Taxman Read online

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  The man, barely nervous, held a box of papers on his lap as he waited in the auditor’s office. His wife sweated this entire process much more than her coolheaded husband. They had included every last bit of info and even the most insignificant receipts. Together they had worked many hours to insure that everything could be back-checked and verified from any angle. Bank statements were organized, receipts attached and everything filed in order, by date. Proof to legitimize each expense was neatly tacked onto its corresponding folder. They had done what was right, never cheated on their taxes and were conscientious people. Still, that could not alleviate their fears of the unknown. The nice couple batted away horror tales of the IRS that flitted around their heads like evil black birds.

  Kenneth purposely arrived twenty minutes after an assistant had seated the couple in his office; they sat close and held hands. This irritated the auditor. Kenneth’s handshake was dead and cold as he hunted for telltale signs of fear setting in, such as little beads of sweat popping up on the pastor’s forehead. There were no visible signs of high anxiety – yet.

  The couple sat, their legs crossed and they reassured one another with gentle fleeting glances and squeezes of the hand. Kenneth poured over their records and occasionally peered up at them over his hideous glasses with a look – half accusing, half comforting – and all part of his act.

  Spooky, thought the pastor’s wife to herself, Really spooky. Her lips pursed as she flashed her husband an empathetic smirk. She sent him a one-word text – CREEEEPY – along with several appropriate emoticons. The pastor read it and his eyebrows jumped as he smiled in agreement.

  Kenneth nodded some more and occasionally said “Hmmm – hmmm,” all part of the routine he had practiced and perfected over the years. Every word was carefully scripted, and the least bit of body language was polished to prompt the highest amount of anxiety in his victims. Like a cat playing with a mouse that he would eventually devour, Kenneth played his sadistic game. Yet, by all outward appearances, this couple sat unfazed by his tactics, the first to ever get this far without obvious signs of unease.

  Kenneth knew what he was looking for. He had planned this ‘hit’ for weeks. Smuggling their records out of the building late one night, he went over them at home with a fine-tooth comb. If he looked hard enough he knew he would find something he could sink his teeth into. It was a fact of life every return had errors, and by applying one of many archaic and obscure tax laws he kept at his disposal, he could turn up the magnification until it looked like a felony. In any case, no one knew all 74,000 pages plus of the U.S. tax code, but TAXMAN came close.

  TAXMAN was Kenneth’s secret anti-hero name and he hummed a modified version of the Batman theme song as the words ran through his head TAXMAN! — NaNaNaNa! — TAXMAN! He was somebody now, only no one knew it but him – yet. His master plan was in the works and well on its way towards completion. He envisioned a glorious end. Then everyone would get to know the TAXMAN.

  NaNaNaNa!

  Kenneth salivated over the kill shot, and his butt squirmed with anticipation of the dopamine that would soon flood his brain. This minister and his pretty little wife would be raked over the coals. Churches may not have to pay taxes but they would. And, in the end they’d feel like dirt – the result Kenneth wanted more than their money. Their righteousness, peace and joy would be out the window. Yeah, Kenneth had attended church once and heard that phony rant. Steal, kill and destroy… Now there was a verse he could latch onto. Men feared failure and women wanted security; he’d devour theirs like a lion on the hunt. “Oooo”, he thought with delight. The bible did have some delicious words after all.

  With a flourish he hit the return key on his computer and leaned back to enjoy a self-satisfied victory, but something was amiss. He shot straight up in his seat, and his eyes grew to dinner plates as he stared at the numbers. This could not be happening, he thought and checked the figures again. While he worked he held up a dismissive hand to the couple leaning anxiously forward in their chairs. The results kept coming back the same. They would get money back, a lot of money. The IRS would have to write them a check, something that never happened on his watch.

  What little color there was in Taxman’s pasty unhealthful look had drained away. The man looked stunned. The couple sat bemused. “Are you okay?” the woman asked.

  Kenneth took this hit as a personal failure. It was the government’s money; nevertheless, he treated it as his. What Kenneth wanted was pain and suffering from the minister and his wife. He poured through the numbers again.

  No! This cannot be. Little beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. Stay calm don’t give yourself away, he thought as he tried to reassure himself.

  The couple had sat there for three hours now.

  “Excuse me, is there a problem?” asked the Pastor politely but with a severe tone hiding in the background.

  “SHUSH!” replied the auditor as if he was silencing an interfering child. He craned his neck like a mechanical swivel, and his eyes were wide and glassy as if he’d lived in the dark for years. Kenneth was finding it difficult to reign in his emotions.

  The Pastor was festering and silent, but the woman had enough. She said though gritted teeth, “Do something about this or I will.” He patted her hand indicating patience a tactic he resorted to often which she appreciated, yet it didn’t always seem so.

  Taxman went through the figures once more. It was 5:45 and nearly time for the office to close.

  At 6:00 pm TAXMAN relinquished victory to the minister and his wife. He feigned happiness as he told them the ‘good news’. Inwardly, he cringed as they smiled and thanked him profusely for his time and thoroughness.

  “Can we send a note to your boss? We appreciate (COUGH) how pleasant and thorough you have been.”

  Taxman shrank back – his cape in smoking tatters.

  “Yes…” He found it hard to form any words. “I guess that would nice.” That last word rolled off Taxman’s tongue like curdled milk, and all he could think of was what this would do for his reputation. It had been more than 20 years since he received his last compliment and that was two words, Thank You, from a daft old biddy. These days were his glory days. His room was wallpapered with hundreds of best/worst complaints, his trophies.