Of Treason and Constructive Receipt

A Short Story by Neal D. King

---

 

Al was to meet his contact out at the new suburban mall off of Maryland State Highway 47.  Like most big construction projects built now days, the mall had been partially financed with county sales and property tax abatements.   Of course, the big city folk mall operators had promised high-paying white-collar jobs.   As usual, this turned out to be an empty pipe dream to the local residents.  Instead, the local folk had, in actuality, given up their beautiful view of the Appalachian Piedmont for low paying service jobs as well as added clutter and suburban sprawl that seemed to be expanding on all sides of the nation’s capital. 

 It was Saturday, and although it was only early Spring, 1997, Al was dressed in his typical summer wear; tight Bermuda shorts, dark knit socks, one stretched up half way his calf and the other lying loose around his ankle.  His ankle hadn’t seen the light of day since Nixon had left office in disgrace.  His formerly fashionable dingy Izod brand golf shirt had been yellowed by the years of smoke that rose from the generic brand cigarettes he often smoked.  He had just dropped off his wife of 15 years at the beauty parlor.  She was due for a coloring and a wax job.  The last couple of years had taken its toll on her overall appearance and her facial features had not weathered the strain well.  In fact, one of the few luxuries Al had let Lydia have was to spend some of his ill-gotten gains on a couple of lift jobs here and there in an effort to try and rejuvenate her once fashion model like frame.

Saying the habitual, “I love you honey,” as she stepped out of the car, he watched her waddle her way to the door of the Capital City House of Glamour.  Shaking his head, he pulled out of the gravel parking lot with his foot on the accelerator, spewing gravel behind him as he entered the highway.  He hoped the motorcycle rider nearby was wearing his helmet.  Helmets were still the law in this part of the country.  He was anxious to get on the road and reach his destination.  As he merged onto the beltway, he looked in his rear view mirror and saw the pinnacle of the Washington Monument.  He crossed over the Potomac River into Maryland as his mind began to drift and reflect on the events that had lead up to this point in his life.  He lit up his first cigarette of the day and exhaled deeply.  The foul weather prevented him from putting a crack in the window to let the smoke escape.  He didn’t mind though; the smoke quickly rose and filled the interior of the car like a thick fog and allowed him to hide from the thoughts that ran through his head.  He knew some of the things he had done were, at least, unethical, but he began to rationalize and justify his actions.  “Heck, this is stuff the Company would have gotten from another snitch anyway.  I’ll use the money that the Company has set aside for me to do good deeds.”  Deep down, however, he knew that during the more recent meetings with the Company his complicity had become more sinister.  Unethical was no longer the issue.  Treason was a much more serious offense.  At his current level of involvement, Al was having trouble sleeping at night and he couldn’t concentrate on anything.   Recently, bags had developed underneath his eyes and it appeared that he was always slouching.  As he pulled into the newly painted asphalt parking lot of the mall, he said silently that he hoped this would be his last contact with the Company.

 He pulled off his cheap sunglasses, locked the door to the still smoke filled vintage Volvo and trotted toward the side entrance of the mall.  The first warm front of spring had come through that morning and the sun had not yet broken through the low level misting clouds that were common this time of year on the Piedmont.   He didn’t have an umbrella.  In the corner of his eye he spied a well-dressed man in a government issue trench coat.  He avoided eye contact, but wondered if he were being watched or if that was possibly his Company contact.  In all the years as an operative, he had never met the same contact twice.

 Once in the mall, he first tried to dry himself off and then quickly walked into the nearest department store he could find.  He really just wanted to ditch the guy in the trench coat and remain as inconspicuous as possible.  “Am I just being neurotic?” he said to himself as he looked back and ducked between two aisles in the housewares section of the store.    Recently, he had the uncomfortable feeling of constantly being watched.

As was customary with Company drops, he needed a shopping bag to facilitate the document exchange.  He decided to make a purchase of something that the clerk would put in a bag that was large enough to disguise the documents he intended to drop.  Like most men wondering around aimlessly in a department store, he soon found himself face to face with a skimpy purple brassiere and panty set displayed in the center of the lingerie department.  Though it is common for men to claim that they don’t enjoy shopping in a lingerie department, when they are alone, that’s usually the first place they go.  Just to hang out and talk trash.  By the time he realized where he was, a young clerk in a revealing black teddy outfit was approaching him.   Although, his face had turned the same color as the bra and panty set, he maintained his composure and asked the clerk if the outfit she was wearing also came in his wife’s favorite size and color – 21, red DD.   The clerk apologized but said that the store didn’t carry a size 21 DD in anything.   Disgusted and embarrassed, Al moved on quickly knowing that he wouldn’t be able to find anything to highlight his wife’s latest lift job.    After another hour of floundering around, he finally found a couple of clip-on ties that were on the discount rack and took them to the counter. 

 Having made his purchases, he worked his way back to his car in order to pick up the classified documents.  While approaching the car, he saw mall security peel off in the opposite direction.  “Had they been looking at my car?” he questioned.  Now that the sun had broken through the clouds, steam was rising from the asphalt as it warmed and the tension of the situation began to reveal itself in the form of small beads of sweat rising up on his forehead.  When he got to the car, Al looked around, opened the trunk, and placed the classified documents in the shopping bag.  As he walked back toward the mall, he took a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure.

Al had always been a sucker for a tall skinny double almond (no foam) latte and stopped at the coffee counter to place his order.  “Better stick with decaf today,” he said to the coffee clerk.  He sat down at an empty table on the side of the coffee counter and began to read the Capital City Advocate; a local rag, known for its liberal slant, but with a decent business section.  The headlines of the business page boasted of favorable economic conditions throughout the capital area.  A feature article on the front page discussed tax tips for the fast approaching tax filing deadline.  This reminded him that he would need to complete the filing of their return.  The only other article in the business pages that caught his attention was an article that discussed the rapid increase in wealth experienced by a large portion of the middle-aged citizenry of the capital city.  The article included interviews and listed the names of many influential and upwardly mobile middle aged individuals.  Al read the article with scorn.  In a city where government is the largest employer, not a single government employee had made the list or had even been interviewed for the article.  “What happened to being respected for providing loyal government service?” Al thought.  At age 48, with a pot belly, bony white legs, and balding, Al knew that he would never be a member of the attractive neuvo riche.  Reminiscing, he lit up a smoke to chase his latte, and remembered how he had gotten into government work.  Upon graduation from the local community college in general studies, he was turned down by just about every private employer in the area.  One visiting professor from Texas who was working at the college, had even refused to give Al a reference, stating that he lacked ambition and wouldn’t amount to anything - your typical bad seed.   He applied for a job in the city’s public works department, thinking a newly elected mayor would bring in reform.  He was almost hired, but was quietly scratched from the list of applicants when he used the word “niggardly” at his interview in describing the way a public works department should monitor its budget.  

Finally, he was hired as a computer programmer trainee in the Central Intelligence Agency’s non-classified division.  “Good benefits,” he could always remember his mother saying.  He looked down and realized his cigarette had burned all the way to the filter without taking even a single puff.   As he looked up, he noticed his drop man approaching.  Like he had been instructed, they acted as long lost friends and exchanged the code word to verify each man’s allegiance.  The drop man, Leblanc, looked about like Al, not very polished and with a missing left pinkie.   Leblanc was a man from the bayous of South Louisiana.  Although Al had never met Leblanc, he had a reputation as being a problem solver who erased operatives that caused trouble by taking them deep into the Delta where they were used as alligator bait.  Usually, they were never heard from again.   Leblanc sat down across from Al.  Though Al didn’t usually discuss the hierarchy of their clandestine Company with other operatives, he decided to take a chance on Leblanc because he really needed to get a message to his employer.  “What kind of a message?” Leblanc replied skeptically.  With that, Al told Leblanc that he was calling it quits, but was willing to make one more big score for the Company.   Al had recently been paid a large amount of cash the Company had set aside for him for drops he had made dating back to 1987, but the Company still owed him thousands related to more recent drops.  Al also asked Leblanc to tell the Company to forward his remaining set aside payments as soon as possible.  Leblanc was familiar with the set aside arrangement, as he too had been told from his early days that the Company was setting aside a sizable nest egg for him.

 Leblanc scratched his head and attempted to persuade Al to re-think his position.  “Al, you have the perfect cover.   You are living comfortably, the Company’s got a sizable nest egg set aside for you, and you’ve got access to all the beautiful women that you could ever imagine!”  Al’s brow wrinkled as he contemplated this statement.  “You must have me mixed up with some other dim wit operative.  I think my cover’s blown, I’m buying ties off the discount rack, I’ve only recently obtained a portion of the nest egg the Company hangs out over our head like a carrot, and the only person I’ve slept with in the last 15 years is at the beauty parlor having her chest waxed!” 

By late afternoon, they had each consumed a couple of lattes and smoked a pack of cigarettes.  Leblanc nonchalantly grabbed the shopping bag Al had placed under the table and moved it closer to his own feet.  Before Leblanc got up to leave, he grabbed the shopping bag and said to Al that the Company had put a side another $25,000 for this information.  He also assured Al that he would relay his message to Company headquarters.

Al thought briefly about all the other Company drops he had successfully accomplished since 1987.  He knew that the money the Company had set aside for him for providing intelligence was substantial.   He had no idea how the Company would react to his request to get out of the Company.  Other than this meeting with Leblanc, he didn’t know whom else he could talk to about it.  The Company most likely wanted it that way.  The only other person Al had ever known personally who was part of the Company was now confined to an asylum in Jackson, Louisiana.  He winced as he thought of his old friend and wondered if Leblanc had anything to do with it.  He then lit a cigarette and worked his way toward the door.

Al picked up his wife from the beauty parlor right on time.  Her new hair do looked hideous, but at least it wasn’t blue anymore.  He didn’t even ask if the hair on Lydia’s chest had been removed successfully.   Lydia’s chest hair had really made Al question his manliness.  It had come in rather sudden like and in some places around her nipples, was darker and thicker than his own chest hair.  Since Lydia didn’t have plans for dinner (she rarely did), Al decided to splurge and bought a couple of frozen pizzas from the A&P.  On the way home, Al reminded Lydia that he needed to complete the tax returns tonight and was sure that he would be up late. Lydia, catching the hint, pouted, curled her lower lip, and realized the new hair do alone wasn’t going to do it for Al.  She asked Al, “Do you still love me?” Al said, “Yes darling, I just can’t stand to look at you.”

By the time Al got to the dinner table, Lydia had polished off the pizzas and was working on dessert.  Al shrugged his shoulders, held his breath, and kissed Lydia on the cheek.  He then went to his office upstairs to work on the tax returns.  As he sat down, he fumbled through the tax return preparation booklet he had received in the mail as well as the various tax return reporting documents.  He wondered why, in this day and age, the IRS still sent millions of the booklets out when the information was readily available over the Internet for free.  “Such a waste,” he thought.  As he read through the instructions, he also read the time required to prepare each form as estimated by the Internal Revenue Service (IRS).  Based on the IRS’ estimate, the time required to complete the return, for an imbecile such as himself, would take him through the night.  He sighed with relief knowing that he was off the hook with Lydia for tonight.  He tried not to think about what excuse he would use tomorrow night. 

By 3:30 a.m. he had just about completed the tax returns.  He re-lit a cigarette butt he had extinguished hours earlier and went through a checklist of items to consider when preparing one’s tax return.  The checklist had been given to him by that same old Texas professor from his college days.  He had taken a personal financial planning class and the checklist had been handed out, really as an after thought.  In spite of the professor’s unwillingness to give Al a recommendation, Al admired the old coot with his Texas drawl for his tax knowledge. Thinking back on those days, Al suddenly realized why he really despised the professor.   Right after the professor had decided not to give Al a recommendation, the professor’s house had mysteriously burned to the ground.   Though Al was ultimately cleared of any wrong doing in the case, he knew that the professor had turned his name in to the police as a suspect.   

As Al went through the items on the checklist, he checked off the items that didn’t apply or the items he had previously considered.  When he got down to the item that listed compensation, he considered his W-2 from the CIA and Lydia’s  W-2 from the chocolate factory where she worked as the head taste tester.   Lydia’s compensation was based on the number of batches of chocolate she tasted each day.  She excelled in her work and often was paid more than Al.  The next item on the checklist referred to other sources of income for which no reporting document had been issued.  He wondered, “Hmmm, what about the money set aside for me by the Company?”  Although he hadn’t considered it before, he suddenly wondered if the money that the Company had set aside for him should be considered compensation in the current year.  The money had, in fact, been set aside for him by the Company, but he had not transferred it to any of his personal bank accounts.   “You know, the Company has shown me statements in my name in the mother country,” he thought.  “Yea, but, it’s not like I can get my hands on it right away without jumping through a lot of hurdles.”  For example, after requesting the money, the Company would make arrangements to smuggle the funds into the United States.  Then, a drop location would be chosen and arrangements made for delivery and Al’s pick up.  This took time.  In regards to the funds he did receive outright for other special Company work, he just thought that if he were ever questioned, he would claim that he had inherited some money from a distinct rich uncle.  He then quickly jotted down the amount of the funds that had been set aside for him since 1987.  Based on his recollection, the funds set aside for him were as follows:

1987     $50,000

1988       45,000

1989       30,000

1990       75,000

1991       85,000

1992       20,000

1993       30,000

 

He then realized that it was a sizable sum.  Further, in January 1997 $200,000 of the previously set aside amounts had finally been delivered to him in a plastic bag after weeks of planning.  Al had begun depositing small amounts in various banking accounts he held and was trying to use cash to make most purchases.  

Attempting to bury these thoughts and get back to the task at hand, he decided not to declare the cash he received from the company nor the funds that had been set aside for him by the Company.    He quit reading the checklist, afraid he would find other potential tax problems, cursed his old professor for developing such a thorough check list, signed the returns and headed downstairs.

As he worked his way to the bedroom in the dark, he could not help but think of how his problems had just been compounded.  “It’s all the fault of that damn old professor!”  He thought.  “Heck, I thought I had only committed treason, people get off the hook for that all the time – thinking about the democratic party and the scandal recently discovered regarding the leak of nuclear legacy codes to China – but now, because of the checklist, it looks like I’m going to have the IRS after me, too.”    To make matters worse, as he pulled down the covers on his side of the bloated waterbed, he realized that Lydia had waited up for him with a giddy look in her eye.

Al woke up on Sunday and searched for his tee shirt and his Mickey Mouse briefs that Lydia had given him many years before.  They were tight fitting, to the point of cutting Al’s circulation, but they had always been Lydia’s favorites.  Maybe that’s what had gotten her all worked up last night?   He made a mental note to throw those briefs away as soon as possible.   He didn’t remember too much of what happened after he got in to bed the night before and he thought it best not to think about it too long.   He did smile, however, when he realized that her wax job had helped.  He wondered if the hair would grow back, and if so, would it be like the razor stubble on a man’s chin. “That could really cause trouble in the future,” he thought as he tried to suppress this picture from his mind.

Al and Lydia were both off on Sunday.  Al explained to her the dilemma he faced regarding the constructive receipt of the nest egg the Company had set aside for him.  Lydia, really not grasping the seriousness of the situation, said, “We will just say your distinct uncle was really, really, rich.”  She then signed the return and headed off to the kitchen to polish off a dozen chocolate-creamed filled doughnuts she had brought home from the chocolate factory on Friday.

During the following week, Al did not perform any activities for the Company.  He went about his business working for the CIA.  A sense of relief had already begun to filter through his body.  Although he knew he wasn’t out of the Company’s control, he knew he had taken the first step in making a clean get away.  As he drove to work at CIA headquarters, he remembered the new seat belt law recently enacted by the Maryland legislature.  He buckled up, because it was now the law.  He then began to think about what he was going to do with all the money that had been set a side for him.  Without question, he knew Lydia needed to quit work and have a tummy tuck and butt lift.  He really thought about sending her off on an extended stay at one of the exclusive fat farms.   “By the time she gets back from the fat farm, hopefully I will have developed a plan to wash the money and will have found a mistress.”  Maybe, as a cover, they could open a small bakery in Virginia.  “No way!” he thought, “I need to keep Lydia away from anything digestible.”  

 While at work on the following Thursday, Al received a phone call from an operative stating that the Company had been notified by Leblanc of his desire to quit the Company.  Al had never spoken to a Company representative at work before, and was taken aback when the code word, “Rosebud,” was repeated over the telephone.  “Rosebud,” Al responded and immediately rose to close the door to his office.  Al had chosen “Rosebud” as the code word years earlier after watching the Orson Wells classic, Citizen Kane.    The conversation lasted a mere two minutes, but in that time, the Company demanded one more set of classified records.  Unlike the previously stolen documents Al had provided to the Company, the Company was now asking for the type of records that he did not have easy access to.  Specifically, the Company was demanding a complete list of CIA agents located throughout Eastern Europe.  He knew this would be a prize document to the Company, but his clearance level would not give him direct access to such a list. 

 The thought of under taking this sort of mission caused a chill to run down Al’s spine.  He needed a cigarette.  He immediately closed the computer program he was running and walked toward the front door of the CIA’s complex.   With the new strict government regulations regarding second hand smoke, this was the only remaining place on the property where employees were allowed to smoke.  He hating smoking there.  Passers by would look at the smokers as if they were misfit animals in a tiny cage at the local zoo.   Still, after this phone call, he needed a cigarette now.  Before he had even gotten to the door, he had removed the cigarette from the package, packed it in his hand, and was licking the menthol and nicotine right from the filter tip.  He held the cigarette between his shaking lips and bummed a light from Susan, another chain smoker who worked in the accounting department.   Susan, a brunette, straight-talking, southern girl, had recently taken a position with the Agency’s headquarters after accepting a transfer from the Baton Rouge, Louisiana field office.  In case you didn’t know, Baton Rouge is a hot bed for international espionage.  Rumor was, she was a real stickler for rules and had already run off about five deadhead civil service employees in the three weeks she had been there.  Before he could even get the light close to his mouth, the cigarette slipped from his still shaking lips onto the dirty wet concrete below his scuffed up black loafers.  He mumbled a few choice obscenities beneath his breath, looked down at the cigarette, and contemplated whether or not he should pick it up.   He noticed Susan was watching him closely and decided not to reach down for it.  Susan offered him one of her cigarettes.  It was one of those skinny long brown cigarettes mostly smoked by female professional types.  Still, Al jumped at Susan’s offer.  Susan, noticing Al’s uneasiness, inserted the cigarette between her soft looking narrow lips and lit it using the hot burning tip of her own cigarette.  She handed the lit cigarette to him, filter first, and flashed him a friendly glance.   

 After taking his first drag of the funny looking cigarette, he settled down slightly.  He wondered what Susan’s motive for offering him a cigarette was.  He really didn’t know her.  Was she a plant for the Company, a nark for the CIA’s internal affairs division, or was she, as he hoped, just being flirtatious?  While he contemplated this, he stood almost motionless, like the stone monuments placed strategically throughout the courtyard that had been carved to resemble the fallen heroes of the CIA, and smoked the rest of his cigarette in absolute silence.  When he had finished, without saying goodbye or thanking her, he turned around, returned to his office, and packed up his personal effects for the day.

During Al’s career at the CIA, he had moved up methodically from the un-classified computer-programming department to the more sensitive computer programming area.   Still, his clearance level prevented him from seeing anything that was classified as “Top Secret”.   Prior to being hooked up with the Company, Al’s performance evaluations had been mediocre.  He mostly blamed his supervisor for showing favoritism toward certain female employees.  Still in all, until the day he was approached by the Company, he would not have believed that he would perform anything treasonous against his country.   However, the Company had flashed a lot of money in front of him and had tricked him into joining forces. From that moment on, he had been in the employ of the Company.  Sometimes he thought of it as indentured servitude, but he always thought that he had the ability to quit.  Today though, he had really found out that regaining his freedom and his remaining nest egg had a price.

In the subsequent weeks, Al planned how he would obtain the classified documents.  At night, he would sit up in his office and rack his brain on how he would get the information.  He knew all the information was located in a single file of the top secret drive of the computer network he maintained.  While he had access to the same network, he did not possess the password to access that particular drive that housed the list of European agents.   Dwelling on the problem, and desperate to find a solution, he didn’t eat for days at a time.   Instead he drank coffee that he made from a little coffeepot he kept in his home office and smoked more cigarettes.  Although Lydia could see the stress on his face, it never caused her to miss a meal.   In fact, Lydia reacted to stress in ways that were totally opposite of the way in which Al dealt with stress.  The more nervous about the plan Al became, the more Lydia’s appetite for food and sexual gratification expanded.  Al really needed to end this thing quickly.  He couldn’t get any peace!

After receiving two more phone calls from the Company in which his contact became more and more frustrated from his lack of progress, he decided on a course of action.  He would enter the classified drive through a network back door he had created years ago using a phony computer network I.D.  To provide an alibi, he rented a room using the alias John Kane in a decaying neighborhood on the west side of Fairfax, Virginia.  In a rented room he set up a computer, modem, and sophisticated encryption equipment.  He programmed the computer to call in to the network during normal business hours while he would be located on-site.  This way, he could use the fact that he was at work with thousands of other employees as an alibi if the computer break-in was detected.  Also, by being at work at the time of the computer break-in, he could monitor the programmed computer’s progress and determine if any alarms were triggered.   Al felt that if he could enter and exit the restrictive drive in less than 2 minutes to copy the data, the entrance may go undetected by the Agency’s classified computer group. 

Having everything set up on the day of the planned break in, Al slept soundly and woke up to the sound of the alarm.  Apparently, Lydia had set it an hour earlier than usual in order to spend some “quality time” with Al.  Al was feeling a little frisky too.  He also discovered that the hair on Lydia’s chest was returning just like the hair on his chin – a little rough. 

As Al drove into work, he made a point of saying hello to most of his co-workers.  He wanted to be noticed.  As he went through the gated entrance of the Agency’s compound, he waved to the guard and offered him a cigarette.  The guard was a little surprised.  Although Al and the guard often waved to one another on the way in and out of the complex, rarely did they speak.  Al parked in his normal spot and eyed the uniformed officer in the guardhouse of the employees’ parking lot.  He noticed that the officer was looking right at him.  He tried not to let the stare affect him.  However, Al could see that the officer had spoken into his walkie-talkie at the exact moment Al began to walk toward the building.  Al thought to himself, “I can still call this off.” No, Al knew he could not live any longer with the anxiety working for the Company caused him.  

As he got closer to the door, he noticed Susan was walking behind him.  She stopped to pull a cigarette out of her purse.  Al thought he could make up for the rudeness he had shown during their previously brief encounter if he offered her a light.  Besides, it would give him an excuse to admire her beauty.  However, he knew to stand clear of those stainless steel colored eyes she had that could melt away any secrets he was not ready to share with her.  He walked back hurriedly and offered her a light.  She accepted and once again made a flirtatious glance.  They stood outside in the morning light finishing their tasty cigarettes.  He wondered if he could confide in her.  At this moment, the computer he had programmed was calling in to the Agency’s network and would soon be downloading one of the most sought after lists in the world.  The thought of him possessing such a list and having it under his control invigorated Al.

Al’s confidence level was also increased knowing that he alone would possess the list.  He felt in control of his own destiny for the first time in a long time.  A wave of emotion passed through him and his whole body shook uncontrollably for a split second.  Suddenly Al flicked his cigarette to the ground, grabbed Susan by the waist, and brought her close to him.  She didn’t resist.   Their bodies touched for the first time and they embraced passionately.  Al’s heart rate quickened as he touched her soft skin in the early morning light.   Al let go of his usual bashful self, and looked directly in her stainless steel eyes.  He could no longer hold in the feelings he had felt for her since the first time he had laid his eyes on her.   Susan turned her head slightly as if to nibble on his right ear, while Al kissed her neck and moved toward her soft shapely lips.   Al couldn’t believe what was happening right on the lawn, but was in no condition to stop it.  As Susan’s lips got closer to his ear, he could hear her panting and his checks warmed as she ran her hands through his greasy hair and onto his clean shaven face.  He was about to suggest that they go some place a little more intimate, when she began to whisper repeatedly in his ear a word that he still cannot get out of his mind – “Rosebud”.

Al froze in his tracks and his arms fell by his side.  It was as if all of the life in his body sunk down to his left foot and leaked out of his big toe.  As Susan looked him over after she had cuffed him with his arms behind his back, he saw those steely eyes gleam with pleasure and she gave him that flirtatious grin once more.  Finally, with a callous stare she said, “You’ve got no butt.”  Tears welled up in Al’s eyes as he was taken away by Agency security.

It wasn’t long before Lydia was picked up from her job at the chocolate factory.  Figuring it would be a long stay in the clink, she grabbed a large handful of chocolate candies.  By the time she arrived at the station, she agreed to say just about anything the officers wanted to hear in exchange for another Twinkie.  Needless to say, she ratted Al out and began to openly discuss his inadequacies as a husband.  She also claimed that as a result of Al’s inadequacies, she had turned to junk food as an outlet.  The police bought her story, the media bought it and replayed it thousands of times in newspapers, televisions, and on the radio.  The judge also bought most of her story.  For her complicity, she was sent off to some minimum-security rest home in the Bay Area where she got down to 130 pounds, eating nothing but green salad.  She claimed to be happy and was expected to be paroled in 1999.  She’s already published a book about “her story” and intends to go on the talk show circuit with O.J. by the end of the year.  Speculation has it that she’s booked up until the year 2002.

Al was sent to the maximum-security federal prison in Leavenworth, Kansas to do hard time for the next 15 years for treason.  He’s made plenty of friends in jail, nuff said.  He confessed to all of his crimes, plus some, once they played the good cop, bad cop routine on him.  The last time he saw Susan was at the trial where she testified as an internal affairs officer.  She winked at him.  All this time, he had been such a lush and a sucker.  His lawyer told him that he really got off easily.  If the U.S. had still been in the midst of the cold war, he preached, “You would be on death row as we speak.” 

Two years into his sentence, Al received a notice from his friendly IRS office back in Washington, D.C.  The notice stated that he had been chosen for audit for the years 1987 through 2002.  Al, being in no condition to defend against a tax audit, responded to the notice and indicated that he was not in a position to defend himself at the moment, and requested a 12-year extension of time to defend the charges.  The IRS did not respond kindly to his predicament and sent an assessment for taxes, interest, and penalties for substantial understatement of income in the years 1987 through 1992.

Al had been placed in solitary confinement.  The warden had said it was for his own good.  He agreed.  His prison friends had been coming around a little bit too often.  As he rotted in the eight by eight hospital green jail cell, Al began to wonder why he had been selected for audit.  He thought his returns were pretty clean in those years.  As the trustee peeked in to deliver his mail, Al figured the reason he had been picked for audit was because of the information he had given the government when he spilled his guts.  As he recalled, the CIA had been questioning him for 36 hours straight.  So many government people were in and out of the interrogation room that he lost track.   He remembered feeling nauseous at the smell of the musty interrogation room that was in the basement of the District of Columbia’s police headquarters.   To keep from barfing, he looked straight into the incandescent lights hanging from the ceiling that bore down on him like a heater.  He dared not look at the agents.  After 30 or so hours of denials and continued requests to see a lawyer, Al confessed to his treasonous acts.  He also told the officers where he had stored most of his ill-gotten gains that had been paid to him by the Company and told them about the Company set aside funds. 

“That’s the only reason the IRS could be looking at little old me,” he thought.   At first he dismissed it,  thinking, “You can’t get blood out of a turnip.”  But then he remembered the old professor with the Texas drawl from the personal financial planning class and a lecture he gave about the rigorous pursuit of the IRS.  Then he thought about the remaining assets he had, as well as the vintage Volvo his mother was keeping for him.  Other than this, he only earned enough money now to purchase stamps, smokes, and an occasional dirty magazine.  “If I don’t beat this rap, I’ll never drive my Volvo again and I’ll be on the streets when I get out of here,” he thought. 

Thinking more about his dilemma as he laid on his bunk that night, he knew that he would need someone to help with his defense.  “But who? I need someone that owes me a favor and hates the IRS as much as I do.”  With that, the bell sounded indicating that it was lights out in the prison.  Al rolled over in his bunk and was quickly asleep and dreaming about the purple brassiere and panty set he remembered seeing in the mall years before.

Al took breakfast in his cell the next morning; a boiled egg, a single slice of crisp toast, and weak black coffee.  The answer to his tax situation came to him as he bit into the soft center of the egg and the liquid yellow center began to drip down the side of his mouth onto his chin.  He slurped for the yolk drippings with his tongue and scooped it right back into his mouth as he said, “That Texas professor owes me a big one and he’s just crazy enough to take my case.”  He threw the rest of his breakfast out into the prison hall and lit a cigarette.  Al’s tobacco habit had only intensified since he entered prison.  However, he wasn’t concerned about his health because a couple of his prison buddies had filed a claim against big tobacco based on the problem with second hand smoke and the lack of ventilation within the confined prison walls.  He figured that he and the other smokers in his cell block would come into a few tobacco settlement bucks, if they just hung in there.  As he blew smoke rings the color of auto exhaust up toward the single light fixture in his cell, he thought of how he would coax the old Texas professor into representing him.  He decided to prey on the professor’s guilty conscience.  Al thought that he could pin every bad thing that’s ever happened to him since puberty on the professor.  After all, if the professor had given him that recommendation he had asked for so many years ago, he wouldn’t be in this situation.  He’d still be married to Lydia, who at 130 pounds wasn’t a bad catch provided she would just keep her mouth shut.  “Who knows, the professor’s house may not have burned down either,” Al giggled underneath his breath.   Al thought that most professors, including the Texas professor, huddled in their ivory towers, were bleeding heart liberals who were really out of touch with reality, wanted everyone to make love, not war, and, as such, would jump at this chance to take his case (not necessarily the belief of the author).

Al made the call to the professor from the prison pay phone right out in front of the mess hall.  It was easy to tell that the phone booth was a popular spot for prisoners to deal with their problems.  The walls were filled with graffiti and the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts of every brand.  He got the professor on his first attempt.  After making a trumped up emotional plea, the professor hesitantly agreed to represent Al before the IRS and to act as co-counsel if need be.

The professor got on a crowded direct flight from Washington, D.C. to Leavenworth, Kansas a few days later.  With all the political scandals in the capital, the flight to and from the prison had become extremely popular.  The warden granted Al special privileges to meet with the professor.  In order to meet with the professor in the visitor’s section of the prison, Al was put in handcuffs and leg irons.  The irons jingled as he moved down the hallway escorted by two armed deputies toward the visitor’s area.  The professor had read about Al’s treason conviction in the Advocate.  He hadn’t seen Al since college and was unsure of what Al would be like.  When the door to the visitor’s room was opened, the professor did not stand to greet Al.  Instead, he simply stared at Al as he sat with his briefcase closed until the officers sat him down at the table and cuffed his hands to a steel rod that was bolted to the table.  Without speaking, the professor pointed at the pack of cigarettes he had placed on the table.  Al made a motion to reach for the cigarettes, but realized the cuffs didn’t allow him to reach out that far.  The professor, continuing to stare straight through Al, opened the pack and placed a cigarette in Al’s mouth.  As Al moved his head closer to light the cigarette from the match the professor struck, the professor said in a harsh tone, “Before we get started here, I need to know if you were involved in the fire?”  Al sat expressionless.  Instead, he looked away and sat silently while he puffed on the cigarette without the use of his hands.   When he had just about finished the cigarette, he spit it on the floor, looked at the professor and simply said, “Yea, I was involved,” as an uncontrollable grin appeared on his face.

The professor, placing the brief case flat on the desk, opened it and said in a serious tone,  “If you think I’m helping you because you think I feel responsible for how you turned out, you’re wrong.   You proved me right when I said so long ago that you were a bad seed!”  The professor continued, “I’m here because even the condemned should be allowed representation.  Besides, your mom handed over to me the keys to your vintage Volvo yesterday.  Now let’s get on with it!”  A small grin also appeared on the face of the professor as Al responded, “Touché.”

 The professor began to brief Al on the information he had uncovered thus far in researching the matter.  He said the police had forwarded the transcripts of his early interrogations to the IRS.   After the IRS reviewed the transcript, they became extremely interested in the funds the Company had set aside for him in 1987 through 1992.  “In respect to the funds the Company set aside for you,” the professor explained, “it really comes down to a case of constructive receipt.  That is, when did you have control and domination of the funds in the account?” 

According to the IRS’ complaint, Al should have reported income in the years 1987 through 1994 because he had earned the money in those years and, according to the complaint, had unfettered access to the funds at any time.  In addition to the tax, the IRS had calculated substantial interest and penalties.  The professor, shaking his finger in Al’s face said, “The determination of whether you have constructive receipt is a factual question.  We need to be able to show the Court that you did not exercise control of the funds that had been set aside for you by the Company.”  Al replied, “Yea, but the Company never held the money that had been previously set aside over my head as an inducement to do other jobs.”   “I realize that,” the professor shot back, “but you keep your mouth shut, and leave the technical arguments to me!”  As the Court date approached, Al and the professor met weekly to discuss his testimony.  They never developed a close working relationship.