The Time Travelling Taxman Series Box Set

by Rachel Ford

  These, Alfred perceived, were meant as reconciliatory overtures. Ray grinned, declaring, “Figured changing my hair color would be all it took to outwit you lot.”

  “Ray,” a voice called. It was Dori, and she was approaching at a full run. She propelled herself into his arms, and Lorina caught her up in a kiss. A second later, a flash lit up the night.

  “Son-of-a-bitch, Donnelly,” someone called. “I’m going to make you eat that camera one of these days.”

  Explanations were demanded and given all around. Where Alfred and Nancy were concerned, Ray was vague. “They’re feds,” he told Boyle. “They’ve been working this case for awhile.”

  “A lady agent?” the Irishman shook his head. “The feds think of everything, I guess.”

  “I guess.”

  The explanation seemed to satisfy Boyle, though, not least of all because they promised to ship out now that the case was wrapped up. “Since it was you local boys who busted Mario, we’ll let you take him in.”

  “Well, I guess you better walk him in with us,” he told Ray. “Since you tagged Kennedy.”

  Goodbyes took a little longer. The fact was, the entire operation had concluded so fast that Alfred barely had time to process what had happened. One minute, he’d been facing certain death. The next it was all over. He was banged up and sore, but, otherwise, it might have all been a dream.

  It didn’t help that the shifting timelines filled his head with competing memories. He remembered the original sequence of events as clearly as ever, but now he had a thousand fluctuations of the timeline all cramming his mind.

  It was enough to give him a headache.

  Still, he had a clear enough picture of what had, in the end, happened. Ray and Isaac had taken Mario Tomassi down. They’d taken Walton Kennedy and Trigger Finger Tomassi into custody too. They’d slapped cuffs on Benito Morretti and Vito Gallo. They’d charged Dona Esposito, too.

  It was, as Ray put it, “a helluva bust.” And there’d be more, after tonight. The Tomassis’ days were numbered.

  Now, the detective had gathered them in his home for a farewell toast.

  Despite having a skinned up knee and a scuffed palm, Nancy had, by now, forgiven him for his bout of heroics. Alfred wasn’t quite sure he’d forgiven her for hers. “Dammit, Nancy Abbot, how the hell would I go on living if I lost you?” Her explanation – that she knew all Ray needed was a few seconds of distraction, long enough to draw his own gun – did nothing to assuage his annoyance with her. It couldn’t erase the fear he’d felt at seeing her leap into the line of gunfire. It couldn’t push aside the million and one variables that danced in his mind as he thought about what might have gone wrong.

  Neither could her simple question. “What should I have done, Alfred? Let him shoot you?”

  Still, as terrified as he’d been – as he still was – at the prospect of losing her, he couldn’t help but love her a little more for having done it. She’d been willing to take a bullet for him. She’d saved their lives. He didn’t doubt that. Their leap forward and sudden plummet to the ground might not have been picturesque, but it had certainly been an attention grabber; it had grabbed Walton’s attention long enough to distract him. Long enough for Ray to draw his gun, like Nance predicted, and pop him.

  A strange battle of emotions raged in Alfred’s breast. On the one hand, his heart burned with admiration for her. On the other, he felt fear that he’d never known before. He thought of the what-ifs, the might-have-beens that they’d only narrowly avoided.

  He thought of a life without Nancy Abbot. And he’d never, in all his years, imagined anything quite so bleak and miserable.

  These thoughts, though, made way when Ray returned from the precinct. “To our friends, Nancy and Alfred,” he said, raising a glass to them.

  “Nancy and Alfred,” Dori repeated.

  “To our friends,” Nance countered, “Dori and Ray.”

  “Dori and Ray,” the taxman repeated.

  They drank their toast, and then Ray sighed. “Hell, taxman: this is goodbye, I guess.”

  “I guess it is.”

  “I have so many questions about your world. About ours. About what’s going to happen.”

  “I have so many questions about yours,” Nancy said. “About what it’s like, now. Really like. About how things change. What it’ll feel like, to watch the twentieth century unfold.”

  “I suppose you have to go back?” Ray asked.

  “We do. We’ve got lives back in our time.”

  “And our job needs us,” Alfred put in.

  The detective nodded. “It does, taxman. The world needs more men like you.”

  “It could use a few more like you, too,” Alfred conceded. Ray might not have been an IRS analyst like himself, but he was certainly part of the thin blue line between order and disorder.

  He smiled. “Hey, cheer up, then. You did what you set out to do.”

  “That’s true,” Alfred acknowledged. “We both did.”

  “We did,” Ray nodded. “We came.”

  “We saw,” Alfred answered.

  And, in unison, the two men finished, “We conquered.”

  Nancy and Dori exchanged glances and a subtle shake of the head – subtle, but not subtle enough to escape Alfred’s notice.

  Ray pretended not to see, though. He raised his glass. “To conquering, taxman.”

  “To conquering.”

  “And to surviving living with Italians,” Nancy added.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Dori agreed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Celebrations ran long, and alcohol flowed freely throughout. Alfred wasn’t a teetotaler exactly, but he wasn’t much of a drinker, either. Consequently, by time he realized he should probably hold back, he was feeling rather silly. It took the rest of the group longer to catch up, but they did eventually.

  “I’m going to miss the hell out of you, taxman,” Ray told him. It was sometime in the morning, but it was still dark outside.

  “Me too,” Alfred nodded.

  Dori had had a “quick lie down” on the sofa, and was now snoozing away peacefully. Nance had excused herself to the powder room, so the two men were alone. The taxman felt as if there was more to say, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to say it.

  Of all the cases he’d investigated, of all the timeframes in history he might have meddled with, he’d been drawn to Ray’s. He’d been able to put together a sketch of the man’s life and personality through scraps of files and old news clippings. Ray’s story had spoken across time to the taxman. They’d only been acquainted for days, but he felt as if they were old friends. And he was about to lose his friend.

  But how did you explain that? Alfred didn’t know.

  “Time’s a funny master.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what’s eighty years in the scheme of things? Not a damned thing. And yet, a lifetime.” Ray shook his head. “When you go back, Dori and I will already be dead.”

  The taxman nodded soberly. “I know.”

  “Well,” Ray sighed.

  “Well,” Alfred repeated.

  They sat for a moment in silence, then Ray seemed to buck up. “But we have our whole lives ahead of us still. And so do you, taxman. You and Nancy.”

  He considered this, then nodded. “We do.”

  “And Alfred?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That girl of yours? She’s your Dori.” He shrugged. “That look you had, tonight? When she made for Kennedy? Well, you know how I felt when you showed me that file, saying Dori died? That’s the look. Like your world was about to end.”

  Alfred nodded, the memory washing back over him unbidden. The weight of it was too heavy for words.

  “You got another chance, taxman. So did I. Make the most of it. I sure as hell mean to.”

  “Mean to what?” Nancy’s voice asked from the doorway.

  The two men glanced up as she returned. “Have another drink,” Ray lied. “
You want one?”

  “Oh God, no. I’ve had way too many already.”

  They waited until Dori woke. But, then, they made their final goodbyes. The men exchanged handshakes, and the women hugs.

  “Watch yourself, taxman,” Ray declared. “I won’t be there to save your skin next time.”

  “You mean, I won’t be there to save your neck.”

  Ray shrugged, wrapping an arm around Dori’s shoulders. “Maybe. But I trust my backup.”

  Alfred glanced at Nance. “I think I’ll be okay too.”

  The detective nodded. “I think you will at that. Well, I guess we better amscray so you kids can get back home. Goodbye, Alfred. Goodbye, Nancy.”

  The pair left them, and once Nance was certain that they were far enough away, so as not to follow in Fluff’s paw prints as accidental stowaways, she sent them home.

  It was night when they returned, and Alfred was deeply grateful for it. He was exhausted and on his way to being a little hungover.

  He stared into the darkened living room, that looked a little emptier than normal for Ray and Dori’s absence.

  “Hey,” Nance asked, her voice soft. “You okay?”

  He nodded slowly, sorting through the tidal wave of new memories that crashed onto his consciousness. “They lived a good life.”

  “Yeah,” Nance nodded. “They did.”

  He squeezed her to him. He’d look at the files and confirm for himself how things had played out, tomorrow. But, for now, he knew enough to be content. “Let’s get some sleep, Nance. I’m too old for these kinds of hours.”

  Even after a night’s sleep, it was a long day at work. Alfred’s mind wandered, and he found himself returning to the Lorina files. It was bittersweet, because it confirmed what he already knew: his friends had died, years ago.

  But they’d lived, too. Ray and Dori had married two months after the Tomassi raid. Ray had gone to war, and survived D-Day. They’d had four kids. Dori spent her middle-age fighting for civil rights. Ray stuck with the department, taking down more mobsters than Alfred could keep track of during a long and storied career.

  They were good, fulfilling lives, and Alfred was happy for his friends. He was proud of all they’d achieved in their lifetimes, and the good they’d done. He was happy for the happiness they’d found, and the happiness they’d made, with each other.

  And, somehow, his thoughts inevitably returned to Nance. Ray had said she was his Dori.

  And the fact was, she was. She was the Dori to his Ray. In terms that Nancy might have understood better, she was the Arwen to his Aragorn, the Spock to his Kirk. She was the one who completed him, who pushed him to be his best self.

  He’d known it for awhile now, but last night had just driven it home: his world had become indelibly tied to her.

  He tried to broach the subject over lunch, but Nance was too engrossed in another topic dear to his heart, though not quite that dear: his presentation. “Caspersen said the video is up. She said you blew everyone away.”

  “Is it? Did I?” He remembered a very different reaction. But, then, he also remembered the response she was describing. Competing timelines really were hard to keep straight.

  “Yeah. Let’s watch it.”

  He didn’t need much persuading. The final version of the speech, the one he gave after the timeline shifted once and for all, was very good. It was better than the original. He told the story of Ray Lorina, who had been framed by a rogue IRS agent. He filled his slides with newsprints of the time. There was an image of Kennedy, his head jutting out the side of Tiny’s Pub, the briefcase full of mob money in hand. There was the picture of Dori in Ray’s arms after the shootout. There were photos of Ray and Isaac taking Mario Tomassi into the precinct.

  It was his closing line that really brought the crowd to its feet – metaphorically speaking, anyway. It was a good talk, but not that good. “We don’t know anything about the anonymous IRS analysts who helped Lorina crack the case. But there’s a powerful lesson we can learn from them all. John Stuart Mill once said, ‘Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.’

  “Let we who are called by law and duty to do more than look on, remember the case of Ray Lorina. The ideals that we uphold are only as strong, and just as fragile, as the men and women who protect them. For good to triumph, it cannot be apathetic. It cannot be waylaid by fear. It must be courageous. It must be willing to sacrifice.

  “It must be willing to stand up and intervene.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Alfred had made up his mind to ask Nancy to marry him that evening. Nothing was going to stop him this time – no calls from Josh, no tax law presentations. Nothing.

  He was, however, temporarily waylaid by the sight of registered mail, addressed to him from a New York law agency.

  It was a small, rectangular parcel, that was so light he half wondered if it contained anything at all.

  This only stoked his curiosity, and Alfred scrutinized the box, wondering who would possibly have sent him registered mail. And via lawyers no less?

  He peeled open the far end, and among Styrofoam packing, he found a letter and a little jewelry box. He stared for a moment, then double-checked the address. It was, indeed, his name and street listed. It is for me, then.

  So he unfolded the letter. Then, he gaped as he saw the nearly illegible handwriting, scrawling across the page. He’d recognize those hieroglyphs anywhere.

  The letter was dated April 14th, 2005, and it read:

  Dear Alfred,

  When you get this, I’ll be dead, for a while now I should think. Over the years, Dorothy and I thought about looking you up, but that, of course, would never have worked. You wouldn’t know about the device yet. You’d think we were batty, and who knows what that’d do to the timeline.

  Now, of course, you do. And now, if this delivery goes according to plan anyway, we have met – you, me, Nance and Dori. You saved my life, and my Dori’s.

  It’ll be yesterday for you, but it’s been sixty-five years for me. Still, I remember it like yesterday.

  I’ve never been one for words. You know that. But I can’t leave this world without saying thank you, one more time. You gave me back my life. Not just me, but Dori too. We’ve got four kids, and I’ve lost count of how many grandkids and great-grandkids we’re up to.

  Dori’s gone, now. She passed away this February. I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around that one. But I’m okay. Don’t worry about that. I’ll see her again, probably soon. She asked me to say goodbye to you, too.

  And that brings me to the ring – Dori’s ring, the one I gave her for our engagement. We wanted you to have it, for Nance. Our tomorrows aren’t promised, Alfred. But it gave us sixty-five beautiful years. I hope it brings you two at least as many.

  It was a pleasure knowing you, taxman. Keep conquering,

  Ray

  “What is it?” Nance called from the other room.

  Alfred blinked back the moisture in his eyes, and cleared his throat. He slipped the ring into his pocket, answering, “Just a package.” Then, he took a deep breath, and walked into the room to join her. “Darling?”

  She was plugging in her laptop in the back office, but glanced up as he entered. “Yeah?”

  “There’s something…there’s something I need to ask you.”

  She seemed concerned by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Okay.”

  “I love you, Nance. I love you more than anything.”

  She smiled. “I love you too, babe.”

  “Then…” He took one of her hands in his. “Nancy Abbot…”

  He was just about to drop to one knee when a knock sounded on the office entryway.

  Nancy yelped, her eyes darting to the doorway, and Alfred spun around. There in their house, as bold as brass, stood a man in a suit. “Forgive me for startling you,” he said, his tone smooth if not apologetic.

  Alfred wrapped an arm around Nancy
, standing between her and this intruder. His thoughts were full of mobsters and hit men, and he was keenly aware of the fact that he had no weapon nearby. “Who the hummus are you? And how did you get into our house?”

  “You can relax, Mister Favero. I’m not here to harm you.

  “I entered the premises with this.” He produced a shiny silver gadget that looked suspiciously like their own spacetime field generator.

  “As for who I am…my name is Roger Winthrop. Special Agent Roger Winthrop. I represent the Interdimensional Bureau of Temporal Investigations. IBTI, for short.”

  Alfred blinked, and Nancy said, “The what?”

  He ignored the question, fixing them with a hard stare. “It’s our job to monitor the timelines of all accessible dimensions. And…” Here, Agent Winthrop tutted, “the pair of you have popped up on our radar for quite a few temporal incursions lately.”

  “So, I hope this is a good time?” He paused expectantly, then sighed. “Industry humor. Never mind. At any rate, it really is past time that we had a good, long talk about your use of that device.” He shrugged. “And, maybe, if there’s a future for the pair of you in the IBTI.”

  Gullible’s Travels & Taxing Rabble

  Book 6

  By Rachel Ford

  Chapter One

  “Please state your name and occupation for the council,” a robed figure, his cephalopod features twitching as he spoke, directed.

  Alfred was mute, watching with a morbid curiosity as the creature’s face tentacles moved. A quick jab of the elbow from Nancy brought him back to reality, and he found his voice. “Alfred Favero, Senior Analyst with the Internal Revenue Service.”

  “Nancy Abbot,” she said, “Information Technology team lead, with the IRS.”

  Here, a middle-aged human piped up, “They’re from Earth, Presider.”

  “Thank you, Agent Winthrop. Universal coordinates?”

  “Universe Beta-One-Six-Alpha-Niner-Eight-Three-Delta-Delta-Gamma-Lima-Two-Six.”