Bad Blood

by Mary Monroe

  When I got home, I sat down and thought about what I needed to do next. Since it didn’t look like I was going to be able to break into Seth’s house, I had to revise my plans and do a few other things to keep him frazzled.

  Since the letter I had sent to the IRS had done no good, as far as I knew, I wondered if a phone call would be more effective. The letter could have gotten lost in the mail, for all I knew, or had not been taken seriously. Whatever the reason was, I had become impatient. The next Monday, on my lunch hour, I went to a pay phone a few blocks from my office. After being prompted to press one button after another, and after listening to automated messages for eight minutes, I finally got a live person on the line. She immediately put me on hold.

  Fifteen minutes later the representative came back on the line. She sounded impatient, so I spoke fast.

  “I want to report a person who committed tax fraud a few years ago. This man lied on his tax returns so he wouldn’t have to pay any taxes. And he got a big refund back. . . .”

  “May I have your name and address please?”

  “I’d rather not say. This person has a history of violence.”

  “What is your relationship to this individual?”

  “He’s just somebody I used to know.”

  For the next twenty minutes I sang like a canary. I gave the agent the same information that I had included in the letter I had sent. She listened with great interest, saying “Uh-huh” and “Hmmm” at intervals. She didn’t even ask for my name again or inquire why I was turning Seth in. And since I had called from a pay phone, I was not worried about her tracing the call back to me.

  The agent had written down the most critical parts of what I’d told her. She read her information back to me to make sure she’d written it down accurately. Before she hung up, she thanked me for my assistance and told me to have a nice day. I placed the telephone back in its cradle. Then I pranced to the deli next door and treated myself to a nice turkey sandwich, a Chinese chicken salad, and a cup of green tea for lunch.

  It was two weeks before I saw an entry on Seth’s calendar that made me ecstatic. He had posted an appointment for the following Thursday with the IRS. On the subject line he had typed “AUDIT!!!!” in bold caps, followed by several exclamation points. I stared at the word, with a huge smile on my face.

  Chapter 57

  Seth

  O F ALL THE PEOPLE I KNEW WHO FILED INCOME TAXES, NONE OF them had ever been audited. I knew for a fact that my brother Damon, most of my friends, and even my own father had not always been totally honest when they filed their taxes. They had been cheating for years! The year 1999 was the first year that I had ever “juggled” the numbers on my tax returns, and it was the year I was being audited for. And it was bad.

  I had no receipts for the numerous deductions I had claimed. Rather than make a fuss and possibly have them charge me with income tax evasion and God knows what else, I took the easy way out. I claimed I’d lost my files for that year, which included all my receipts.

  “If you can’t provide receipts, you can’t claim those deductions, you know,” the agent told me, looking at me like I was just another common cheat. Not only was the chair I occupied across from his desk in his drab office hard, but it also felt hot against my trembling ass. It might as well have been the electric chair. That was how nervous and frightened I was.

  “Uh, I can’t any provide receipts,” I muttered, swallowing hard as I shifted in my seat and crossed my legs. I was sweating like a pig, from my face all the way down to the soles of my feet. I could even feel the perspiration saturating my socks.

  “What about the person who prepared your taxes?”

  “Huh?”

  “Most tax preparers retain copies for their records. Have you contacted your preparer regarding this audit?”

  “I filled out the paperwork myself,” I lied. I was not about to make matters worse by dragging Rachel into this mess. Lord knows she would have helped them cook my goose.

  “I see. What about the state?”

  “The state?”

  “If you posted the same information on your five-oh-four forms for your state income taxes, the same penalties and interest charges will apply.” The tax man blinked at me and pressed his lips together. He was a brother, and I had expected him to show a little compassion toward another brother. There was such a smug look on his shit-colored face, I wanted to slap it off! I probably would have been better off if they’d assigned a Klansman to my case.

  “Uh, the same information is on my state tax forms, too,” I admitted. I could feel the noose tightening around my neck. I had to cough to clear my throat. “I wanted to be consistent. . . .”

  “I’m sure you did,” he said with a smirk. “Had you told me otherwise . . . well, never mind. I’m sure you know that we work very closely with the folks at the Franchise Tax Board to ensure that their records match ours.”

  “Uh . . . huh,” I mumbled.

  “Very well. They will be notified regarding this audit.”

  I was in one hell of a mess! As it turned out, not only did I have to pay all the taxes on the claims I’d lied about, but also the penalties and interest charges that had accrued almost tripled the amount I would have owed if I had been truthful in the first place. The generous refunds I had received from the IRS and the state would have to be paid back, as well, and that amount would also include penalties and interest.

  The day after I had received the notice about the audit, I had thought about moving most of my money from my personal and business accounts. My plan had been to transfer my assets to a bank in the Caribbean islands. I’d considered putting my house in my brother Josh’s name. But something had told me that I should place a call to my accountant first. And it was a good thing I had. Mark Bennett had told me things that scared the hell out of me.

  “Seth, I advise you not to move your money or put your real estate in someone else’s name. Uncle Sam is no fool,” Mark had told me, speaking in a firm tone of voice. “They’ve probably already assigned a Big Brother to keep an eye on your financial movements. I’m sure they’ve already contacted your bank and alerted them that they may be considering a freeze. It happens to a lot of drug dealers who come to me for assistance regarding their . . . uh . . . income. You wouldn’t believe how many of them are so damn stupid that they put their money in American banks before they wise up and wire it to either the islands or Switzerland. But some of those idiots wait too long, and the Man seizes every dime of it.”

  I could not believe the two ears attached to my aching head. Could things get any worse? My accountant had lumped me in the same boat with drug dealers!

  “Then tell me what I should do, Mark,” I’d whimpered.

  “It’s simple. I strongly advise you to pay those damn people and stay as far under the radar as possible in the future. Save every single receipt for anything you plan to list as a deduction in the future. If you’re going to claim a Big Mac as a business-related meal expense, you’d better have a receipt for it. Don’t think that because they’ve audited you once, they’re not going to do it again. I have a few clients who have been audited several times.”

  One of the bad things about this latest mess was that I was too ashamed to tell any of my family or friends. But the only way I was going to be able to remain afloat was to hit somebody up for a major loan.

  After my telephone conversation with my accountant, I paced the floor in my office for a few minutes. When I calmed down, I poured myself a shot of the vodka that I kept hidden in my desk drawer, in a Sprite bottle. As soon as the buzz hit me and calmed my nerves, I called Josh and requested another sizable loan.

  “Baby brother, I won’t even ask why you need to borrow money again. I was under the impression that your business was doing quite well,” he said. I was glad he didn’t sound annoyed or frustrated. That would have made me feel even worse. “But as long as your credit is good with me, I’ll always help you out, if I can. Just don’t tell anybody. M
other scolded me big-time the last time I bailed you out. She thinks we’re all still spoiling you.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that Mother feels that way, but I’ve come a long way in the past few years,” I said with a pout. “It’s just that running a business and supporting a wife with expensive tastes, a baby, and a teenager is not easy.” I had told Josh some things that I had not shared with anyone else, but I saw no reason to tell him that I had been audited. That would open up another can of worms, because he would probably want to know why I had no receipts to confirm all the expenses I had claimed. Josh was the kind of man who wouldn’t even cheat on a board game, so I knew he would not condone my cheating on my taxes.

  “By the way, how are things on the home front these days, Seth?”

  “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “That’s why I asked.”

  “Hellish,” I said, my voice cracking. “That’s the best way to describe it.” I had to stop talking for a few moments and take a few deep breaths and rub my chest and stomach. If an ulcer had not already begun to form in my tortured belly, I was certain that eventually a few would.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I took another deep breath and composed myself as best I could before I spoke again. “Darla and Darnell locked horns again this morning. That’s the second time in two days. Darnell doesn’t like to be told to do anything, not by Darla or by me. He’s skipping school, mouthing off to me and Darla, and violating his curfew, and his room looks like a landfill. I don’t know, Josh. Darnell is my son, and I love him to death, but in some ways he’s like a stranger with a very dark side. Darla is afraid to even leave her purse out in the open. And the other day Mother told me some convoluted story about how Darnell makes her feel nervous when he comes around. She’s afraid of him. She said she doesn’t want him in the house unless there are other people on the premises.”

  “Well, it could be a lot worse. At least he’s not out robbing folks or getting violent with you or Darla.”

  “He hasn’t robbed anybody that I know of, but last night, when I got on his case about calling Darla a bitch, he raised his hand to hit me.”

  “Oh my God! Did you call the police?”

  “No, I didn’t. He didn’t hit me, and when he calmed down, I made it clear to him that if he ever hits me or Darla, it would be the biggest mistake he ever made. Violence is one thing I will not tolerate. If he ever does that, I will not hesitate to turn him over to juvenile law enforcement or the foster care system.”

  “Since we’re on the subject, I need to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Last week, when Darnell was at the house alone with Mother, he . . . he threatened to slap her because she refused to give him any money.”

  “What? How come nobody told me?”

  “Mother made me promise not to tell you. Even Father doesn’t know. But that’s the reason she doesn’t want him to come around anymore unless you come with him. Anyway, she gave him a hundred bucks, and that calmed him down this time. Now, there will be a next time, and I don’t think Mother is going to give in so easily.”

  “Thanks for telling me. I’ll have to monitor him a little more closely, I guess.”

  “You’re going to have to do more than that. The boy is out of control, and it’s up to you and Darla to turn him around.”

  “Sometimes it feels like I’m losing the battle,” I admitted. “I will sit Darnell down and have a long talk with him. Does Damon know that Darnell threatened to slap Mother?”

  “Puh-leeze! Are you kidding? Our big brother would have kicked Darnell’s ass to kingdom come by now if he knew.”

  My life was spinning out of control, but things were going to get a lot worse for me.

  Chapter 58

  Rachel

  NOW THAT I KNEW THE IRS HAD DECIDED TO AUDIT SETH, I DECIDED I didn’t need to break into his house. If they did a thorough job, they’d cook his goose to a crisp. I had heard plenty of horror stories about how the IRS handled people who cheated or didn’t pay their taxes. I figured they would do enough damage to him to satisfy me—at least for a while.

  When Skirt called me up on Saturday night to “discuss business,” I played dumb.

  “What business are you talking about?” I asked.

  “That’s what I want to know. That day I bumped into you at the market, you said something about me and you doing some business together.”

  “Well, I don’t need you now.”

  “Rachel, I want you to know I still care about you. If you got a problem, I want to help you. It’s the least I can do for all the fun times we had together. Now, I know you been going through some changes on account of that asshole you dropped me for. If he’s fucking with you in any way, all you got to do is let me know and I will straighten him out real good.”

  “I . . . I don’t talk to him anymore. I, uh, I did have a little job I wanted you to help me do. But I worked things out with him.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’m curious, so if you don’t mind me asking, exactly what was it you wanted me to help you do? You mentioned me helping you break into your ex-asshole’s house.”

  “My ex owed me some money and had refused to pay me. He owns all kinds of electronics and other expensive items, so I thought I’d, uh, go into his house when nobody was home and borrow a few of his things until he paid me back. But like I said, we worked things out.”

  “What if your used-to-be honey pisses you off again? Would you still want to get into his house? I will go up in that motherfucker and shit in his kitchen sink if you want me to.” Skirt laughed. “I done did worse. . . .”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “If you change your mind, just let me know. See, breaking and entering ain’t no big deal. I been doing it most of my life. That’s one thing I’m real good at.”

  “Everybody knows that. That’s why I contacted you to help me. I would have made it worth your while.”

  “Oh, you got that right. I don’t do business with nobody if there ain’t nothing real sweet in it for me.”

  “I’m glad I won’t have to go through with it now, though.”

  “Well, if you need me for anything else, you got my number.”

  “Thanks, Skirt. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  I let another two months go by, and I didn’t give Seth much thought. And that was only because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do to him next. Before I could come up with another plan, Matthew Bruner reentered my life.

  I hadn’t been back to church in so long, I had begun to feel guilty. I had told Mama that I was going to join Trinity Baptist, a church in my neighborhood that Lucy, Paulette, and Patrice often attended, because Paulette’s uncle was the new pastor. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about running into Seth or his family at Second Baptist. That Sunday, I put on one of my most conservative outfits, a pink dress with a matching jacket, and drove the six blocks to the church. I was late, and there was not a single parking spot available, not even on the street. I remained in my car and just drove around, looking for something else to occupy my time. I didn’t like to gamble, but when I drove by the Lytton Casino in nearby San Pablo, I parked and went in.

  In less than an hour, I lost forty dollars on a penny slot machine, playing forty cents a game. That was enough for me. Just as I was about to stand up and leave, somebody flopped down onto the stool at the machine to my left.

  “I thought that was you.” It was Matthew Bruner, the man who had so abruptly dropped out of my life before I met Seth. “How have you been, Rachel?” There was a smile on his face that reached from one ear to the other.

  I refused to give him a smile. I narrowed my eyes and pressed my lips together. I looked him up and down before I said anything. “Why should you care?” I hissed.

  “I do care.” There was a stern look on his face. “I spend a lot of time thinking about you.”

  “Well, I don’t spend any time thinking about you,” I said with a smirk. He
looked disappointed and hurt. “I was just about to leave.”

  “Can we go into the restaurant area, where it’s not so hectic and smoky, and have a seat? We can have some wine. I’d really like to talk to you.”

  “About what? How you were supposed to show up for our out-of-town date that time and didn’t? And how you didn’t even call to tell me why? Is that what you want to talk to me about after all this time?”

  “Yes. But I don’t want to do it sitting on a stool in front of a slot machine.”

  “Well, I don’t want to do it sitting in a restaurant, with a glass of wine. If you have something to say to me, say it here or not at all. And you’d better be quick about it. I was just about to leave.”

  “I did come to your apartment that evening.”

  “Oh? I didn’t hear you knock. If you did and I didn’t answer the door, why didn’t you call me on the phone?”

  “I was too angry.”

  “Angry? What the hell were you angry about?”

  “I saw you with someone.”

  “Huh?”

  “You kissed him.”

  I thought back to that evening, and I remembered it in great detail. Skirt had come to my apartment unannounced. To get rid of him in a hurry, I had given him a farewell kiss as we stood in my doorway. “Shit!” I gasped. “Look, that was not what it appeared to be!”

  “Rachel, you had your arms around him, and it was not a quick kiss. When I saw that, I left. I thought about coming back later that night to confront you, but I decided I didn’t want to get any more involved with you than I already was. It didn’t take long for me to convince myself that you were not the kind of woman I wanted to get seriously involved with.”

  “Shit,” I muttered, looking around. “Let’s go get a table in the restaurant. I think I would like some wine, after all.”