The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)(78)

Did he ever do time?

Sure he did time. I couldnt see as that bothered him either. I been in jail one time in my life. One time. Drunk and disorderly. And I’m goin to tell you, Bobby, I dont want no second servings.

What finally happened to him?

The sugar got him. He lost a leg over it. Wound up a security guard in Houston Texas. Been on the job about three weeks when some Mexicans come through the skylight and shot him between the eyes. I dont know what that says.

Life is strange.

Tell me about it. But I’m goin to say it’s stranger for some than for others.

Maybe it just says that you pay for what you do.

I believe that to be a true statement. I surely do.

Still I think some people might pay more than what they owe.

You speakin for yourself, Bobby?

I dont know. But I would like to know who keeps the books.

Amen.

Western finished his coffee. Good to see you, Webb. You take care.

And you, Bobby.

He walked out in the street. He wished he’d given him some money but he didnt know how to go about it.



* * *



—

On Friday he walked into the bank and wrote out a check on the marble counter for two hundred dollars and presented it at the cage. The teller put the check in the slot in the machine and punched up the numbers. He sat there for a minute. Then he looked at Western.

I’m sorry, he said. This account has a lien on it.

A lien?

Yes.

What sort of lien?

It’s been attached by the IRS.

As of when?

He looked at the machine again. As of the third of March. I’m sorry.

He slid the check back across the till. Western looked at the numbers.

I cant withdraw any money.

I’m afraid not. I’m sorry.

He walked out down the lobby toward the street. When he got to the door he stopped. Then he turned and came back.

He signed in on the safe deposit log and went down to the vault with the security officer. The officer took Western’s keys but when he got to the number there was a strip of tape across it with some writing and some numbers. He turned back to Western. I’m sorry, he said. The contents of your box have been seized by the Internal Revenue.

How often does this happen?

Not very often.

They dont need a court order?

I dont believe they do, Sir.

They have to have something.

I dont think so. If you’d like to talk to one of the bank officers.

That’s all right.

He went back up St Philip Street to the bar and sat and drank a Coke. The bar was almost empty. Rosie watched him.

I like to watch you think, she said.

Western smiled and shook his head. Not from here you dont.

She stacked glasses on the backbar. Dont let the bastards grind you down.

I may have to move to Cosby.

Well. They wont go to Cosby.

No. They wont go to Cosby. You can bet your ass on that.

Not even the Feds will go to Cosby.

Interpol wont go to Cosby Tennessee. The NKVD wont.

Maybe you should keep that in mind.

He smiled and pushed off the barstool and raised one hand and went out. He walked down to Decatur and flagged a cab. He’d had an even grimmer thought sitting at the bar.

Walking up the alley he could already see the big shiny padlock on his locker. Chuck was coming out of the office picking his teeth. Come on in, he said.

He sat at his desk and looked at Western. I tried to call you. I got a disconnect.

Yeah. I moved.

There wasnt anything I could do about it.

I know. What time do you close the gates?

Chuck tapped his fingers on the desk. Did you look at that notice? he said.

No.

You might want to. Impounded by the US Government. You might want to read it.

All right. Let’s say I’ve read it.

That car is the property of the US Government, Bobby. If you attempt to appropriate it your ass will go to jail. That’s why it’s sitting there. I dont know what their problem is with you, but I’ve had dealings with them. They dont care about the car. What they want is you. You might want to think about that.

Western looked out the door. Chuck swiveled gently in the chair. Then he swiveled back. How much do you owe them?

I dont owe them anything.

Well. Again. I’ve been to the mat with those sons of bitches. If it’s just nonpayment or even failure to file there’s not a whole lot they can do. But you commit a felony and they have got you by the balls. Your ass is goin to jail.

I’m sure you’re right.

What’s the car worth?

I dont know. Fifteen thousand.

Walk away, Bobby. It’s not a car anymore. It’s a big chunk of cheese. Why do you think it’s still here? Just walk off and leave it.

Walk off and leave it.

You’ll thank me. If they had some easier way to nail your ass they’d have done it by now.

Western stood in the doorway looking out up the row of buildings to where his car was locked away. What if I got a lawyer?

You can get a lawyer if you want. You still wont get your car back.

You’re just fucked.

Yes.

Western nodded.

These are not people that you want to have a conversation with, Bobby.

Yeah. Well. It’s a little late now.