Fletch's Fortune Part 31

"No. But one has to start one's lying somewhere."

"Were they nasty about it?"

"They were perfectly nice about saying they would put it on my bill. Listen, I need a couple of things. And I have a guest."

"Freddie Arbuthnot? No wonder you forgot breakfast."

Fletch looked at I.R.S. The man was almost entirely Adam's apple.

"Close."

The man's shoulders were little more than outriggers for his ears.

"Anything, Fletcher darling, love of my life. Ask me for anything."

"I need one of those ca.s.sette tape recorders. You know, with a tape splicer? I need to splice some tape. Do you have one?"

"Mine doesn't have a splicer. I'm very sure that Bob McConnell has one, though."

"Bob?"

"Would you like me to call him for you?"

"No, thanks. I'll call him myself."

Crystal said, "I think he's disposed to cooperate with you in any way he can."

"Mentioning me in his piece has caused me a little bit of trouble."

I.R.S. was flicking his pen against his thumbnail, impatiently.

"What's the other thing, darling?"

"I finished my travel piece. Want to send it off. Do you have anything like a big envelope, a box, wrapping paper, string?"

"There's a branch post office in the lobby."

"Yeah."

"They sell big mailers these days."

"Oh, yeah."

"Big insulated envelopes, boxes, right up to the legal limit in size."

"Yeah. I forgot."

"Over the door there's a sign saying 'United States Post Office.' "

"Thank you, Crystal."

"If you get lost in the lobby, just ask anyone."

"Crystal? I'm going to say something very, very rotten to you."

"What?"

"The dining room is still open for breakfast."

"Rat"

Fletch hung up but continued standing by the bed. He needed a shower. He thought of jumping in the pool. He wanted to do both.

"If we might get down to the business at hand?" I.R.S. said.

"Oh, yeah. How the h.e.l.l are ya?"

"Mister Fletcher, our records indicate you've never filed a tax return."

"Gee."

"Are our records accurate?"

"Sure."

"Your various employers over the years-and, I must say, there is an impressive number of them-have withheld tax money from your income, so it's not as if you'd paid no tax at all."

"Good, good."

"However, not filing returns is a crime."

"Shucks."

"As a matter of personal curiosity, may I ask why you have not filed returns?"

"April's always a busy month for me. You know. In the spring a young man's fancy really shouldn't have to turn to the Internal Revenue Service."

"You could always apply for extensions."

"Who has the time to do that?"

"Is there any political thinking behind your not paying taxes?"

"Oh, no. My motives are purely esthetic, if you want to know the truth."

"Esthetic?"

"Yes. I've seen your tax forms. Visually, They're ugly. In fact, very offensive. And their use of the English language is highly objectionable. Perverted."

"Our tax forms are perverted?"

"Ugly and perverted. Just seeing them makes my stomach churn. I know you wallahs have tried to improve them but, if you don't mind my saying so, They're still really dreadful."

I.R.S. blinked. His Adam's apple went up and down like a thermometer in New England.

"Esthetics," he muttered.

"Right."

"All right, Mister Fletcher. We haven't heard from you at all in more than two years. No returns. No applications for extensions."

"Didn't want to bother you."

"Yet our sources indicate you have had an income during this period."

"I'm still alive, thank you. Clearly, I am eating."

"Mister Fletcher, you have money in Brazil, the Bahamas, Switzerland, and Italy."

"You know about Switzerland?"

"Quite a lot of money. Where did you get it?"

"I ripped it off."

"'Ripped it off'?"

"'Stole it' seems such a harsh expression."

"You say you stole it?"

"Well, you weren't there at the time."

"I certainly wasn't."

"Maybe you should have been."

"Did you steal the money in this country?"

"Yup."

"How did you get the money out of the country?"

"Flew it out. In a chartered jet."

"My G.o.d. That's terribly criminal."

"Why does my not paying taxes and illegally exporting money bother you more than the fact I stole the money in the first place?"

"Really!"

Fletch said, "Just an observation."

Fletch picked up the phone and dialed Room 82.

"Bob? This is your friend Fletcher."

There was a long pause before Robert McConnell said, "Oh, yeah. Hi."

"Crystal tells me you have a ca.s.sette tape recorder with a tape splicer attachment."

"Uh. Yes."

"Wonder if I might borrow it for a few hours?"

Robert McConnell was envisioning his sensitive parts tied to a cathedral door if he said no. Dear Crystal.

"Uh. Sure."

"That's great, Bob. You going to be in your room?"

"Yes."

"I'll be by in a few minutes." Fletch started to hang up, but then he said into the receiver, "Bob, I appreciate. Let me buy you a drink."

The only response was a click.

I.R.S. said, "Mister Fletcher, I hope you realize what you've admitted here."

"What's that?"

"That you stole money, illegally exported it from the country, failed to report it as income to the Internal Revenue Service, and have never filed a federal tax return in your life."

"Oh, that. Sure."

"Are you insane?"

"Just esthetic. Those tax forms...."

"Mister Fletcher, you seem to be signing yourself up for a long stretch in prison."

"Yeah. Okay. Make it somewhere South. I really don't like cold weather. Even if I have to be indoors."

There was a knock on his door.

"Have I answered your questions satisfactorily?" Fletch asked.

"For a start." I.R.S. was returning things to his attache case. "I can't believe my ears."