WINDY PUDDING
A Chuck & Wayne Adventure
by
Willy G. Henderson
SMASHWORDS EDITION
*****
PUBLISHED BY
Willy G. Henderson on Smashwords
Windy Pudding
A Chuck & Wayne Adventure
Copyright © 2010 by Willy G. Henderson
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may be freely shared with due credit. This book may not be sold without the express written consent of the author.
*****
WINDY PUDDING
A Chuck & Wayne Adventure
It’s just downright nasty the way things can change in the blink of an eye. It was Thursday afternoon and Kenny and I had just finished a three week renovation job that left about $1700 in my pocket. Life was good. We had enough work lined up to last us until about the middle of fall. A long weekend was in front of us. The lake salmon were starting their run. And my wife Tracey was some 2000 miles to the east showing off our newborn son.
Kenny and I were celebrating our good fortune with a couple of pops sitting on the tailgate of the pickup by the river at Victoria Park, with a full cooler between us. The weather was mild and there were no mosquitoes yet. We could be seen from the bend in the paved road running through the park about the length of a football field below. It took no time at all to notice the late model, midnight black Ford pick up pulling up the lane in our direction.
Two men got out smiling and waving to us like some long lost high school buddies.
“Beware of white man baring teeth and flapping arms like bird,” muttered Kenny.
“Good afternoon!” shouted the driver as he approached us with his passenger a few steps behind.
Both of the newcomers were dressed in the same manner. The driver, the older one, was about fifty five, wore a plaid shirt with jeans and cowboy boots. Slim and about six feet tall or so, he had an air of years of experience and absolute confidence.
“I take it that this is your work truck here?” the driver asked as he stopped looking at the name on the side of my truck.
“Yup, sure is,” I volunteered. “Need some work done?”
“So you would be William Keough? Owner of Rustic Renovations, then?”
“Yes. What can I do for you?” Although the name of business was on the side of the truck, the fact that this guy used my proper name and didn’t call me Billy like everyone else, made me nervous.
“I’m Chuck Gerhardt and this is my partner, Wayne Sullivan,” he gestured to the passenger, a slightly shorter, heavier man in his forties’ with closed cropped curly red hair and a round, pasty pock marked face.
“We are investigators with Revenue Canada.” Wayne chimed in as they both opened small wallets and thrust their government identification toward me.
I had heard down at the coffee shop only yesterday morning that some guys from the tax department were sniffing around town.
“We are with a special unit that investigates the extent of unreported income or the underground economy if you will, in this area,” Chuck advised us as he stuffed his ID in the back pocket of his jeans.
“OK. So what can I do for you?” I said, praying that they were just looking for a good fishing spot.
“We have been going through the building permits down at the city’s engineering department and notice that you were granted seventeen permits in this town last year,” Chuck told me in a matter of fact way.
“OK,” I said trying to appear at ease while finding it increasingly hard to swallow my warm beer.
“We examined the return you filed for last year and notice that it reported a net income of some $14,000,” Chuck continued while appearing to move closer, although I couldn’t remember his feet moving.
Kenny started chuckling to himself from the other side of my truck. With his back turned and head down, he yelled over. “Hey you guys want a beer? It’s a little warm but I think I have enough for both of ya.”
Wayne seemed to be waiting for his cue and took the opportunity to do his part. “We went to your accountant’s this morning to look over the receipts justifying the expenses you claimed for business. Apart for a few questionable expenses like the invoice for interlocking stone delivered to your residence, one item stood out. “
I was numb all over. All I could think of is what my grandmother used to say to me when I had a look of total shock. “Close your mouth, dear. You’re gonna catch a fly.” I pursed my lips and swallowed hard.
“We can’t figure out why Kenny signed for materials delivered to job sites last year over a three month period in which he was supposed to be laid off and collecting unemployment benefits.”
Was this a question? It didn’t sound like Wayne was asking a question.
Kenny wasn’t laughing anymore. He just stood there on the other side of the truck with his back to us, but I knew his eyes were closed.
“What do you want?” I asked plainly.
“Well, to start with I could use a frosty cold beer. How ‘bout you, Wayne?” Chuck said as he turned smiling to his partner.
Chuck helped himself to a couple of beers from the cooler and went on to describe our new relationship. Apparently, we had a choice. We could become informants for the tax department and rat out everyone we knew working “on the side.” Or we could watch everything we worked for over the years go to the taxman and lawyers.
It was Sunday afternoon and I could think of nothing else but those two creeps from the tax department. The phone was ringing. That would be Tracey making her routine call, checking in and letting me know that everything was all right with her and little Nick.
“Hello” I drooled into the receiver.
“Hi Sweetie! How are ya doin?” Tracey was born cheerful.
“Good. How are you and the little feller?”
“Oh Bill, you should see the way he responds to Dad. It’s amazing. Nick just stares at Dad and coos. I swear he is trying to talk to Dad.”
“Really? Far out. I wish I was there to see it.” In truth, I was at that moment wondering what would be worse; sitting in a room watching Tracey’s father make an idiot of himself as usual or dealing with the devil’s spawn from the tax department.
“Speaking of Dad,” Tracey lowered her voice to a whisper, “I kinda told everybody about our little problem at dinner last night.”
“What do you mean? Kind of told them what”
“Well, we were all getting into Uncle Tom’s homemade wine and Mom was saying that she was starting to worry that I would never have any kids. Then Dad made a crack that maybe your boys couldn’t swim and I lost it. I was laughing so hard. I had to tell them about the fertility clinic and how they helped us conceive Nick.”
“Wonderful. Now I am going to have to listen to your Dad’s stupid cracks next Christmas.”
Just then a knock came at the front door and Kenny let himself in.
“Hey, Kenny. Be right with ya.” I said as I turned back to the phone. “I have to go, Hun. Kenny is here and we are going to look at a new job.” This was an immediate way off the phone. Tell a woman you are off to make money and they can’t get rid of you fast enough.
“I love you, too. Bye.” I hung up the phone and turned to Kenny.
“Well? Have a good weekend?” I said looking him over.
“Weekend? Is it over? Where’s this job we are going to look at?” Kenny appeared to be trying to focus on something over my shoulder.
“Wow. You look pretty rough. Are you going to make it?”
“I’ve been out to the Reserve and tried to lose myself. I might have succeeded but my cousin knows where you live and just dropped me off out front. He is a strange kid, my little cousin. He and his buddy were good enough to walk me up to the door and make sure I came in before they left. Young people. They ask such stupid questions. They asked me if this was the week I changed my underwear or turned them inside out?”
Kenny was sizing up my couch at this point. Putting the pillows at each end. Getting ready to crash.
“Oh really?” I said in a patronizing tone while grabbing his arm and steering him to the hammock on the wide colonnaded front porch.
“Yeah, these young people,” Kenny said groggily as he settled into the hammock, “they should know real men don’t wear any underwear.”
Kenny swung in the soft breeze all afternoon while I contemplated our situation. I have always believed in fate. Perhaps some divine hand guiding us through life. Showing us opportunities and warning us of dangers. All we had to do was let ourselves believe, open up to the possibilities and we would be able to recognize the signs when they presented themselves and take action. My mind started to drift in that dreamlike, free association way…the kernel of an idea was forming. The chuckling I was hearing was from me as I found myself coming to from an inspirational catnap in the easy chair.
It was Wednesday, just after lunch and Kenny and I were unloading some drywall at a new job.
“Hi guys!” yelled Chuck out the window of his truck as he pulled up to the curb and tooted his horn.
“Here we go,” I said to Kenny through my teeth as we watched them walk up the driveway.
“You’re nuts to mess with these guys,” muttered Kenny as he walked away.
“I’m surprised you found us,” I opened as we came together and shook hands like we were all old friends.
“Vee have our vays,” grinned Chuck in his best Commandant Klink accent.
“Apparently,” I mused aloud. I really hated these smug little bastards.
“Have you given any thought to our discussion last week?” Chuck looked hopeful.
“Yes. Yes I have,” I started, “and it occured to me that if you guys are after unreported income, why just stick to trades people?”
“What do you mean,” enquired Wayne.
“How do you feel about doctors? They have lots of money.” I could tell I had their attention. The grins disappeared and they moved in a little closer. “I know several doctors in the area that do fertility testing on the side for cash.
“How do you know this?” puzzled Wayne as he reached for a smoke and lit it.
“Well, two years ago me and the wife were having trouble conceiving and she asked me to see this doctor to get tested. So I went in and was told a test could be done on my sperm count if I left a sample and paid $500 cash. I was told the cash was to cover the costs of the tests since no insurance coverage would pay for it. I have heard of several doctors in the community that do this type of testing for cash.”
“So your boys can’t swim!” roared Chuck, no longer able to control himself. He and Wayne began making this crude gyrating motion with their hips and laughing.
“So what do you have in mind?” chortled Chuck when he managed to get a grip on himself.
It took me about ten minutes to roll out the planned sting of the greedy doctors to my new friends. I carefully explained that the doctors had become nervous about asking for cash. It had become known in certain circles that you went to the doctor’s office with your own condom and a brown paper bag. Use the doctor’s washroom to collect your sample and leave the sample in the bag along with an envelope containing the cash with the receptionist on the way out.
When they left that day snickering about the idea, I didn’t really expect them to follow it through once they had time to reflect on the finer points. That whole experience with Chuck and Wayne taught me a lot about human nature. The thought that two guys could be so focused on their ultimate goal that they never stopped to consider any obvious pitfalls, will always be a wonder to me.
Chuck and Wayne returned the following Tuesday. They were giddy. Chuck opened his brief case on the front seat of his truck and displayed a stack of cash and several girlie magazines. I could hardly believe it. These guys were actually going to go through with it. I had to bang my knee on the door of the truck to keep myself focused and not break down into hysterical laughter. I gave them the condoms, brown bags and envelops with the names and addresses of three local doctors.
Wayne started counting out $500 in twenties and was about to lick the first envelope closed when I stopped him.
“Hey wait man. You can see the money through the envelope. Not good.” I hesitated for a second. “I have some blank paper in my briefcase here that we can wrap the money in.” I laid my case on the ground, opened it and pulled a couple of sheets from the top pocket of my case. I took each envelope from Wayne as he put the cash in and wrapped the money in a few sheets of paper while he watched and then took the envelopes from me and sealed each one. And that was it. That was the last time I ever saw them, in person.
Tracey got home that Thursday and our lives had pretty much settled back into our routine. Sundays always mean a big late afternoon meal. Then the clean up, put Nick to bed, then tea and the news. I was fixing the pot of tea.
“Bill! Come here, quick! You have to see this. I heard about these guys this afternoon. I thought it was a joke.” Tracey was just beside herself laughing and pointing to the TV. There was Chuck and Wayne, handcuffed and being forced into the back of a police cruiser as Chuck’s pick up was being hoisted by a tow truck.
“…the two men, from out of town” the announcer went on “have been dubbed the Windy Pudding Boys because of the notes left behind at the crime scenes. Allegedly the men would enter a doctor’s office and one of them would ask to use the facilities. Before leaving the men would hand the receptionist an envelope and a brown paper bag.”
The camera then panned to a young woman in nurses’ whites. “ It was really creepy. This old guy hands me this brown paper bag and an envelope and says with a twisted grin ‘This is for you, sweet heart’ and says that he will be back next week for ‘some answers to his problem’ and then they both left.”
“What was in the bag?” asks the reporter.
“I opened the bag and found a dirty, used condom!” she exclaimed. “The envelope had $500 cash and a filthy letter.”
“What did the letter say?” pumped the reporter.
“I can’t repeat it! It was so disgusting. I can only tell you that it was a filthy proposition and made bizarre references to …wi…win…windy pudding,” stammered the confused nurse.
Then the reporter turned to Chief Dobb’s of the city’s police department. “Do you have any idea what these two were up to, Chief?”
“No idear at all,” drawled the Chief. “They both keep ranting that they work for the government and that they were conducting some kind of sting operation. All I can surmise is that we likely have a couple of nomadic sexual predators here and we are not going to unleash these deviants back into our community any time soon.”
“Thanks Chief…” the reporter carried on but I was no longer listening.
Tracey was talking. “Imagine that! Perverts like that right here in our little town. Wait ‘till I tell Mom and Dad.” Tracey looked at me. “Are you listening to me?”
“Uh?”
“Close your mouth, dear. You’re gonna catch a fly.”
*****
NOTE TO THE READER
I worked as a tax auditor for the federal government looking for unreported income for most of the 1990's. Windy Pudding is the first in a series of adventures by tax investigators Chuck and Wayne. Our characters are comprised of several people that I actually worked with over the years while trolling the depths of the underground economy.
Over the coming weeks I will be editing and uploading the rest of the Chuck & Wayne series along with other works to my Smashworks site at: