Tax Assassin Read Free

milk. She was showering when he got back to
the room. He leaned his head into the bathroom. She waved for him
to join her.
    She didn’t have to ask twice.
    When they were done, he grabbed a towel and
left her to the warm water. After release, she needed to wash her
mind, body, and soul of the stain left by the remnants of her
numbness and sorrow. More herself, she returned from the bedroom
about a half hour later wrapped in a towel.
    Dropping the towel, she slipped across the
bed until her head rested on his chest. She allowed his arm to drop
over her shoulder.
    “ Missed you today,” he
said.
    Moisture from her eyes fell onto his bare
chest. Angry with her own sorrow, she sat up and reached for a
brownie and the milk. Tucking a foot under her, she bit into a
brownie.
    “ I saw the stack of files,”
she said. “Did you start work?”
    “ Old friend brought me
something interesting,” he shrugged.
    “ And the map?”
    “ Series of summer murders
in one city, then moving onto the next city the next summer,” he
said. “I’ve called around. It’s possible the murders span the
country.”
    “ Women? Serial
killer?”
    “ My friend thinks
murder-for-hire,” Seth said. “I’ll know more tomorrow when I hear
from other departments.”
    “ Sounds
interesting.”
    “ I found myself with some
time on my hands, so I thought I’d take a look.”
    She grimaced.
    “ I haven’t really dug in
yet.” He smiled to reassure her. “I’ll have plenty to keep me busy
while you’re gone.”
    Her eyes filled with sorrow. Turning away
from him, she ate her brownie and drank the milk.
    “ What happened today?” he
asked.
    “ Feds came and took
everything away.”
    Her voice was rich and deep, with the
functional tonality of the baroque masters – Bach or Lully. He
allowed her words to flow over him.
    “ My mom . . .”
    Emotion caught her and for a moment she
could only cry.
    “ They came – thirty, forty
of them – in the morning, early. 4:45? 5? Like you said they would.
I . . . let them in, and . . . they
were like an infestation and, we . . . had nowhere
to go.”
    “ Backyard?”
    “ The next-door neighbors
rented their upstairs rooms to the news channels,” she said. “We
went out back this morning, only to discover our own images on
television with jeering reporters announcing our shame.
And . . . parties! You remember that nice Mormon
boy, Craig?”
    “ Your high school
boyfriend?”
    “ Six houses from my house.
That’s where he grew up; where his family lives,” she shook her
head. “You know what he did? He threw a party. There was a banner
on his house that said, ‘The sluts’re getting what they deserve’
with an ‘i’.”
    She rolled her eyes.
    “ Nasty signs should have
good grammar,” Seth said.
    “ Exactly,” she said. “If
you’re going to be nasty at least spell it correctly.”
    “ Should be a law,” he
nodded. A corner of her mouth lifted in what might have been a
smile. Her brow furrowed and she ate her brownie.
    “ I called him to ask him to
take it down,” she said and took a drink of milk. “You know what he
said?”
    “ I can imagine.”
    “ He said that I always
thought I was too good for him.” Her voice shifted in imitation of
his, “‘And all this time you were nothing but a whore in your
father’s stable. Is that why you wouldn’t screw me? I didn’t offer
you enough dough.’ In the background, everyone laughed. I . .
.”
    “ Did you shoot
him?”
    “ No,” she smiled at the
idea. “They took my gun when they took my badge.”
    “ Would you like me to shoot
him?”
    “ Would you?” she
smiled.
    “ Amelie,” he
said.
    “ No,” she shook her head.
Her voice echoed with desperation, “Call me Ava.
Please.”
    He touched her tearstained face.
    “ I can’t be Amelie Vivian
Alvin anymore,” she said. “My father stole our name, dirtied it
with his . . . whores and johns and pimps and
political pandering and . . . You know,