Public Parts by Joel W. Harris

Author:Joel W. Harris [Harris, Joel W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781514406021
Publisher: Xlibris US
Published: 2015-09-30T04:00:00+00:00

Driving back to Public Parts, I did a quick evaluation. The danger did not appear to be as great as it looked at first. I was the only person, besides Irv and his helpers, who knew exactly what had happened. A secret for me to keep. Knowledge is power. So is silence. I had no second choice. Ann had said that no one has to justify their existence or excuse themselves for wanting to survive. We all do what we have to do.

A smiling Irwin Berk was in my office waiting for me. I was puzzled by both his smile and his presence. He wasn’t due for his next monthly visit for another week or so. I wasn’t even sure I wanted him around anymore after the bank loan fiasco.

“What are you doing here, Irwin. It’s not your day.”

“It sure as hell is yours, Larry. Congratulations.”

“For what?”

“A little Jewish lightning. Zapped all your problems. Why aren’t you smiling?”

“Not my idea of fun, Irwin. And I don’t need to be subject to gratuitous finger-pointing either. You never know who’s listening. It was an oil burner problem. It’s on the record. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Whatever you say. Just stick to your story.”

I was losing patience. “It’s not a story. How did you find out so fast?”

“Ann called me. She thought I should know about the fire. She wanted me to come down right away because there was a letter from the IRS about an audit. She can’t find the letter, but she thought you might need some help getting your books ready. How come you don’t tell me these things?”

“I’ve been busy. It slipped my mind. I called the IRS and got it postponed.”

“Good. Ann asked me to look over your financial records. To make sure they were all there. Only I couldn’t find any.”

“Ann has them all in a box in her office.”

“No, she doesn’t. I have the box right here. There are no records in the box, only ashes. Here. Take a look. See for yourself.”

Once more I peered into a carton on the floor. This one was filled, not with ashes, but with ledgers and journals. The ashes would come later.

“Aren’t you worried about getting some of my dirt on you?” I asked. “Dirt stains. That’s what you told me.”

“We’re not talking dirt here, Larry. We’re talking ashes. Ashes wash out. Ashes blow away in the wind. Now you have no way to respond to the IRS. Nothing to show them. What a shame. I know how much you wanted to cooperate. No matter what the personal cost.”

I thought of my father, Big Moe Levine, heedlessly buying and selling goods from anywhere to anyone for unrecorded cash and charging all his personal travel and entertainment expenses to Public Parts; and I thought of Paul Behrer, his go-along accountant, who would see a tax audit as a gift from the gods. An opportunity to teach us both a lesson.

“I was so looking forward to being audited,” I said.

“Of course you were.

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