Reggie MacDougal wrinkled his nose. He had never believed the stories they told about gypsies, but the stench that came from Lekya Vetrayna's trailer was too rank to explain away. Too acrid to be sewage, it was the smell of a place that had been lived in by a very slovenly, very sweaty middle-aged man, who had, perhaps, an allergy to bathtubs.
The trailer itself had been hard to find. It was tucked away about a half-mile down a dirt road, off of one of those damnable Florida backroutes, mile after mile of scenic swampland, exotic roadkill, and "bobcat in a cage" tourist dumps. But here it was, in all its white trash glory; battered and silver, its air conditioner humming furiously away. A dilapidated woodshed stood across what passed for a backyard; apparently the man was as unfamiliar with the lawnmower as he was with the tub. As he got out of his shiny red Selica, Reggie noted with little surprise that Lekya had, of course, a huge dog house in back of the trailer. The better to store whatever breed of Rottbull this Lekya owned, no doubt with a big spiked collar. Like that big dog in the Tom + Jerry cartoons. No sign of the dog, though. Good. Probably out contracting rabies or something, or collecting ticks.
Reggie MacDougal wasn't afraid of dogs; in his line of work you couldn't be, every lowlife had one or two or ten; couldn't pay their tax bill, but they can afford to feed a half-dozen Rottbernards. Go figure. However, not being afraid of dogs was hardly synonymous with enjoying them. Didn't like cats, either. Or little kids. He saw an awful lot of those in the course of his job, as well. He felt a slight headache developing at the back of his temple. Good. What doesn't kill us, makes us meaner.
He walked up the steps, which were a dangerous looking construction of boards and cinderblocks. Reggie rang the bell and waited. After a moment a thick burly voice called out, "I'm coming." After another moment the door jumped open in a not-unfriendly manner. Lekya Vetrayna was a large, well-muscled man, impressive for his age, which was close to sixty. Although he appeared disheveled (Reggie purposefully arrived early - he enjoyed catching people on the far side of a night's sleep, when their guard was at its lowest), he looked clean, and was, in fact, decently dressed; a plain black vest over a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top to reveal that the grey specking his head and handlebar moustache had inevitably spread to his chest. He looked at Reggie with well-lined eyes and an ingrained scowl; however, his tone was friendly, if cautious. If you only knew, thought Reggie.
"Good morning. Mister Vetran-ya?" He deliberately mispronounced Lekya's name. Just to keep him off balance. "I am Lekya Vetrayna, yes. You are?"
"Reggie MacDougal. State Revenue Commission."
The hoped-for guilty blanch failed to cross Lekya's face. His expression remained cautious. "Yes?"
"I have been informed by an unnamed source that you have failed to collect and pay sales tax on merchandise you have been dealing at local flea markets. Moreover, your business is unregistered. I'm here as the first step of an in-depth investigation. May I look around?"
Lekya's expression steadily darkened. "Hell no! What you mean, sales tax? Registered business? I sell knick-knacks, circus curios. Barely cover table rent! What is this, strongarm?"
Now he had the man's fur up. Good! "Mister Vetrayna, all retail businesses in this state, no matter how small, are required by law to collect sales tax on all sales; to register with the state; and to file quarterly returns, with all payments to the state to be included. We make no exceptions. Now, if you'd prefer, I can come back with a sheriff and a warrant; however, I think it'd be easier on both of us if you cooperated now."
The man furrowed his dark brow. A storm was brewing there, no doubt about that; but Reggie MacDougal wasn't afraid of scofflaws. "If I could just look at your books, Mister Vetranya, then perhaps I could give you some idea of what you owe."
"What I owe. Phhh! You say like I am cheat, like I try to evade debt. I owe nothing! You are here to steal from me, plain and simple. Now you will tell me how much you intend to steal from me. So kind of you!"
Reggie's headache was growing. It was not as enjoyable as he'd hoped to face off with this imposing gypsy (who, in fact, did not smell bad ; perhaps it was the dog. Or maybe he had a lot of cats. The trailer smelled of cats, though none were to be seen... how like cats!). "May I see your books, please, Mister Vetrayna?"
"Please, you say. The thief is polite! Please give me wallet, or I shall be pleased to make the acquaintance of your skull and my blackjack. I keep no books! I am no business! I sell knick-knacks, souvenirs, circus curios. But I must get you something. Or you fetch troopers, and 'warrant'. Thief license!"
Reggie's knee began to twitch. Snotty lowlife SOB! He didn't have to take this from HIS sort! "I don't want to stand here and argue with you, Mister Vetrayna. The law is the law. It applies to you and to me. Right now, you are in violation of the law, and one of the things I am here for is to make recommendations for penalties. It would behoove you..."
"To kiss your butt? Not likely! But I get for you papers. I have receipts, orders. Sit at table, I get. Make youself comfortable, thief." Lekya gestured, indicating a picnic table at the edge of the yard. It wasn't the ideal place to conduct an audit, no matter how preliminary. But it was shaded, and the day was shaping up to be a hot one.
"Very well. I'll wait."
Lekya disappeared into his trailer. Reggie crossed the yard to the picnic table, swatting the odd mosquito.
The table had a view of the woods behind the trailer, which seemed to go on for a ways. A scent of stagnant water, as well as the mosquitoes, indicated that there was a swamp or pond not too far away, though he couldn't see it from the table. He wondered if he could sue the state if he caught malaria while on the job.
His reverie was dispelled by the return of Mister Vetrayna, carrying a flap-topped corrugated cardboard box, from which protruded an array of paper scraps. Reggie rolled his eyes as his headache tweaked itself up another notch.
Lekya plopped the box down onto the table. "Here! Paper trail! Everything's on here! Go crazy! Accounting fun!"
Reggie MacDougal fixed Lekya Vetrayna with what he hoped was a penetrating glare. "Mister Vetrayna. This is not the way these things are done. I need books, accounting records, kept according to legal standards. Not a box of random scrap paper."
"No, go ahead. Everything's there."
"Mister Vetrayna, there are legal standards. There are procedures that must be followed. The law is very specific."
"I bet. Makes work for accountant. Makes accountant rich. Breaks back of poor knick-knacker. Everything's here. Go ahead. Knock youself out."
"Mister Vetrayna, there are classes on bookkeeping... I know, you just deal in knick-knacks. Well, I tell you, I will take a look through this box. But I'll do it for my own purposes." Just might find something incriminating. "Do you have an aspirin?"
"Oh sure, free aspirin for well paid state worker. Have you no shovel to lean on? Get it?"
"I'll pay you for the aspirin."
"Ha, no need. Am chock full of southern hospitality. For you, no charge. I deduct from taxes. Ha!"
Lekya shuffled off toward the trailer, leaving Reggie alone with the paper quagmire in the cardboard box. He stared at it for a moment, hoping it would organize itself, then sighed and began to paw through the sheets and scattered receipts within.
Lekya shuffled off toward the trailer, leaving Reggie alone with the paper quagmire in the cardboard box. He stared at it for a moment, hoping it would organize itself, then sighed and began to paw through the sheets and scattered receipts within.
After a few minutes he had assured himself that, though organizing this paper chaos was hopeless, he had seen more than enough to justify the recommendations which he had already decided upon before he had even arrived. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a long, detailed, multipage form. "Time to nail the bastard," he thought to himself with a grin. "Ha! You go jail. Sell knick-knacks there, big Lekya."
He was still chuckling to himself when he heard a tell-tale heavy breathing and scuffing of paws from across the yard, by the trees. "Oh great," he thought, without looking up, "It's the damn dog." Experience had taught him that the best way to handle a strange dog was to ignore it, avoiding even a glance in its direction, lest it interpret this as a challenge. Reggie buried his concentration in the paperwork in front of him. The approaching pad of paws across the packed dirt of the yard told him that the dog had taken an interest in him, but the fact that it had failed to launch into a head-shattering bark-and-growl routine was encouraging. It would probably just sniff him a few times then wander off to look for 'possums. Reggie kept focused.
As the dog grew nearer, Reggie began to realize from the depth of its breathing and the solemn thud of its step that this was a very large dog, possibly a Great Dane or one of those bearlike things... Newfoundlands. All the better not to turn and look. No challenge. Me friend. He began to hum what he hoped was a soothing little tune. Where was the big damn Gypsy?
The heavy padding of paws came to a stop at a spot almost directly behind him, and Reggie could feel the dog's hot breath on his back though the layers of suit jacket, shirt, and t-shirt. Then the nose jabbed into his spine, spongy but insistent. "Shoo!" Reggie grunted, trying to sound commanding but unthreatening, "Go away! Get lost."
The nose continued to examine his back, short harsh wet jets of breath darting between his shoulder blades. Finally Reggie had had enough. "That does it! This is a good suit!" He whirled with the human fire in his eye... he was Man! Man the commander, Man the Master! No dog, no matter how big, could withstand his ceaseless will! "Listen, dog..."
But there were no dogs to listen. The animal behind him looked straight in his eye, shook its mane and roared.
"Ooops," thought Lekya, inside the trailer, where he still hadn't been able to find any aspirin.