The Tax Inspector

38

‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ the one called Benny said. ‘First thing, I’m going to give you five grand for your old car, smoke or no smoke.’

They were all sitting in the red Barina with the engine on and the air-conditioner running. The one called Benny was in the front seat, with his hand resting on Gino’s headrest. The other one, Sam, was in the back. This one didn’t say too much.

Gino sat with his hands on the wheel feeling the cool quiet air blasting on his face. He liked it in there. He liked the smell, the dark green digits glowing out of the black leather dark. He had that feeling, of surrender and luxury, like when you were in an expensive barber’s shop. As long as they cut and snipped and combed he did not care what sort of haircut he was getting, only how it felt, like in that whore house in Surry Hills when he paid them to rub his toes afterwards – $100 an hour to have your toes rubbed. Those were the days – a crazy man.

‘Five grand for the old one, smoke or no smoke, I don’t care.’

Gino leaned down to undo the hood release – clunk – in order to hide his excitement.

‘What do you say to that, Mr Massaro – from square one, you’re out of trouble. Your credit rating is out of danger. You have an almost new car.’

It was true. He could pay out the loan on the Commodore. He stroked the hood release button, reading its embossed hieroglyphic symbol with the tip of his finger. ‘O.K.,’ he said. ‘So where’s the catch?’

‘We’ve got a big tax bill to pay.’

Gino Massaro looked at the kid and grinned. ‘Come on …’ he said. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’ He tried to get himself back into the sort of fellow he was in his shop. ‘Come on,’ he said, and boxed the kid’s arm. ‘Don’t shit me.’

‘Mr Massaro, if I tell you lies I’ll go to hell for it.’ He smiled. ‘They’ll torture me down there. They’ll pull my toenails out for fucking ever.’

The kid made you smile. He could say this, maybe even mocking – who could say – but make you smile.

‘Look over there,’ the kid said.

There was a line of giant camphor laurels, their trunks covered with parasites, their leaves dotted red from lichen. In front of them, by a faded sign reading PARTS/WORKSHOP, a white Mitsubishi Colt with Z plates was parked on a patch of weeds. Gino had been audited. He knew the feeling.

‘There’s the Tax Department car, O.K.? I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll put in a word for you with the Tax Inspector …’

‘Whoa, no get away,’ Gino said. ‘You keep those boys away from me.’

‘But it’s a girl,’ Benny grinned. ‘She’s pretty too. She’s very nice. You’d like her.’

‘Let’s stick to the car, O.K.,’ he said. He got out of the car so he could think responsibly, but the air was muggy and unpleasantly heavy. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. He heard the two doors open and heard the salesmen walk across the gravel towards him. They lined up beside him and then the three of them stood in a line with their hands behind their back and stared at the Barina.

‘Now I’m going to “load” you up,’ Benny smiled pleasantly. ‘Load up your trade in an effort to get your business.’

Gino smiled too, even as he thought he was being mocked. ‘Loading up’ was car dealer slang for whatever it was they were doing to him.

‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’ he said. He punched Benny’s shoulder again. This time the boy didn’t like his suit touched. His brows came down hard against his eyes and he withdrew an inch, looking pointedly at Gino’s hand. Gino took it away.

‘We got to take enough shit from the Tax Department,’ the boy said. ‘We don’t have to take shit from you. Come on Sam …’ He turned to walk away.

‘Christ,’ Gino said. ‘Don’t be so sensitive.’

He looked up and saw the one called Sam shaking his head at him.

The one called Benny turned and said, ‘Look, I’m trying to be straight with you, but this is losing us money and it really gives me the shits, excuse me – it makes me “sensitive” – when I am not believed. This is a family business, we’re in a lot of trouble here and you’re the one who’ll benefit. That’s O.K. with me, but it really pisses me off to be called a liar as well.’

The other salesman looked Gino straight in the eye and slowly shook his head.

‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ Gino said to the first boy, all the time puzzling about the other one shaking his head.

‘I know you didn’t,’ Benny said. ‘Forget it. It’s over.’

‘I’ve been audited myself. They’re bastards.’

‘You could drive it away,’ Benny Catchprice said. ‘We could do the paperwork in ten minutes and you could be on the road in fifteen. You don’t have to ever touch your old car again.’

It was an attractive thought.

‘So what do you want for this one?’ Gino asked.

Benny said: ‘Eleven. Do we have a deal?’

The second salesman made a cut-throat sign and rolled his eyes.

‘So what do you say, Mr Massaro?’

The blond salesman was smiling at him in a weird kind of way, and Gino was smiling back. It was impossible not to. He had that quality – he was not a man, he was a boy, like an altar boy in Verona.

That was when Sarkis Alaverdian, who knew the car was valued at eight thousand, stood on Benny Catchprice’s foot.

The altar boy’s face changed, its brows contracted, its lips curled. Gino Massaro began to back away.

‘That’s very expensive,’ he said.

‘Don’t go,’ Benny said. ‘I gave you a big trade-in. You only have to finance seven.’

‘I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,’ Gino Massaro said. ‘I’m going to think about it. I’ll be back on Saturday morning with my wife.’