Ever wonder if there was anything or anyone that could unnerve Lucas Buck? A force strong enough to withstand even the sheriff's powers and manipulations? See what happens when Lucas confronts just such an adversary. [Disclaimers: American Gothic and its characters are the property of CBS, MCA/Universal, Renaissance Pictures, and possibly others. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only; no copyright infringement is intended, so please don't sue. Please do not distribute, repost or archive this story without receiving permission from the author.] ************************** LUCAS BUCK: CASE FILE NO. 123666 by Roxanne PROLOGUE He drove unobserved through Trinity in a black, nondescript sedan. The April sun shone brightly in the sky and birds chirped merrily, but he took no notice of it, his mind focused on the task at hand. Since the phone call was transferred to him one week ago, he had been preparing diligently for this encounter. He drove slowly past the sheriff's station and continued to watch it in the rear view mirror until it slid out of view. He continued on down the street until he arrived at Lucas Buck's house several minutes later. He got out of the car with a notebook in hand and stood in front of the gate, taking in the sweeping yard, the gargoyles, the huge house. "It's not a house, it's an estate," he muttered, as he walked alongside the fenced-in yard to view the area from a different perspective. After scribbling some notes down, he returned to his vehicle. He glanced at the written directions laying on the empty seat beside him and turned right at the next corner. Several blocks later he was parked in front of the boardinghouse, unloading his luggage from the trunk of his car. "Yes, can I help you?" asked the pleasant-faced woman who opened the door. "Miss Holt?" "Yes?" "I'm Michael Choi. We spoke on the phone." Miss Holt's eyes widened with realization and something close to fear. "Oh, yes," she said, opening the door wider. "Come right in. I have a room prepared for you. You said you weren't sure how long you were stayin'?" He gathered his briefcase and luggage together and entered the building. "That's correct." He removed a credit card from his wallet and handed it to her. "Charge me for a week - for now. We'll see how it goes." "Alright," Miss Holt said, watching him warily. "Lunch won't be served until noon, but if you like, I can fix you a bite to eat..." "That won't be necessary," he said. "In fact, I doubt if you'll see me the rest of the day. I've got a lot of work to do." * * * * * * * * Ben Healy looked up as Lucas Buck strolled into the sheriff's station. "Lucas, you got a visitor." "Oh, yeah?" The sheriff walked up to the counter. "Male or female?" "Male." Ben inclined his head toward the corner of the station. "Hmm. Too bad." Lucas turned around to see a man in a suit approaching him. "Are you Lucas Buck?" The man set down his briefcases and removed a wallet from his breast pocket. Lucas held out his hand. "That's right. Sheriff Lucas Buck," he said, emphasizing his title. "That's Buck...with a B." "Well, at least you got the spelling right," the man said, placing a business card in Lucas's outstretched hand. "But that's about the only thing." He then flashed a federal government badge at the sheriff. "Michael Choi. Internal Revenue Service. You're being audited." * * * * * * * * ACT ONE "Now hold on just a second there, fella," Lucas said, shutting his office door. "It ain't April 15th yet. I'm not late filin' my taxes." Michael set both briefcases on the table in Lucas's office and removed a laptop computer from one. "Maybe not this year, but there are several years in which you were extremely late." "How late?" "How about never?" Michael said, looking at him. "We're still waiting." Lucas walked over to his desk. "Are you sure the U.S. mails didn't lose those tax returns? I've heard some crazy things happen at the post office. Maybe one of those postal carriers decided to bury 'em in his back yard or his back was botherin' him and he just didn't feel like deliverin' mail that day." Michael shot him another look as he opened the other briefcase. "Quite a coincidence that it only happened to all of *your* tax returns, if that was the case. Shall we get started?" "Wait a darn minute," Lucas said. "Aren't you supposed to send me some kind of official notice, lettin' me know in advance that you're comin'? You can't just waltz into someone's life whenever the heck you feel like it." Michael leaned his arms against the table and looked Lucas squarely in the face. "I'm sorry, Sheriff, perhaps I didn't clearly identify myself. I'm with the I - R - S." He said the letters slowly. "We waltz wherever, whenever and with whomever we want.." He removed a small adding machine from his briefcase. "Oh, and you might want to order in lunch. You won't be going anywhere for awhile." * * * * * * * * ACT TWO "So you're saying you were so overcome with excitement at celebrating the bicentennial that you forgot to file your 1976 taxes?" "That's right. Why, when I look at that flag" - Lucas pointed at the American flag standing in the corner of the office - "I get all choked up inside just thinkin' 'bout all our brave soldiers that gave their lives so that we might live in freedom. Freedom of religion, freedom to bear arms, freedom from persecution." As he said the last three words, Lucas glanced deliberately at the IRS agent. "They also fought because our founding fathers wanted no taxation without representation. Well, you've got your representation, Sheriff. Now it's time to pay your share of the taxes." Michael turned to the computer screen. "However, I'll make sure your patriotism is noted in your file." "Thanks. Like I've been tellin' you, Mikey..." Michael stopped typing, his fingers poised over the keyboard. "That's Michael," he said. "And you can call me Mr. Choi." "Well, alright, Mr. Choi," Lucas said, smiling widely. "Just a little bit of my southern hospitality leakin' out, I'm 'fraid." "As long as it doesn't turn into a flood." "Like I was sayin', most of my records are all at home. I'm operatin' strictly on memory here." "That's alright," Michael replied. "I'll be at your house tomorrow." "Huh?" The smiled vanished from Lucas's face. "This is just a preliminary session." Michael held out his arms, indicating the stack of papers on the table. "I've got copies of your tax returns right here - the ones you filed, that is. I just thought I'd see if you could answer any of the questions now." He flipped through one pile and removed a list, handing it to Lucas. Lucas frowned at the paper. "What the hell is this?" "A list of financial records that I'll need," Michael replied. "Credit card statements, bank statements, stock purchases, real estate transactions... well, it's all in there." "You're jokin', right?" Michael glanced down at himself. "Well, I'm not wearing a red clown nose, big floppy shoes, or a carnation that shoots water. What do you think?" he said. "I suggest you clear your schedule for the next week, Sheriff. We have a lot to go through. You and I are about to become best friends." Lucas sighed heavily. * * * * * * * * ACT THREE "Now about this last return..." Lucas sat, eyes half-closed, with one arm resting against the desk supporting his head. "Is this really the *last* return?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and stretching. "Actually, yes. Your 1996 return has you claiming a dependent. Caleb Temple." "That's right. He's my son." Lucas stood. "You married, Mr. Choi? Or happy?" "Both." He turned over a sheet of paper. "Uh huh." Lucas stepped over to the window and stared out at the darkness. The sun had set some time ago on one of the longest days of his life. "Well, then you're a fortunate man. Got any kids?" "Two. A boy and a girl." "One of each, huh? Well, that's nice. How old?" Michael sighed. "They're both in college. Sheriff, my personal life has nothing to do with your current situation." "Just tryin' to make small talk, Mr. Choi," Lucas said, turning from the window. "Can't help it. Must be the lawman in me, always askin' questions." "Well, I'm the one asking the questions this time, Sheriff," Michael informed him. "Now speaking of kids, you listed Caleb Temple as a dependent, but his social security number also appears on a Loris Holt's tax return." He punched in some keys on the computer. "I've got a copy of the judge's order naming her as his guardian." More keystrokes. "I've also got a copy of his birth certificate. The father is listed as a Gage Temple, not Lucas Buck." Michael looked up at him. "How do you explain that?" "The papers are wrong," Lucas stated. "The judge's order is signed and witnessed. So is the birth certificate," Michael said, frowning. "Are you saying these are forgeries?" "No, what I'm sayin' is that the judge who wrote that order was ill and died a little later. He obviously wasn't thinkin' straight. And as for that birth certificate, well, the boy's mother committed suicide after he was born, so I'd take what she said with a couple of grains of salt, if I were you." "These are legal, binding documents," Michael said, writing in his notebook. "If you disagreed with the judge's order, you should have appealed it." "You folks live in Fulton County, Mr. Choi? I'm thinkin' I might stop by sometime when I'm in the neighborhood. Meet that wonderful wife of yours." "That's probably a good idea," Michael said, head still down. Lucas stopped short. "Huh?" "It'd be better to meet her at her office, though. I'll see if I have one of her business cards." Lucas stared at him. "Wait a minute. Let me see if I'm gettin' this right. You *want* me to meet your wife?" Michael finally looked up at him. "I think it's in your best interest." "Say what?" "She's a tax attorney. I'm not in the habit of making referrals, but you're going to need all the help you can get." * * * * * * * * EPILOGUE "Doris, have you had a look at this month's telephone bill?" "Not yet," Doris replied, approaching the accountant's desk. "Why? Somebody makin' long distance phone calls?" The accountant shook his head. "These are all the outgoin' phone numbers dialed from here, right?" Doris nodded, and he pointed at one individual phone number on the itemized bill. "Isn't this the IRS hotline?" he asked. Doris bent closer and squinted at the telephone number he indicated. "Why, I believe it is." She put one hand on her hip. "Now who on earth would be callin' the IRS from here?" * * * * * * * * On the third floor in that same building, Matt Crower picked up a copy of the Trinity Guardian that lay on a table in the common area of Juniper House. The newspaper headline read: "IRS INVESTIGATES LUCAS BUCK - SHERIFF'S ASSETS FROZEN". Matt grinned. It was great to finally have telephone privileges. *** THE END *** Copyright 1998