. All of human wisdom had failed him.
Alfred felt, with every atom of his lawman’s being, convinced that a grave injustice had been done to that NYPD detective.
Chapter Four
“Well, moment of truth, eh, Freddie?”
Alfred brushed the papers he was studying into a pile at the sound of that voice, and flipped the stack. Then, he glanced up. “What now?”
He was in his office, still looking at the casefile. Justin stood at his door, suddenly interested in his work. “What’s that, then? New case?”
“Something like that. But you were saying? Moment of truth or something?” He really didn’t want to hear, but, then, he didn’t want to explain why he was studying a long-solved case, either, instead of working on actual projects.
“Yeah. I heard Caspersen say he’s heading over from orientation. The new guy.”
“Oh. Baker.” Alfred tried to muster enthusiasm. He’d been around the office long enough, and seen enough new guys come and go, that it didn’t really interest him anymore.
“That’s right. Come on, Freddo, don’t pretend you’re not a little curious. I mean, the IT hires are always fun. You never know what you’re going to get. Social phobias? Bad hygiene? General weirdness?” Justin was snort-laughing, and Alfred frowned at him. “Oh, not Nance, of course. She’s – you know, different.”
Alfred’s glower deepened. “You know, I really do have to get back to work.”
“Your mystery case.” He smiled. “So what is it, anyway? Caspersen give you some kind of special assignment?”
“Just reviewing an old case.”
He said it nonchalantly, like it was the most mundane thing in the world. Justin wasn’t buying it, though. “Ohh, I love cold cases. What’d you get? A fugitive?” He cracked a grin. “Have you found your own Jean Valjean to chase to the ends of the earth, Javert?”
Alfred peered superciliously over the bridge of his nose at the other man. “Finally picked up a book, have you?”
Justin laughed. “A book? Geez, Freddie, you are so out of the loop. That’s Les Miserables. You know, the famous musical? They’ve made movies about it?” He shrugged. “Stacey got us tickets for her birthday.”
The taxman was torn between responses. On the one hand, he wanted to point out that the musical was based on a book – a book that might rightly be considered a hallmark of western literature. But in the end, he settled for the pettier reply. “So…Stacey bought her own birthday present? And it was a ticket for you?”
Justin snorted. “Believe me, dude. That was no gift for me. If it wasn’t her birthday, I would not have gone. I mean, musical theater?” He shivered. “No thanks.”
Alfred shook his head. “Oh, so her present was paying for the privilege of your company?”
The other man nodded, seemingly oblivious to the sarcasm lacing every word. “She likes me to go with her to those things.”
Before the taxman could muster a sufficiently frosty response, Director Caspersen’s voice reached his ears. “Ah, Lyon, Favero: there you are.”
They glanced up, a moment before the director stepped into view, a light-haired, middle aged man in tow.
“Director,” Alfred greeted.
“Good morning, Director,” Justin effused. “How are you? Oh, and this must be our new recruit?”
“Greg Baker,” the other man nodded, extending a hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Justin Lyon,” came the reply. “Senior Analyst.”
“And this,” Caspersen said, nodding in Alfred’s direction, “is Alfred Favero.”
“Also a senior analyst,” he felt it necessary to point out.
Greg nodded again. “Good to meet you too. I’m on the network side of things, myself.”
“I know.” Then, remembering something Nance had told him – never piss off the network guys – he forced a smile and a more engaged tone. “I hope you like it here.”
“Oh, I already do. I think I’m going to love it here – everyone’s so friendly.”
The taxman groaned internally. He’s one of them. Either a suck up or an optimist – and he had no love of either. Still, he mustered a, “Great.”
“So…Favero? Not the Favero?” Greg wondered.
Director Caspersen laughed. “Oh, there’s only one.”
Alfred frowned as Justin chortled. Greg’s eyes widened a little. “Oh, well, awwwk-ward.”
“Is it?”
“I mean, my predecessor tried to kill you, right?”
Justin snorted, confiding, ostensibly in jest, “Wait until you get to know him, Greg. It’ll make sense.”
“He was going to, yes. Me and Nance.”
“Nance?”
“Freddie’s girl,” Justin supplied.
“Nancy Abbot,” Caspersen put in.
“Oh, the IT team lead?” Greg seemed impressed.
“That’s the one.”
“Met her earlier. Nice lady.” The network engineer nodded, and Alfred wondered if, perhaps, he’d been too quick to judge him. “Well, I mean, the good thing about all this is, it can only go up from here, right?” He chuckled, even as the other men stared at him, blankly. “I mean, we’re bound to get along better than you and what’s-his-face: I won’t be trying to kill anyone.”
Here, Justin shook his head. “Oh, Greg. You haven’t gotten to know him yet. Don’t limit your options until you do.”
“And then,” Alfred was saying, “Justin said…” He trailed off. “Babe, are you even listening to me?”
Nancy glanced up from her plate, and the fries she was picking through thereon. “Hanging on every word, darling.”
He frowned at the teasing notes of her voice, then sighed. “I’m boring you.”
She laughed. “No you’re not. Go on. Finish your story. What did Justin say after that?”
He started up again, resuming the thread where he’d left off. But, then, he stopped. “Nance, what’s wrong? You’ve been quiet all morning.”
“Nothing, Alfred. It’s just been a long morning.”
He reached out a hand to hers. “Is it something at the office?”
She smiled as he held her hand. “No, nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
She sighed, pushing her lunch plate away. “It’s just…” She fixed him with a piercing gaze, and he felt suddenly as if he might have erred to press her.
Warily, he asked, “Just?”
“What you said yesterday, about babies…what did you mean by that?”
For several seconds, Alfred could only blink, mute and unthinking, like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Then, he flapped his gums once. No sound came out. He tried again, and he found his voice. Not all of it, but enough to choke out, “Babies?”
“Yeah. When we were talking about Fluff.”
He swallowed, and stalled, “Uh, I don’t even remember.”
“Yeah, you do.”
Now, he licked his lips. “I…I didn’t mean anything, Nance.”
She shook her head, pulling her hand out of his. “Fine.”
Oh hummus. He watched her return to her lunch. “Nance,” he said, “really, it was nothing.”
She glanced back up at him. “Alfred, it wasn’t nothing. You were getting at something. I don’t know what, but you were making too much of a deal abo
ut it to be nothing. About how it would be different if Fluff was a real son, and all that.”
He blinked, trying to remember his words. Had he really said that? Probably not his finest moment…
“Fine,” she said again. “Don’t tell me. But I’m not a mind reader. If you want me to know what you’re thinking, you’ve got to talk to me. And not in riddles, either. I thought…I thought we agreed on that already?”
Sugar cookies. He had the distinct impression that he’d dug his hole deeper. And there was only one way out. “Look, babe,” he sighed. “You’re right…I was making a point. Just…I didn’t want you to think…well, that the way I treated Satan – err, Fluff – was any reflection of my parenting skills.”
She, in turn, blinked at him. “Why…why would I think that, Alfred?”
In the face of her incredulity, he didn’t have a good answer. Last night, it had made some kind of sense. But, now? “I don’t know. Just…something Justin had said.”
One of Nancy’s eyebrows rose. “Justin?”
“I know, I know. But he was talking about Fluff. Saying…well, maybe Fluff was a test run.”
She frowned in confusion. “A test run? For what?” Then, her eyes widened. “You mean…for a baby?”
He nodded, and she sat back in her seat. “Oh God.”
“I know it’s dumb,” he hastened to assure her. “But, I just…well, I didn’t want you to think…I don’t know. That how I reacted to the kitten was how I’d react to a baby.”
“Wow.” Nancy seemed stunned. “I mean, I didn’t think it was.”
“Okay. Cool. Then, mission accomplished.” He was eager to leave this conversation behind, as soon as possible.
“But Alfred…” She fixed him with another penetrating glance. “I mean…you’re not thinking about babies. Are you?”
“God, no.” He shook his head. “I just…I wasn’t sure if you were.” It was his turn to scrutinize her. “You’re not, are you?”
“Definitely not.”
“Good.” He wasn’t sure if he was as relieved as he sounded. “I mean, it’s way too soon to be thinking of kids.”
“We just moved in together,” she agreed.
“A few months ago now,” he said, adding, “Close to a year, if you factor in the time we spent in Yngil-wode. But, yeah. Exactly.”
“Good.” She laughed nervously. “You were worrying me there, for a minute.”
He laughed too, and the sound came out high and awkward. “We definitely wouldn’t want to rush into anything like that.”
“Exactly.”
“I mean, we’re not even married yet.”
She stared at him for a moment, and then stammered, “Uh, right.”
For a long moment, they sat, fixed in place, holding each other’s gaze. “Nance,” he said in a minute, and his tone was low.
“Yes?”
“Why did you get a kitten, though?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Fluff: why did you get him now? I mean, you’ve had your place for awhile. You could have got him any time.”
She shook her head, as if confused by the question. “It wouldn’t be fair to him. I lived alone, then. I wouldn’t have had time for a kitten. Now there’s two of us: we can make sure he gets plenty of attention.”
“Oh.” Alfred felt an unmistakable twinge of disappointment at her words.
“Why?”
“Just thinking of what Justin said.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why you listen to that creep.”
“Me either, Nance,” he admitted. “Me either.”
Chapter Five
“Well,” Nancy said, grinning at him, “here it is, babe: your last chance to chicken out.”
He snorted, wrapping an arm around her. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Nancy Abbot. Press the button. Let’s see if we survive your handiwork.”
She’d finished her final round of pre-use testing of the spacetime manipulator, and concluded that they were ready to test it for real, in the field. Now, she took in a long, steadying breath – one that promptly unsettled the taxman – and pressed the button.
Light washed over him, and white noise assailed his ears. A moment later, he found himself back in the living room – only, this time, watching himself and Nance the night before a room over. Even Satan was there, exactly as he remembered: on the table, where he had no business being.
“Aw,” she whispered. “Look at you: so serious about your case.”
He did, he had to admit, look very serious, frowning at a pile of printouts while Nance listened to his theories. “I’m telling you,” he was saying, “Ray was shivved long before he stepped foot in that cell.”
Nance – the Nance from last night – smiled appreciatively at his turn of phrase. Glancing back at his Nance, he saw she was smiling too. “Ready to go home?” she whispered. “Before we scare the dickens out of our yesterday’s selves?”
He nodded, studying the couple in front of him while Nancy punched in the coordinates. The sight warmed his heart in a way he couldn’t quite define.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him the way she did. The fact was, he wasn’t sure anyone ever had, before her.
She wasn’t interested in his detective. He was confident of that. But she was listening anyway, turning over his ideas in her mind; considering them; appreciating them.
And, though he couldn’t begin to explain the tenderness of her gaze when she turned those beautiful blue eyes his way, the fact was, he loved her a little more for it. He loved her for a million and one reasons. But the way she loved him was certainly near the top of his list.
The scene vanished with a flash of light, and then they were back in the living room. Satan was back on the table, too, twitching his tail at them.
“Well,” she said, “see? We’re back, safe and sound.”
He pulled out his phone, verifying the date just to be sure. Then, he nodded. “Alright. You didn’t kill us. This time.”
She nudged him. “You brat.”
He grinned, pivoting so they stood face to face. “Good work, babe.”
“That’s more like it,” she smiled.
He leaned in to kiss her, and for a long minute he forgot about everything else. Then, he drew back. “Nance, I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh?”
“I love you.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Well, I love you too, Mister Favero. But why the serious face?”
“I just…I wanted you to know that. You…you mean so much to me. I know I’m not always good at saying it, but…” He shook his head. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Nancy Abbot.” He meant it, every word. The fact was, he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it now.
She smiled, and her eyes glistened with affection. “Wow. That…I don’t know what to say, Alfred. Except…” She stood on her tiptoes, kissing him gently. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, too.”
He felt his heart hammer in his chest, and an idea hit him. Or, more like, an idea he’d been leading up to for awhile finally took form in his mind.
He loved her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Why not make it official? “Nance?”
“Hmm?”
He stared into her eyes, his pulse crashing like surf in his ears. The whole world seemed in that moment to disappear, until all that remained was him and her. He cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. “Would you…that is…”
It was now, at that precise moment, that Nancy’s phone rang. She jumped in his arms, and he gasped, “Fudge muffins.”
Even Satan yowled in the other room.
Nancy cleared her throat, laughing a little. “I suppose…I should get that.”
He nodded, and she slipped out of his embrace. A moment later, she said, “Oh. It’s Josh.”
Alfred scowled. Josh Stevenson was something of a mutual friend. They’d met the former marine on th
e Futureprise case, when they’d first encountered the time travel device, and their paths had been interconnected ever since. He’d saved both of their lives in the interim. By rights, the taxman knew he should have held the other man in higher regard.
But Josh had also briefly dated Nance. And that was something for which Alfred could never quite forgive him.
That, and he seemed to have the absolute worst timing.
Nance answered the phone with a, “Hey, you. How’s filming going?”
That was another source of sour grapes for the taxman. The last time Josh had worked with them, he had done it dramatically: stopping a shooter in full view of a thousand cell phones. It had happened at MarvelousCon, a convention celebrating Marvelous Detective Comics. And the marine had promptly been offered a recurring role as Agent Kilbourn in the MDC universe films.
It was little consolation to Alfred that it was a small role. Agent Kilbourn, Nance had pointed out, was a supporting character, but a fan favorite. The taxman suspected the role would require little in the way of acting. Physically, Stevenson fit the profile – former military, in shape, and reasonably good looking. If he could drop a one-liner here and there and otherwise look overserious, he’d be able to keep up with the rest of the cast. Alfred had no doubt of that.
He had a low opinion in general of superhero movies. They were, he felt, dreck – overblown, underdeveloped, and far more popular than they deserved. And, as far as he was concerned, the readiness with which the MDC fanbase had embraced Josh Stevenson only validated his worst opinions.
That, of course, was a thought he largely kept to himself. Nance loved the movies, and was over the moon that Josh had got a starring role, no matter how small.
So, scowling to himself, he listened to a parade of, “No way,” and “Oh my God, the Eugene Miller?” and “he didn’t! Oh, Josh, that’s awesome.”
Finally, though, it seemed to be winding to a close. “Well, that’s fantastic. I’m so glad it’s working out, Josh,” Nance said. The taxman recognized her “it’s been good talking, but I’ve got to run,” tone.
