Williams Tax Break

1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-1-61842-668-0
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 161 Seiten

In TAX BREAK, Lt. Neil Kenny, a career climbing, idealistic cop attempts to capture the man who planted a bomb in the IRS facility in Austin. That man is Jim Greenwald, a former Green Beret, who executed a few clandestine missions for the CIA after Vietnam, and who now only wants to devote his life to running his bar, The Library. Greenwald's plans go horribly awry when the IRS confiscates his bar for unpaid taxes.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Williams, Jay

Leseproben

CHAPTER I
Green. Just like everything else they issued, it was green. Better to hide it, to camouflage it, they would undoubtedly argue. The young private weighed it with his hand, rolled a couple of fingers over the raised lettering, felt the texture of the plastic casing and stared at the green object. No, not much of an argument, he thought, it was barely larger than that paperback he had just completed. Something that small, easily tucked away behind a thin bush, would hardly be noticed no matter the color. At least, not until a person had moved well within its killing range. “Close your eyes,” Sergeant Beatty said. “Imagine that you’re in a thick jungle, late at night. Ya can’t see nothin’, not even the tree a few feet in front of you. Now, hold it to your chest.” He paused to make sure his students were doing as instructed, then continued. “If you can rock it easily from side to side, you’re holding that sucker backwards! And let me tell you, if you don’t do this little check, and set it up not knowing for sure, well, when you detonate that mother, you’ll know you set it up facing your position, and you and all your buddies will never get another chance to stick your little peckers in your lovers’ cunts again. ‘Cause when this demon goes off, it sends a deadly barrage of small ball bearings heading your way. And those little pellets will tear through your soft skin like a needle through cotton.” Beatty looked around the small circle again to see if that frightening bit of knowledge had sunk in, and satisfied that the young soldiers understood, nodded his head and smiled. “Yes, gentlemen, if you want to set this baby up so that it’ll waste the enemy and not your friends, you make sure that the Claymore fits smoothly against your chest. If it can’t be rocked from side to side, you know that when you set it up, it will be pointed toward your prey. And when that prey steps into the ambush and you detonate this Claymore mine, the ones that aren’t killed outright will be so mangled they’ll never make it back to their lines. They’ll be so full of holes there is no way in hell that any commie witch doctor could patch them up to save them. And that means your ambush has been successful, for the first goal of an ambush is extreme violence. And the M18A1 Claymore mine fits that bill just fine.” Jim Greenwald thought about the extreme violence the Sarge had just described. With everyone in the group firing their weapons at the same time, the only image he could see of a victim was of a small pile of fresh, sliced meat. A mass of skin, blood and bone that once might have been considered a man. For some reason, this thought didn’t bother him. Maybe because during his training he had learned so much about killing it didn’t hold much meaning to him anymore. Or maybe it was because he knew that mound of flesh would be some communist bastard—and he couldn’t wait to kill a lot of communist bastards. If he didn’t break his arm or fail some test along the way, he calculated that within ten weeks he’d have his beret and would be winging toward ‘Nam and his first kill. Jim pulled the Claymore away from his chest, ran his fingers over the plastic casing and smiled. Soon, very soon, he’d get to put all of this training his Uncle Sam had given him to good use. Soon he’d pay back his debt to his Uncle. The wood was smooth and highly polished. Lovingly, slowly, he ran his hand across it and sighed deeply. Looking down the bar’s length, he could picture the people who would be sitting at it in a few hours. There would be loud music coming from the jukebox, smoke hanging in the air, a constant hum of voices and the pleasant aroma of beer, perfume and anticipation. It would be so alive with activity, so hectic. But to him, this bar was alive even now. It breathed in and out whenever he stood behind his bar, cleaning the mugs, ordering new stock or checking receipts. It warmed him when he was cold, cooled him when he was angry, but more importantly, brought him back up when he was in the pits of despair. The Library was part of Jim. It was him. “Of course we’ll appeal this. Hell, we’ll fight them all the way.” Jim looked up from the bar toward his lawyer. He nodded his head, but he didn’t feel anywhere near that positive. “Yes, appeal it. They can’t take this away from me. They can’t,” Jim said softly. “Shit, this’ll be easy!” the lawyer swore. “Thar ain’t a court in the world, let alone Texas, that’ud take away your bar for a few tax dollars. Not a one,” he said nodding. “I don’t know, Bill,” Jim started slowly. “I try not to be too pessimistic, but I just don’t feel good about this. I’ve been fucked over a lot by the government. This won’t be any different,” Jim said, shaking his head. “Trust me, Jimmy, trust me,” Bill said. “Why, I…” “Horse fuckin’ shit, man! Horse fuckin’ shit!” Jim looked from Bill toward his partner, Lenny Manning, who had just sprung up from his chair at a table across the room from their lawyer. Lenny glared at the man and stabbed his finger angrily through the air in his direction. “You said the same fuckin’ shit before!” Lenny cursed. “You swore they’d let us pay it off by steps! Swore it’d never get this far! Absolutely promised that we’d still be serving beer for years to come! Now we got two fuckin’ weeks! Two weeks!” Lenny snapped. “Listen, boy, don’t give up on the law yet!” Bill responded. “Oh, bull shit!” Lenny barked. “I’m sick and tired of hearing how the law won’t suck us in. Fed up to here with your legal mumbo jumbo about how justice prevails. Well, here’s to your justice,” Lenny said as he gave the grimacing lawyer the finger. “Now, Lenny, come on,” Jim broke in. “Bill has helped us a lot. Don’t go blaming him for the legal system.” “Dang, Jim, you’re still as naive as the day I met you in ‘Nam,” Lenny groaned. “Don’t you see that this jerk is a servant of the system that is taking our bar? It’s like a little game to them! One lawyer fighting another, all the while takin’ our money and gettin’ us nowhere! Well, this isn’t a game for us,” Lenny thumped his chest. “This is our life! If they take away our bar, we’re back on the streets where we started. And these damn lawyers will just be back chasin’ some other ambulance, looking for another game, another case to make a few of their lousy bucks!” Lenny shouted. “Ya’ll have a cynical view of the law, Mr. Manning, and ah think it’s just a little unfair to some of us,” Bill said as strongly as he could after the barrage just leveled at him. “But ah’m not goin’ ta argue with you, suh, no, ah know ya’ll are angry right now and won’t see any other side.” “Oh, don’t patronize me like you do Jim,” Lenny said smirking. “I know you’re a weasel, and the only reason Jim doesn’t know it is ‘cause he’s too trusting, too caring.” Lenny pointed at the lawyer. “Well, I’m not about to be taken advantage of by you or your precious legal system, and I’m not going to let it happen to Jim either—even if it means I gotta knock some sense into him,” Lenny declared. “Lenny, calm down,” Jim said, frowning. “No, no, let the man rant all he wants. It’s probably good for him,” Bill said. He stood up, shook his head as he buttoned his black suit, and then picked up his briefcase. “And while he’s in this state, thar’s no sense me hangin’ ‘round here. Ah’ll just go chase me some of them ambulances he’s talkin’ about, ‘cause like you all, ah’ve gotta make some money if ah want to stay off the streets,” he said, as he started for the door, looking sadly at Lenny. “Ah hope that after he blows off some of his steam, we can get together again and discuss—quietly—our next steps.” “I’ll give you a call later, Bill,” Jim said. “Take it easy—and thanks. I do appreciate all the work you’ve done.” “Thanks, Jimmy. Ah’ll see ya’ll later,” Bill replied, heading to the door. Jim watched quietly as he walked out. Lenny just glared, but when the older man passed by the front window and looked in, he shot him another finger for one last jab. Bill just shook his head again, frowned, and continued toward his car. “There was no need to blow up at Bill. Bill Wilson has done a lot for us,” Jim said, turning toward his friend. Lenny sat back down at the table and winced. “Jim, Jim, Jim. You are sooo blind! Just because he helped your family in the past sure doesn’t mean he’s helping us now. He’s one of those good-old-boys who’d just as soon see two ‘Nam vets—who I know he sees as nothin’ more than a hippie and a nigger—begging on the streets as owning a small business,” Lenny said. “Us winnin’ the case doesn’t matter to him. Us payin’ his bill is all that matters.” Jim put two beers down on the center of Lenny’s table and dropped into a chair...