Vin jogged along the corridor to Buck’s apartment, his breathing slightly elevated due to concern. He’d had a very disturbing phone call from his friend a few minutes earlier. Buck was drunk, Vin had been able to ascertain that, but Wilmington had kept yelling that ‘they’ were after him.

Ahead, Vin noted that Buck’s door was ajar. He slid his revolver from his shoulder holster and eased up to the opening. His nerves tingled on edge as he peered inside. The room looked like a bomb had hit it – not that that was entirely out of the ordinary for Buck’s apartment.

There were sheets of paper everywhere. A moan caused Vin’s back to stiffen.

He stepped inside, sweeping his weapon across the room. “Buck?”

“Ohwwhwwww.” The moan was mournful. Vin turned toward the sofa. Buck was sitting on the ground leaning against it, a bottle of whiskey sitting beside him. The pungent smell filled the apartment.

Vin relaxed and lowered his weapon. “Bucklin, what the hell’s goin’ on? It’s three in the morning.”

“Vin… Vin, my boy, they’re after me. And they’ve got me.”

Vin smiled down on the bloodshot eyes. “What the hell are you goin’ on about? Come on. Let’s get you to bed, pard.”

Buck waved Vin off, reached for the whisky bottle, missed it, tried again, and grasped it. He picked it up and tipped the bottle to his lips, but nothing came out. Lowering it, he held it close to his left eye and peered inside. “Damn. They’ve come and taken my whisky, too.”

Vin crouched in front of his friend, his face twisting as Buck breathed out in his face. “Man, you could fly the Concorde on that smell alone. Buck, what’s going on? What’s her name?”

“Her?” Buck seemed to rouse. “No doubt about it. That’s what it will be!” He leaned on the chair and with Vin’s help, got to his feet, before toppling and landing heavily on his backside in the middle of the sofa.

“What, what will be?”

“There’ll be a woman at the bottom of it, Vin. I’ve pissed off the wrong woman.” His voice slurred.

Vin shook his head and then turned to survey the room. There were documents, files and food everywhere. “You spring cleaning?”

Buck dragged his miserable gaze to Vin. “You makin’ fun of me?”

“Ain’t hard to do, Bucklin. Look at the state you’re in. Come on. Bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Buck shook his head sadly. “No. They’re after me, Vin.”

“Who?”

“The tax office. I’m being audited!”

Vin’s brow furrowed. “The tax office made this mess?”

“Huh? I was lookin’ for all my receipts.”

“Well, if you’ve got ’em you got nothin’ to worry about.”

Buck shook his head so vigorously he fell onto his side. “Haven’t filed a tax return for three years.”

Vin rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’ll call Ez. in the morning and he’ll sort it out.”

Buck struggled to sit up. “No need. I’ve dealt with it.”

Vin pulled his friend upright. He eyed Buck tentatively. “Dealt with it?”

“Yep, I sent ‘em an email.”

Vin shut his eyes briefly. He could only imagine what it had written. “Buck, you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of the IRS.” He strode across to friend’s computer and opened the ‘sent’ folder. The email to the tax office was at the top of the list. Vin’s reading may still be shaky but he understood every word. Tears streamed down his face as his laughter echoed off the walls.

The message?

“Dear Tax Office. I am writing to you to cancel my subscription. Please remove my name from your mailing list!”

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© October 2006 Aussie Lass. : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to the owners of "The Magnificent Seven" and I thank them sincerely for turning a blind eye so I can borrow them. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.