The Taxman Killeth
Mary Ann Mitchell
http://www.maryann-mitchell.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2012 by Mary Ann Mitchell
Prologue
“This job, you’re going to like,” said Joey.
“It’s a suit job.”
“Hell, what’s so bad about wearing a suit and tie for a while? Can’t always go around in jeans.”
“I could.” Todd dropped a manila folder down on the marble-topped coffee table.
“Wait till you see the office manager. Curves. Red hair. She even seems to have a personality.”
“The report also stated she was bright.”
“You’ve never had a problem talking women into helping you, even those with Ph.D.’s. Don’t sweat it.”
Todd had a knot in his gut. He knew something was going to go wrong. He didn’t know what it was, but there were bad vibes coming from somewhere.
“Of course you won’t be able to use the shoulder holster. Better stick to the small pistol and ankle holster, because I know you’ll whip the jacket off as soon as you get settled in at the office. And accountants aren’t expected to work armed. You’d have a lot of convoluted explaining to do if the lawyers see that you’re packing a weapon, even with that phony ID I had made for you. Oh, and try to keep the tie on.”
Todd grimaced.
“Hey, the job pays well. Besides, it will get me off the hook with a few guys I owe a favor to.”
“Is that why we didn’t get an advance?”
“Don’t worry. When we do get paid, you’ll have enough to lie around in your jeans for a few months. Just don’t forget you’ve got to move fast on this one.”
“What if the office manager doesn’t want to cooperate?”
“I’m not worried about that. You’ve got the ability to spin webs of silk around whatever woman is nearby. Besides, she’s in a dry spell. Hasn’t been seeing anyone for the past six months. And stop calling her the office manager. Start using names. You got them down pat yet?”
“Yeah. Amy Simpson, Trudy Welch...” Todd went on with his list as he stood and walked across the living room. The sun was setting beyond the Golden Gate Bridge. The orange sky was succumbing to the jumble of clouds. He slid the glass door open and stepped out onto his terrace. A sudden rush of the wind made his body tense against the force. A lone sailboat was heading back to the pier. The small boat listed further onto its side, and Todd imagined the crew rushing around to try and right it.
“Been a long time, hasn’t it?” Joey had joined Todd and rested his arm across his partner’s shoulders.
“Maybe we should buy our own boat and take off to some of those islands we liked so much.”
“After the job, Todd. Then we’ll have the cash to consider doing whatever we want.”
Todd shook his head. He knew he was searching out ways to fill the empty gaps in his life. But what had he expected when he had gotten into this line of work? Secrecy and brutality constantly hovered over his life. And there was no escape from the violence he was trained to inflict in his world. Nevertheless, there were Jennie and the kids to worry about. He had to make sure they would be well-cared-for in case he should be wasted on a job.
Yes, he made good money. That’s what had bought him the luxury condo and stylish furniture and designer clothes. But sometimes he worried about the lives he affected, the homes and families that disintegrated when he completed a job. The people he took down deserved it, no doubt about that, but still...
“Why don’t we go out, grab a bite to eat?”
“I’m not hungry. I don’t like this one, Joey. I get the feeling someone’s going to get hurt.”
“Who? I tell you it’s a clean job. The redhead will spread the files wide open for you. And probably anything else you’d like to sample.” Joey slapped Todd on the back.
Joey’s insouciant comment worried Todd. His work was starting to show signs of shoddiness. The report on the law firm was decent enough, but didn’t have the precise hands-on quality that Joey usually turned in.
“Who made up the report, Joey?”
“What’s this? Listen, if you don’t want to do the job, say so.” Joey didn’t bother waiting for an answer; instead, he stepped back into Todd’s apartment.
Todd stayed out on the terrace for another fifteen minutes, weighing the pros and cons. The only negative was a vague apprehension: nothing he could verbalize. But there had been times when his intuitiveness had saved his life.
Joey and he had a long history. Both men had racked up a lot of time working in the field. Details were always covered with care, and back-up support was never questioned. Jeopardizing one’s life for the other was routine.
When he re-entered his apartment, Todd found Joey in the kitchen, spreading mayonnaise across some white toast.
“Got some bacon frying up, and I found a couple of nearly ripe tomatoes next to the wilted lettuce. Care to join me?”
“Naw. I’m surprised the bacon wasn’t covered with mold. I forgot it was in there.”
“Trimmed it a bit.”
Todd laughed.
“Let’s go out and splurge on a decent meal before I begin this lucrative job you’ve been harping about.”
Chapter 1
Taxed
Amy gathered the bundled papers in her arms and proceeded down the hall to the conference room. It was that time of the year again when she would be spending hours, days, weeks in the company of crotchety Mr. Pickle, real name Pickens.
This was the worst part of her job as office manager of the two-hundred-and-fifty-man law firm. Otherwise, she loved her work. She met exciting people and had a considerable amount of influence on the inner workings of the firm. Unfortunately, at tax time, the chore of tolerating Mr. Pickle, the firm’s outside CPA, fell on her shoulders.
Amy gave a slight push to a half-open door and it swung wide, allowing her to enter. She dropped all the material on the conference table and watched as a few pages slid across the surface of the table and floated onto the floor. Egad, she thought, it’s going to be a bad day. She rushed around to the other end of the table and picked up the papers, placing them on top of one pile, which was next to a higher pile, which was in front of a set of books, which was next to... Oh! She didn’t even want to think about it.
As Amy left the conference room, she peeked down the hall at the reception area. At the same time, a stupendous male stepped off the elevator. “Wow!” she whispered. “Trudy has all the luck.” The dark-suited hulk with broad shoulders and crooked smile walked over to the reception desk, where he was instantly greeted by an enthusiastic Trudy. And with whom do I get stuck? Amy groused. Pickle Pickens. She couldn’t stand watching any more of this and barged into Stu’s office, demanding his books.
“Today? You mean today you get to entertain your friend Pickle.”
“Today, tomorrow, every day until he’s finished. It always seems like an eternity, Stu. I think the man was born cross. He’s so demanding, and those thick glasses which keep riding down his nose to perch atop the bulb at the tip are so awful. Especially when he sniffles and they start to wiggle around. He looks like the rabbit out of Alice in Wonderland.”
“How do you keep from laughing?” asked Stu as he handed her his heavy journal.
“He’s too nasty to be funny, Stu. Thanks.” She took the journal and left Stu’s office. In the hall she stared down at reception. He must be six-two, at least, she contemplated, as her eyes caressed the impressive figure speaking to Trudy. Since she herself was five-eleven barefoot, his height alone was temptation enough to
go and introduce herself. But what could she say, and besides, Pickle would be there any minute. Amy looked at her watch: 10:30. She looked at the elevator, expecting the doors to open any second, revealing Mr. Pickle Pickens in all his five-foot-two splendor, with his pants just a tad too short and his oversized padded shoulders. She glanced at the dreamboat, who was about to take a seat across from the reception desk. His jacket had natural shoulders. He certainly didn’t need any help there and, she guessed, not anywhere else, either.
Amy shook her head out of her reverie as Stu came out of his office.
“Trudy’s looking for you. Says you have a visitor.”
“Oh, thanks, Stu.”
As Amy moved down the hall, she kept glancing around the reception area. She couldn’t see the entire room, but most of the seating was visible from the hall. Could Pickle Pickens be lurking somewhere beyond the reception desk, perhaps taking in the view from their twenty-third floor window?
When she entered the reception area, she could feel the tall man’s blue eyes following her, taking in her curves, gestures, and walk. Her face felt warm. Quickly she looked around for the Pickle. She had to get out of there fast, or she would surely say or do something nebbish.
“Trudy, where is he?”
The receptionist smiled cunningly and pointed toward the blue eyed, tanned brunet male seated just behind Amy.
“No! I mean Mr. Pickle ahhh... Mr. Pickens.”
There was a deep male laugh, and she turned to see the handsome man’s blue eyes sparkle as he stood.
“Mr. Pickens,” Trudy emphasized, “has retired. The accounting firm has sent Mr. Todd Coleman as the replacement.”
Amy’s lips parted, but what could she say? After several moments of silence Coleman spoke.
“I don’t have quite as many years in the business as,” here he stopped to smile broadly at Amy, “Mr. Pickens, but my superiors have full faith in my proven abilities. So I hope you won’t mind working with me.” His gaze swept across her classic features: green eyes and full red hair. “I’m certainly looking forward to working with you.” He reached toward Amy and took the journal from her wet palms. “Looks like we have a lot of work ahead of us and we’ll be spending a good deal of time together.” His eyes twinkled, and his lips quivered over a half-smile.
Amy wasn’t sure she could move. However, she remembered the direction of the conference room, so with a little nudge from Todd’s hand, she started to walk on shaky legs. This just might be the best tax year yet, thought Amy.
Todd Coleman paused at the doorway to the conference room to allow Amy to enter first. For Amy it was proof he was a gentleman.
“It’s a little disheveled in here,” she began to say.
“They should have given you advance warning a month ago,” he said.
“They did,” she admitted. The blue of his eyes darkened, and a furrow formed across his forehead. I blew this one, she acknowledged to herself. Trying to salvage the situation, she began to enumerate the various tasks she had been performing for the past several weeks. In the midst of her explanation she realized that she sounded ridiculous. Coleman was ignoring her while removing his supplies from his briefcase.
Amy stopped talking and he didn’t seem to notice. As he took off his jacket Amy could see the expanse of his chest against the white button-down shirt. He wore no undershirt, and the outline of his pectorals was clear and seductive.
“Maybe I could get us some coffee?” she asked.
“I would prefer that you get all this material in order and then collect the rest of the data.”
Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as enjoyable as she had anticipated. She quickly sorted out the piles, explaining each grouping to Coleman.
“What’s missing?” he asked briskly.
“A few lawyers haven’t handed in last month’s time sheets yet. It can be very difficult to—”
He wasn’t listening to excuses; she could tell by his abrupt movements as he re-positioned the work before him.
“I’ll get the rest,” she said. “Would you like anything else, Mr. Coleman?”
“Todd.”
“What?”
His eyes met hers. The darkness had lifted.
“Call me Todd.”
A meek smile came to Amy’s lips.
“May I bring you anything, Todd?” Her voice was soft and personal.
“The rest of the data,” he stated coldly. But there definitely was a hint of a smile above his dimpled chin.
Amy nodded, turned, exited the room, and softly closed the door behind her. She was about to begin her quest for the missing time sheets, when she glanced down the hall toward reception. Trudy was leaning over her desk beckoning to Amy.
When Amy walked into the reception area Trudy squealed.
“Lunch! You must take him to lunch, Amy. I’ll call that little French restaurant where we had Mr. Chase’s promotion celebration, and—”
“Whoa, wait, Trudy. I think you’re getting carried away.”
“Why? It’s perfectly normal to take someone like that out to lunch and charge it to the firm’s account.”
“I never did that with Pickle. We used to have lunch brought in for us.”
“Naw, that would only work if we could set up a candlelit luncheon, and I think that would be considered a fire hazard here.”
“Trudy, he’s here to work.”
“But Amy, you’re gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, you’re not seeing anyone...”
“Ah, but he might be. He may even be married.”
“No ring.”
Amy laughed. Here she was, excited about working with him, and she hadn’t even looked at his left hand.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean that he isn’t married, Trudy.”
“Well, if I were married to that guy, I sure would have him wear a big gold band.”
“Why don’t we compromise and be a bit more subtle? Why don’t you call that fish restaurant we like and see if you can get a 12:30 reservation for,” she paused. Trudy had a penchant for jumping to conclusions too quickly. “...for Mr. Coleman and myself.” Secretly she wished she could have used his first name.
“Done!” Trudy immediately picked up the receiver and started punching out the restaurant’s number.
Meanwhile, Amy collected the materials she would need for Todd. On her way back to the conference room, she saw Trudy at the end of the hall give her the high sign. Lunch it is, then, at 12:30, she thought.
For the rest of the morning, Todd was very business-like, and Amy tried to give him all the assistance she could. She thought they worked well together. However, once she noticed it was 12:05, she became preoccupied with how she would introduce lunch. Finally at 12:15 Todd called for a break.
“I can see you must be eager to go to lunch, Amy. Your mind seems to have drifted off our task. I’m going to call a friend of mine who works in the building for lunch. Why don’t we meet back here about 1:15? Okay?”
Amy’s body went limp. The pencil she was holding fell to the floor. Todd leaned over in his seat to pick it up. As he handed the pencil back to her, she managed to stammer out an “okay.”
After Todd left the conference room, Trudy peeked in.
“Well?”
“Want to go to lunch, Trudy? They’ll probably have the mahimahi special today.”
Neither was thrilled about glumly sitting through an expensive meal, so they opted for the fast-food restaurant in the lobby of the building. They hypothesized about who Todd Coleman’s luncheon partner could be. Male, female? Female, of course. Nothing else seemed to matter beyond that.
Amy was five minutes late returning to the conference room. Todd was already immersed in his work.
“Good lunch?” asked Todd while checking the time on his watch.
“Could have been better.”
Todd looked up at her and smiled. “Same here.”
Did he mean the company he had kept or the food he had eaten? she wondered. Maybe she could hav
e Trudy make another reservation for tomorrow at 12:30.
He had rolled up his sleeves, and as Amy took her place in the seat next to him, she noticed the pronounced veins channeling up the inside of his forearms. He must have great biceps, she speculated.
“Something wrong, Amy?”
“Oh, no.”
“Here, you can read these numbers to me while I check them off on this sheet.” He handed her one of the multitude of ledgers. Her hand brushed his long fingers.
“That’s a nice ring, Amy. Is it an engagement ring?”
Amy looked down at the pearl ring on her left hand.
“No. It was a gift from my sister. She owns an antique store and picked this up for me at one of the estate sales she attended.”
He smiled warmly into her eyes, then cast a lingering glance down at her fitted forest green cashmere sweater. Amy knew what her assets were, and he was looking at two of them.
“Okay, read,” he said abruptly and swung back into business mode.
The rest of the afternoon passed swiftly. He had obviously discussed the law firm with Pickens and knew all the pertinent information. Amy liked working with him. He was organized, intelligent, and patient. He didn’t expect her to come up with answers instantaneously, and because of this she found the work moved along smoothly without the brittle interruptions and caustic comments she had been exposed to when she worked with Pickle Pickens. By 6:30 they had accomplished as much as it would have taken Pickens three days to do.
Finally, Todd pushed his chair back from the table, stretched his arms up into the air and rotated his head, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise.
“I think I’ve had it for today. How about you?” he asked.
Amy placed her pencil on the table, thereupon realizing that she was starting to get a cramp in her hand.
“Me too.” She sighed.
“Why don’t we close up the books and call it quits until, say, 8:30 tomorrow morning?”
Amy smiled weakly and nodded.
“Not too early for you, is it?”
“No. I guess I didn’t realize how tired I am; we’ve been working so intently.”
The Taxman Killeth Page 1
