The Time Travelling Taxman Series Box Set

by Rachel Ford

  “Of course.”

  “So I get back home, I prove I’m not a grifter, and we take Sal down?”

  Here, Alfred chuckled nervously. “Well, uh, that part probably isn’t necessary anymore. Technically, anyway.”

  The detective frowned at him. “Of course it is. You don’t know Fat Sal, taxman. He’s as evil as they come.”

  “I don’t mean that. I just mean…well, he’s dead.”

  “Dead? In my time or yours?”

  “They’re all dead in my time. But in your time, he died that night. February 3rd, 1940.”

  Ray blinked. “Died? How?”

  Alfred shifted in his seat. “Um, it’s not easy to explain, actually.”

  But the detective was quickly forming his own ideas of what had happened, and something like respect crossed his features. “You?” He laughed triumphantly. “You actually took down Salvatore Tomassi? Son-of-a-bitch. Good work, taxman.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Alfred protested quickly.

  “You didn’t?”

  “Not…directly. It was actually…” He sighed. He was half afraid the other man wouldn’t believe the truth. Then again, could it be any crazier than time travel? “It was my cat.”

  Ray blinked. “Your cat? You mean…you’ve got a partner?”

  “A partner?” Alfred was confused. “Well, yeah, Nancy.”

  “That dame on the horn?” The detective’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but his tone was impressed. “She took down Salvatore?”

  The taxman had literally no idea how Ray had come to this conclusion. He’d barely understood half of the words that came out of the other man’s mouth, these last few sentences. So, he tried again. “No, not Nancy. Satan.”

  Ray crossed himself quickly, and Alfred sighed. “Not literal Satan. It’s just…a nickname. Because he’s annoying.”

  The detective seemed as confused as he was. “I don’t think I follow.”

  “My girlfriend’s cat.” He glanced around, and was, for probably the first time in his life, grateful to see the little menace, sitting on the back of the sofa and watching them. “There.”

  “I see the cat. I don’t understand how it is important. Or where the devil comes in.”

  “It’s annoying. Like a little devil.”

  “Oh. Okay. But…how does that pertain to Tomassi?”

  “Because the cat killed Fat Sal.”

  “The…cat?”

  Alfred ran through a brief summary of what happened, starting with his first trip through time and Fluff’s stowing away. Ray was in turns astonished, amused, and mortified.

  “So you’ve done this before, then? This traveling through time bit?”

  “You…didn’t realize he was dying?”

  “My God, the great Salvatore Tomassi, taken down by a three pound ball of fur.”

  In the end, he settled on pleased. “Well, I’m not for taking the law into your own hands. Paws, I guess,” he corrected, scratching behind Fluff’s ears appreciatively. “But this was hardly vigilantism. This was more…the good Lord working in mysterious ways.”

  Very mysterious, the taxman thought, since it was through a cat named Satan. Aloud, though, he murmured his agreement. “A real New Testament kind of miracle.”

  “Exactly.”

  It was only with effort that Alfred was able to draw Ray back to the case. “We really do need to figure this out and get you back to your time before Nance gets home.”

  The other man frowned. “That’s something I don’t get.”

  “What?”

  “Why lie to your girl? You think she might be working for them?”

  Alfred blanched. “God, no. Of course not.”

  “Then why call me…what was it? A costumer?”

  He laughed nervously. “Well, see…the thing is…she doesn’t know I went back to get you.”

  “Oh. And she wouldn’t approve?”

  “Technically, no. We’re not supposed to use the device.”

  “Why?”

  “So we don’t contaminate the time stream.”

  “Contaminate?”

  “You know, like I did with Fluff and Sal. I mean, that one worked out alright. But it’s easy to change things without even trying. And you never know what the repercussions might be.”

  “So…you weren’t supposed to go back to Fat Sal’s?”

  “Nope.”

  Ray considered this for a long moment, then shrugged. “It makes sense, I suppose.”

  “It does?” Considering the circumstances, he’d not expected to hear that. Not from this man, in this situation.

  “Well, we talked about Hitler and Mussolini. I did wonder, since you’ve got the power to do it, why you didn’t just go back and kill them. You could put old Adolf in a Chicago overcoat before he ever became chancellor.”

  Alfred wasn’t sure what that meant, but he had a feeling it wasn’t a desirable outcome, from the wearer’s point of view anyway. “And what if I failed? What if I ended up getting killed before I could finish the job? What if – worst of all – Hitler ended up with the ability to travel through time? Not just backwards, but forward, to any era, to grab whatever inventions or technological advances he wanted?”

  Ray nodded slowly. “It’d be a disaster.”

  “It’d be the end of freedom. It’d be genocide on a scale like nothing we ever imagined. Hell, it might be the end of the human race.”

  “The best laid plans of mice and men, eh?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  His curiosity reasonably sated, Ray Lorina focused on the case. The first thing on the agenda was reviewing the case files, to bring him up to speed on the intervening decades since his disappearance.

  The taxman found his mind wandering. He’d seen these files a thousand and one times, and he knew the story well. But Lorina dove in like a bloodhound on the scent, his focus undivided.

  It took every bit of willpower not to distract him with questions, but Alfred managed. After awhile, he got up and began to pace in the other room, hoping Ray’s reading would wrap up soon.

  It didn’t.

  Minutes turned to hours, and before long it was afternoon. Alfred settled into a comfortable chair in the living room, ostensibly to read. Before long, though, he was catching up on some of the sleep he’d missed the night before.

  He woke awhile later to the detective asking through a yawn, “Hey, you got any Joe?”

  “Huh?”

  “Coffee? I don’t suppose you men of the future still drink it?”

  Alfred snorted. “Drink it? We practically inject it into our veins.”

  Ray blinked. “That’s a yes, then?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Could I get a cup? I know it’s only afternoon here, but I’m closing in on an all-nighter.”

  “Yeah, of course.” He’d forgotten about that. It had already been night when they left. “You take any creamer or sugar?”

  “Just black. And strong enough to float a battleship.”

  Yawning, the taxman drew himself out of his chair and headed for the kitchen. Dumping more coffee into the filter than he felt was probably safe, he got it brewing.

  Satan, meanwhile, had followed him into the room, yowling. Refreshing his water and kibble, he fished through the cupboard for the bag of cat treats. “You’re a good little monster, aren’t you?”

  Finally, the coffee finished, and he poured himself and the detective mugs full. In his own, he added milk. Taking a sip, and nearly gagging, he drained about half the contents into the sink, then added more milk and lots of sugar.

  It was a warmish, syrupy coffee-flavored mess. But it was sweet and had caffeine. So, cringing with every sip, he determined to drink it.

  “Alright,” he said, returning to the dining room with the cups in hand. “Coffee is…”

  He trailed off, staring at the detective. Lorina sat in the same seat where he’d left him, but he was hunched over a stack of papers, his head resting in one of his ha
nds. Gone was the confident bloodhound, and in his place was a weary shell of a man. Sugar cookies. He really does need that coffee.

  But, some sense told him this was more than lack of sleep. “Ray?”

  The other man glanced up now, saying, “Ninety-two. She was ninety-two, Alfred. She lived all those years, never knowing…”

  The taxman saw, now, the papers that Ray was studying: the Dorothy Edwards file. He set the coffee mug in front of Ray and pulled up a chair. “It’ll be different, once we figure out how to take these guys down. You’ll go back. You can marry her and have your family.”

  This, somehow, seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because the detective’s brow creased until he looked dangerously close to tears.

  Alfred Favero didn’t know what to do with that. There was, certainly, room for personal growth on that front, he knew. But the fact was, such demonstrative expressions of emotion rather unsettled the taxman.

  His go-to move with Nancy was to hold her. For everyone else, he’d awkwardly excuse himself, fleeing the scene as quickly as possible. For obvious reasons, neither of those solutions would work here. So he resorted to his in-a-pinch backup plan: platitudes.

  “It’ll all work out.”

  “I should have married her already,” Ray said.

  “What?”

  “Dori. I…I kept putting it off, because of the case. Because of the Tomassis. I didn’t want to put a target on her back. Hell, it’d be bad enough for her, marrying an Italian. But with the kind of enemies I made?” He shook his head. “I thought I was keeping her safe.”

  “But…things will be different. When you go back.”

  “I thought I was protecting her. But all I did was break her heart.”

  “Ray, this life, the one you’re looking at? When you go home, it will never happen. Dori will be fine. All of this will be different.”

  He studied the photo in front of him for a moment longer, then nodded. “You’re right, taxman. It will be different.”

  “Exactly. We’ll take down the bad guys.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I mean, I’m done running scared. I love that girl. And, dammit, I’m going to make sure she knows it. No more waiting for tomorrows that may never come.”

  Afternoon became evening. Alfred fell asleep in his chair in the living room again. The last he saw of Lorina, he was still pouring over the case files, filling a notepad with illegible scribblings. Still, the glyphs must have meant something to the detective, because, now and then, he’d refer to them and cross check them against something he was reading.

  In his mind, this whole private eye business had promised to be a lot more exciting than it turned out to be. It seemed more frowning at endless piles of paper than actual detecting.

  So, a little disappointed, the taxman slipped into a dreamless sleep from which he didn’t rouse until the next morning.

  He hadn’t meant to sleep at all, much less to while the entire night away slumbering. By now, Lorina was snoring at the dining room table, hunched over a stack of files. Pulling himself out of the seat, creaking and groaning with discomfort, Alfred yawned. He was stiff and sore, and could only imagine how much worse Ray would feel when he woke. He’d been a poor host, he realized.

  He wasn’t sure what had roused him, but the sun was shining brightly. Might as well get going. He decided he’d get some breakfast and coffee going – the kind of swill Ray liked.

  Then, he froze. He heard the sound of a car, in his driveway. A moment later, a bright yellow cab rolled past the window, back toward the street.

  Sugar cookies. Someone was here. “Hey,” he said, shaking Ray’s shoulder. The detective started, reaching for his gun with one hand and Alfred’s arm with the other.

  He paused as he saw who it was, though. “Taxman?”

  Allowing himself to breathe again, Alfred said, “There’s someone here.”

  “Trouble?”

  “I have no idea. Probably not. I mean, no one could possibly know you’re here. Still, you mind staying out of sight?”

  A rattle at the door put Alfred’s heart in his mouth. He knew the mob was defunct, or as good as these days. Right? Still, someone was out there, trying to get in, not twenty-four hours after he’d rescued Ray Lorina.

  “You want me to check it out?” the detective asked, patting the gun at his side.

  “No. Stay out of sight.”

  Nodding, the other man slipped into a side hall. “Holler if you need backup.”

  Alfred scampered toward the door, ready to confront whoever it was toying with the handle. He made it about half way through the kitchen when the door opened. He yelped, as much in surprise as consternation. “Nance? What are you doing back? You’re not due until tonight. And why take a cab?”

  He had a thousand questions, but she brushed past him, straight for the dining room. Throwing a glance around the room, and obviously not finding what she was looking for, she rounded on him. “Where is he?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Alfred Favero. Where the hell is Ray Lorina?”

  Alfred felt his jaw slacken. “Ray…Lorina?” Sugar cookies. How had she figured it out?

  “Yes. Your ‘master costumer.’”

  He laughed nervously. “Oh, uh, Raymond, you mean? I…I guess I can see the similarities between him and Lorina. But of course they’re not the same person. Nance, I would have had to use the generator.”

  “Like we promised we’d never do.”

  “Exactly.”

  She glared at him. “I can’t believe it took me that long to figure out. And you’re really going to stand there and lie to my face, Alfred?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t want to lie to her. On the other hand, he didn’t want to level with her either. It seemed, in some mad way, saying nothing at all was the only avenue open to him.

  “Where is he?” Now, she glanced at the table, at the set of coffee mugs and the host of files. “I know he was here. I-” She cut off, her expression morphing from anger to horror. “Oh my God. Is that…Fluff?”

  Alfred didn’t see the feline anywhere, so he followed her gaze. She’d grabbed one of the images on the table, repeating, “Oh my God. Alfred…you took my cat to a mafia stronghold?”

  The taxman felt the blood drain from his face. He had no idea how she knew that, but he was certainly not going to cop to that one. “What?” he laughed, doing his best impression of incredulity. “What are you talking about, Nance?”

  She was not fooled. Her eyes flashing, she thrust the photograph toward him. And, to his own horror, he saw exactly what she described: the photo Joe Donnelly grabbed of Fat Sal, choking. The photo of Fluff on his desktop, rubbing up against the gangster he was killing.

  Fudge muffins. He forced a laugh again. “Nance, what are you talking about? That’s just a stray. The world is full of orange cats.”

  “It’s a black and white photo, Alfred. How’d you know that cat was orange?”

  He licked his lips nervously. He was digging his hole a little deeper every time he opened his mouth. “Well, uh, it just looks orange.”

  “And this?” She reached back to the table, producing another sheet. “This ‘mysterious accomplice’ who happens to look just like you?”

  It was another of Donnelly’s photos, and in his mind he cursed the man. It was him, alright, in her fedora and his mismatched ensemble, leading Ray to the door. “Well shit.”

  “Where is he? Where’s Lorina?” she repeated, her voice level and chillingly cool. “Did you send him back already? Or is he still here?”

  “I’m here,” a voice sounded from the entryway.

  Alfred spun around at the same time Nancy gasped. Sure enough, Ray Lorina was standing there, hands in his pockets, looking a little sheepish. The taxman scowled at him. Dratted Judas Iscariot.

  Throwing a glance back at Nance, he saw that she was gaping. “You…you did it. Alfred, you…” She turned to him now. “You lied to me.”


  He’d been planning his defense ever since the traitor stepped into view. He had a rapid fire list of reasons and excuses as to why he should have used the device, and how no harm had been done. This, though, rather deflated him. “I…um…well…”

  “I was so worried about you, Alfred. You were acting so weird. And then… when I put it together…” She shook her head. “How long? How long has this been going on? How long have you been using the device?”

  “I haven’t, Nance,” he protested. “Just this once. Twice, technically. But just for this case.”

  She shook her head. “And how can I believe that? All you’ve done these last days is lie to me.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry, Nance. But it really is true. I went back Friday night, just to watch. And that stupid cat stowed away.” He spread his hands in frustration. “And he ended up killing Fat Sal. Which wasn’t a bad thing, exactly. But then I had to get him back. And I went back again.”

  She shook her head. “Why? You hadn’t messed up the timestream enough? You wanted to risk more repercussions?”

  “No. No, nothing like that. I was just going to watch. That’s it.”

  “Then what in the hell is Ray Lorina doing in our living room, Alfred?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The taxman stumbled through his thought process, such as it was. When he got to the pivotal moment, all he could do was answer honestly. “I just…when I saw those goons show up…I couldn’t leave him there, Nance. I couldn’t leave him there to die.”

  She sank into a seat, sighing. “Oh Alfred.” Her anger seemed to have faded, but he wasn’t sure he liked what had taken its place any better: disappointment. “This is why we agreed not to use the device. This is why Angie gave it to us in the first place: to stop herself from messing up the timeline, trying to undo mistakes from the past.” Angie Garretty was the CEO of Futureprise Corporation, and she’d been the one to leave the device with him and Nancy.

  “I know, babe,” Alfred said miserably. “I just…it wasn’t right, what happened.”

  Nance rested her head in her hands, and the taxman stared glumly at the table. It was now that Ray Lorina spoke. “Miss Nancy?”