Leslie Glass - Over His Dead Body

"I'm not drunk," Cassie insisted. "I'm just a little nervous."

"Take them anyway. They'll help."

She picked up her head and swallowed the aspirin. "You're really some sort of cop, aren't you? People who do audits don't come into your house and take over police investigations."

"Well, you know. In the Service we can do pretty much anything we want."

Cassie shook her head. "Which branch of the Service are we talking about now?"

"We bring in whatever branch we need." He appeared serious. He wasn't laughing now.

"You're scaring me."

"That's my job. Would you like to know about some of our powers?"

"Maybe some other time."

"I'll tell you anyway. We can get your bank records without you even knowing it. Anything we ask for is ours. My supervisor has given me carte blanche on this case. I can do anything I want."

Cassie's heart thudded. "You checked my bank account?"

He nodded.

"But there's nothing in it."

He nodded some more. "No juice there."

"Well, you were looking in the wrong place. The juice is in the refrigerator." She really was cross-eyed with all this IRS spy stuff.

"Most people put it in the bank." The twinkle was back.

She didn't know what he was talking about. "They put the juice in the bank?"

"Uh-huh. In safe-deposit boxes. You know what I mean, undeclared income." He repeated it patiently, watching her face closely. "We talked about this before. The IRS looks for undeclared income. I'm a finder, remember."

"I don't have any of that kind of goddamn juice. Could I have a few more of those aspirin?" Now she was in a cold sweat. She knew she must stink unbelievably. Alcohol, vomit. Fear. And she was just a spouse. Imagine the fear real crooks felt.

"No need to get testy." Schwab got the bottle for her and sat down again. "You can also find it in their canceled checks. Purchases. The whole lifestyle. I like to get the big picture before I form an impression."

Cassie swallowed two more aspirin and waited for her brains to tighten up. They felt loose, like unset Jell-O. "My husband died last night. He handled the income and the taxes. I've told you this a million times. I didn't even see his body. Understand?"

"No. Explain me."

"Explain you? Okay. Everybody takes care of things for me. My son took care of my husband's body for me. I never even saw it." She tried to get that across. This was the reason she was in so much trouble. No one let her do anything. She couldn't take control of her own life.

"I met him at the warehouse, seemed like a nice young man," Charlie said about Teddy. Neutral, Cassie liked that. He didn't say her son was an asshole.

"Well, looks can be deceiving," she murmured.

Charlie laughed again. "Maybe he was trying to protect you."

"Well, that's wrong. I don't want other people to mess me up. I can do it just fine by myself." She shook her head again.

"You certainly can." Schwab put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "You know what else the IRS can do? We can give you summonses to appear anytime we want. We can search your house and seize your property. Your car, your house. Garnish your wages."

"I told you already. No wages. I've always volunteered."

"And speaking of garbage, we can go through your garbage," Charlie added.

"Be my guest." Cassie waved her hand.

"We can take all your records and documents. We can tap your phones. Want to know what else we can do?"

"I'm very afraid already."

He laughed. "You should be. Do you know why we have these powers?"

Cassie heaved a sigh. He wasn't going away. "So you can hurt us?"

"Private taxpayers fund about sixty-one percent of the country's budget." Charlie poured himself more coffee, then liberally added milk. He'd learned to make it, but didn't know how to froth. That gave her some satisfaction.

"Did you know that corporate taxpayers fund only about eleven percent of the budget?" he asked, pointing the spoon at her.

"Uh-uh." Could she take a nap now?

"That's why the wage earner, the small-business taxpayer, is so important to us. You're our all."

"That's interesting." Cassie had always wanted to be somebody's all.

"Paying taxes is completely voluntary, but we have to ensure people don't think it's a joke. We want them to comply. That's the reason we scare you."

She nodded, eager to please. "Believe me, I want those taxpayers to comply. If I had my way we'd all comply a whole lot more."

"You're very funny, did you know that?"

"This is not a funny situation; I'm really scared," she confessed. Voluntary tax payments, who was he kidding?

"But I liked that one about Thorazine. I told it to my supervisor. My dad, too. They both liked it."

"Your dad and your supervisor." Cassie frowned. Where was this going?

"Did you know what we can do to a taxpayer who tries to resist or complain?" Schwab asked.

"Charlie, my husband died today. Could you give me a break?"

"You people! All you want is breaks. Come on, guess. What can we do to taxpayers who resist or complain?" Now Schwab waved his hands. "What?"

Cassie guessed. "Kill us?"

"Ha-ha. That's good. Another good one." He slapped his knee.

"I wasn't being funny. Are you going to kill me? Just let me know. I had a bad night. I want to wash my face and brush my teeth before I go."

"No, I'm not going to kill you," he said, a little testy himself now. "It's nothing personal. Personally, I like you. I more than like you. I think you're a very lovely lady. In fact, if the situation were different, I'd ask you for a date."

"Look, forget the date," she said quickly. "Just kill me quick."

"Oh come on, you don't mean that." His laugh was a touch strained now.

"Oh, yes. Go ahead, kill me. I bet you have a gun. Shoot me now." Cassie kept at it.

Schwab glanced around the room, then mugged a little for her. "You're a funny girl. You're kidding, right?"

"No, go ahead, kill me. You have all these powers. Why stop at seizing property? Shoot me. No one will complain."

Charlie wagged a finger at her. "I bet you didn't know that a lot of people try to kill us. This is a very hazardous line of work."

"Don't turn things around, damn it! I don't give a shit about your problems. Just do what you have to do." Cassie put a finger to her head. "Boom."

"Let's not get competitive. I'm not kidding, I do get hate notes every day. People send me things you wouldn't believe. I've had the windshield of my car smashed three times. They put water and sugar in my gas tank. I can't keep a decent car. You name it. People do it to me."

Cassie was exasperated. "Well, you must be very good at your job," she said.

He nodded. "I go for quality."

"That's just great. When are you going to shoot me?"

He clicked his tongue, disgusted. "I told you I'm not going to shoot you."

"That's too bad." Cassie wanted a bath. A bubble bath. She needed to sleep for eternity. She didn't want to think about death or taxes. Ever. She wanted to be obliterated. The idea of making calls to tell people that Mitch was gone was terrifying. She didn't want to do it, didn't want to think about it. Schwab startled her out of her thoughts.

"I bet you didn't know that informers make ten percent of the government's take."

Of course she didn't know that. How would she know that? Cassie's eyes glazed over. "I can't take any more of this right now."

"I'm going to level with you. Someone gave us a tip about your husband."

"Oh no." He was going to keep at it.

"An anonymous person," he said, teasing now.

"Really?" That was interesting. Cassie's eyes cleared. The fog in front of her turned into the attractive man with a strong chin and humorous blue eyes. Today he had another really nice outfit on. Cassie had the thought that Mitch would appreciate that. The man who'd come to bury them both was wearing good clothes. Schwab always came early in the morning. What about that? Suddenly she was trying to form an impression. He had a ratty car because people poured things into its gas tank. The big picture. What did he want from her?