Time Slips & Tax Thieves, page 9
part #4 of Time Travelling Taxman Series
“That doesn’t mean we have to actually tell them,” Nancy cautioned. “All we really have to do is sneak upstairs and open a window. They’ll think we found it, and do whatever they’re planning to do. Then we get the hell out of here.”
“Nance,” Alfred chided. “Language.”
She and Justin raised eyebrows in unison at him, but Freddo nodded his approval. He shrugged, unrepentant. Their situation was dire, but there was no need to sink into the barbarism of vulgar language. As far as he was concerned, once they lost sight of their humanity, they’d lost the fight already. And what was language but the barometer of humanity?
“Anyway,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her tone, “does that sound like a plan?”
“It does,” Justin agreed. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of here too.”
Freddo frowned at him, and the deliberate emphasis he applied to the word hell. “Babe,” he said. “Come on.”
Justin smiled to himself, as if at his own private joke.
Alfred shook his head, determining not to be baited by the other man. “Do you think they’re going to allow us upstairs?”
“Probably not. We’re probably going to have to try to get up there unnoticed.”
“And with all these people around…how the h…” Nancy pulled a face, adjusting her phrase mid-word, “hummus are we supposed to do that?”
Alfred smiled at her for the effort and didn’t even mind that she rolled her eyes at him. “We’ll never get by at that main staircase. But there’s probably backstairs. We just need to find them.”
“If they exist…” Justin said.
“Right,” the taxman nodded. “Let’s go find out, then.” He slipped his hand into Nance’s as they walked, and the four of them meandered toward the rear of the building.
They met more hospital staff, all of them dutifully explaining the function of a room or a bit of apparatus, or answering questions posed by visitors, or simply listening to concerns. At the far end of the building, though, near a series of private rooms, they found another staircase.
It was narrow and tucked between the outer wall and one of the rooms, with tall steps and a steep incline. A far cry from the grand staircase in the atrium, he noticed. But while a rope barrier, with another sign warning of no admittance, hung across it, it would be easy to get past.
“There it is. Let’s go.”
“Not yet,” Nancy whispered, leaning in to kiss him. “Behind us.”
He threw a furtive glance in the direction they’d come and saw a handful of people making a concerted effort to look away. He smiled at how simple but effective that was and kissed her again. It was really the best of all worlds: not that he needed one, but he had another excuse to kiss Nance, and the public display of affection made everyone else feel like they were intruding.
Sure enough, the visitors milled into one of the private rooms without another glance in their direction, and Justin snapped, “Jesus, can we get on with it? You two can get a room later.”
The taxman decided to file that knowledge away for later. If that was all it took to make Justin want to run for the hills, it could prove very useful. In the meantime, though, he held the rope up for Nance and then slipped under it after her. The other two men followed a few steps behind.
They crept up the stairs with careful, measured steps, pausing now and again to listen. The staircase was narrow, and they had to ascend single-file. It was dark, too, with the only light being what came from the halls above and below.
As they neared the top, Alfred tried to get ahead of Nance. If they were walking into a trap, better, the taxman thought, him than her. She, though, was too focused on the mission to notice what he was doing.
She poked her head out, and in a moment flashed a thumbs up at them. Then, she crept forward, into the hall.
Alfred threw a furtive gaze onto the landing and followed. The administrative floor stretched the length of the hospital, but less care had been taken in its interior design than below. The furnishings were perfectly serviceable and everything was bright and fresh, but there was less emphasis on comfort. The offices contained desks and functional seating, but there were no cheery potted plants like he’d seen in the atrium, no colorful tapestries like he’d noted in the children’s wing.
There were bedrooms here, too, as austere as the offices. They contained dormitory-style beds, sometimes two to a room. At first, the taxman wondered if these were more private hospital chambers, but the personal effects he saw in the occupied rooms seemed to relate to the profession. “They’ve got live-in medical staff,” he realized.
“Let’s just choose one of the bedrooms,” Freddo suggested. “Robert’ll never know the difference.”
It was sound thinking. It meant they did not have to run any further risk of exposure by traipsing about a restricted wing of the building. They could just be done with the entire mad caper.
Nancy slipped into an empty bedroom, and they followed. There were no personal items here, and it looked like the room was not yet occupied. She headed to the lone window. “Alright. Moment of truth.”
Alfred joined her, and together they lifted it. It was heavy and didn’t move as easily as might be hoped. Still, grunting as the wood frame caught and hesitated, they managed to get it open. Then, the taxman poked his head out the window, gazing into the forest in the direction they’d left Robert and his band.
He could see nothing. If they were still there, the browns and greens of their clothes camouflaged them well among the browns and greens of Yngil-wode.
“They’re out there,” Nance reassured.
He nodded, smiling to himself at how well she knew him. “I know, babe. Just…I hope they move it. I don’t want to hang out here any longer than we have to.”
Chapter Sixteen
Alfred had heard the adage “be careful what you wish for” plenty of times. He rarely had the opportunity to see it in action, though.
Today, compliments of Robert Whod and his cheery band of imbeciles, he got the chance.
Less than a minute passed between that thought and Robert’s diversion. It came in the form of a volley of flaming arrows. Alfred was, in fact, still peering out the window when it happened. Nancy, Justin and Freddo were discussing their exit strategy behind him, oblivious to what was happening outside.
He squinted into the horizon, at the tiny pinpoints of light that seemed to be arcing out of the trees. Coming closer. And closer.
He comprehended first that, whatever they were, they were headed for the hospital. A second later, he realized that this must be Robert’s promised diversion.
Only then, as the blazing projectiles drew near enough that he could see the flames flickering along them, did he fully understand.
Alfred loosed a yelp of terror, and turned away from the incoming arrows. He threw an arm around Nance, who was standing in line with the open window, and dove for the floor.
“Ow,” she cried as they crashed to the ground. “What the hell, Alfred?”
He didn’t need to respond, though. The heavy thwack of an arrow planting in the wooden floor, and the whoosh of flames was answer enough. Nancy pushed up on an elbow, staring in mute horror for half a second. “Oh my God.”
Freddo, meanwhile, screeched, “Fire.”
Justin raced for the bed and pulled a blanket off it. Nancy moved to stand at the same time Alfred did. Together, all four of them descended on the flames, and with the blanket and their feet, were able to stamp them out before they spread. The arrow, its shaft shattered now, lay smoldering on the floor, the flaming rag tied to it extinguished. Heavy smoke filled the room, but the extent of the damage was minimal.
Nancy turned to Alfred. The taxman was panting with fright more than anything else. “Oh my God,” she repeated. “Those fucking morons almost lit the building on fire.”
He was too addled to object to her language this time. He simply nodded.
“That was their diversion?” Justin gaped. “A flaming arrow?”
The use of a singular descriptor caught Alfred’s attention. He remembered the volley he’d seen – dozens of fire arrows, all of them coursing straight toward the hospital. “Actually…there was more than one.”
“There was?”
He nodded. “There were a bunch of them. All headed here.”
As if to reinforce his words, pandemonium broke out at that precise moment. Screaming voices, high and frightened, reached their ears from just about every corner of the hospital.
“Fire!”
“We’re under attack.”
“Oh my God, Wilfred’s been shot.”
The sounds cascaded in, until they became unintelligible. It was almost more terrifying than hearing the particulars. “We need to get out of here,” the taxman decided.
“We can’t leave,” Nancy protested. “We’ve got to help. They’ve set the place on fire.”
“But…this is our chance to escape,” Freddo protested.
“Goddammit, she’s right,” Justin growled, seemingly infuriated by the conclusion. “We were part of this. We’ve got to make it right.”
Alfred groaned. He couldn’t get thrown back in time with the Justin from his own world. Oh no. I have to be cast across universes with a noble-minded one. After all he’d suffered in dealing with his world’s Justin, he never would have imagined himself thinking it…but, in the moment, Alfred Favero actually would have preferred the wretched, spiteful, selfish Justin Lyon of his own time.
That Justin Lyon would have encouraged his selfish impulses. He would have urged him to run without a second thought. He would have pressed him to save himself and Nance, rather than worry about these people.
And he would have been wrong. Just as, Alfred knew, he was wrong to entertain those impulses now. “Fudge muffins,” he said aloud. “You’re right. Both of you are right. We’ve got to save the hospital.”
“Sugar cookies,” Freddo sighed, resignation in his tone. “Let’s go, then.”
They did, and as soon as they stepped into the hall, he saw smoke.
“Looks like it’s coming from there,” Nance said, pointing to a room a few doors down.
The hall was thick with smoke, but Alfred could see gray billowing out from under the heavy wooden door. He nodded, pressing through the choking fumes.
He opened the door to a fire blazing away in the corner of the room. The floor was in flames, and one of the walls was starting to light. “Quick,” Justin called, “get the blanket, from the bed.”
“There’s water in the washbasin,” Freddo called, heading in that direction.
Alfred went for the wool blanket. It was heavy and thick, and he prayed that it would be enough to smother the flames – without itself becoming fuel for the fire.
Nancy grabbed one end. It was a large blanket, large enough to drape over the bed and still hang over on both sides. Now, they got as near to the flames as they dared. The heat was intense, and he grimaced in pain as they approached.
“Ready?” she called.
“Ready.” Together, they draped the blanket over as much of the fire as they could, and she let her end drop. The flames vanished. Alfred held his breath.
A lick of flame still burned along the wall, and Freddo called, “Out of the way.” As they complied, he chucked a pan full of water at the remaining fire. It fizzled and flickered, and largely went out. Justin stepped in, stomping at what remained.
Alfred drew back the blanket, hoping it had remained long enough to cut off the oxygen, but afraid that the fibers would ignite from the heat if it stayed any longer. As with the wall, there were a few stubborn flames that tried to leap back to life. But these they stomped out quickly and without much trouble.
When it was all said and done, the taxman realized that he was trembling.
“Come on,” Nancy said. “They’ll be more.”
He would have been content to consider his good deeds done for the day, his debt paid. At least, the thought entered his mind. But, dutifully, he fell in alongside her.
The firefighting efforts were proceeding well throughout the building. One of the beds in the long-term recovery wing had ignited, and a tapestry in the children’s ward caught fire. Other than these last battles, though, most of the blazes had already been extinguished by time they descended.
They joined these firefighting efforts, falling into a human bucket chain. Alfred’s shoulders ached with the repetitive motions, and his lungs burned from smoke exposure. It was hard, brisk work, and the fear of losing the fight, of burning to death here, was ever in his mind. His luck, lately, hadn’t been very good, and that worried him. He was stranded in a strange world. They’d fallen in with madmen. He’d almost gotten skewered on a fire arrow.
He hoped the cosmos’ penchant for cruelty was sated for the moment. He hoped it was not planning to serve up a side of char-broiled taxman today on top of everything else.
After a space, his concern waned. The first fire was extinguished, and by time they moved to the second, it was almost out too. Finally, choking and sweating, they were safe; the fires were all out.
Still, the hospital was a far cry from the pristine building they’d entered an hour earlier. The white walls were streaked with black and gray. Broken glass lined the floor here and there where an arrow broke through, along with deep burn marks in the wood underfoot. Three beds had been ruined, a desk charred, and a few doors singed. One man had been hit with an arrow and was being treated for puncture wounds as well as burns.
A sick feeling settled in the taxman’s stomach. Justin had said they were a part of this. And he’d been right. They were. I am. He’d trusted Robert Whod. In hindsight, he couldn’t understand why he’d been so quick to put his faith in the outlaw. Hadn’t his views on taxes alone been enough to make clear that he was an anarchist, and probably a sociopath too?
For a moment, Alfred indulged his inner armchair psychologist, diagnosing the other man with terms he’d heard and – if he was honest with himself – probably didn’t fully understand. Was Robert a psychopath or a sociopath? Was he a narcissist or an egotist? He wasn’t sure.
But the point remained, there was something deeply wrong with the tax cheat. And he, Alfred Favero, had fallen in with him. He had aided this madman, this tax evader. He’d agreed to rob the medical stores of a hospital. He’d given the signal that launched fire arrows into a hospital.
It seemed, in the taxman’s mind, to confirm every suspicion he’d ever had. Tax fraud was the gateway drug of crimes. It was the decisive step toward absolute moral degradation. It was an embrace of anarchy, a throwing off of social obligation and the most basic human decency.
And he, Alfred Favero, had just taken a long puff at the pipe of moral degradation. He, Alfred Favero, Senior Analyst with the Internal Revenue Service, had snorted a long, white line of anarchy and indecency. And he’d been too darned blind to see what he was doing.
Alfred stood in place for a moment, shame washing over him. He felt wretched and soiled. He felt as if he didn’t know himself. Or maybe, it isn’t until this moment that I truly know myself, he despaired.
Nancy put a hand on his shoulder. “Babe?”
He cringed at her touch, ashamed to let those hands come in contact with his sullied carcass. “Don’t, Nance.”
Her eyes, though, were full of concern. “Alfred? What’s wrong, love?”
“I…this is my fault. I…I shouldn’t have listened to Robert. I should have known…”
“Oh darling.” Her forehead creased. “You couldn’t have known. How could you have?”
“I could have,” he contradicted. “After what he said about taxes, it was obvious.”
Now, she raised her eyebrows at him. “Taxes?”
“Yes.” He nodded miserably. “I’m…I’m one of them, now, Nance.” He took her hand in his and stared at it miserably. “I’ve failed you. You listened to me. You knew something was wrong, but I…” He shook his head. “I fell in with the tax cheats, darling. I’ve…I’ve become one of them.”
“We need to move,” Justin put in. “The crowd’s thinning. Now’s our chance.”
She nodded. “Let’s talk about this later, Alfred. We need to go now.”
“Are you sure you want me with you, Nance? After…after what I’ve done? What I’ve become?”
“Oh Alfred.” She shook her head. “You know I love you, darling. But if you don’t move your ass now, I’m going to kick it.”
Chapter Seventeen
They stepped into the sunlight, breathing in long lungfuls of fresh air. Then, Justin pointed to a cobblestone road. “That’s the way we need to go.”
They took about ten steps in that direction when a trio of armed guards closed in on their position in a sort of triangular pattern, approaching from three separate points. Alfred stepped in front of Nancy. Her words in the hospital had silenced him, but he hadn’t entirely forgotten his moral and intellectual failings either.
If his actions had brought them to danger, it seemed only right to throw himself on his sword for her. He did rather hope that part would prove to be metaphor, but he was prepared to see it through, however it played out.
“Hold,” one of the guards called.
“Why?” Alfred asked. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’re to come with us,” another said.
“We’re just passing through,” Nancy offered. “We’re not looking for trouble.”
“Good. Then come with us.”
The four friends exchanged glances, first with each other, and then at the armed men. The guards were outnumbered, but they were armored and armed. They were big, too, and had the look of seasoned fighting men. Alfred’s greatest victories had involved spreadsheets and tax forms, not swords and axes. He doubted their odds against one of these roughs. Never mind three.
“Alright,” he said in a moment. “We’ll go with you.”
The man who had first spoken nodded, repeating, “Good. Follow me, then.”
