Time Frame: Tax Day
Beware the Ides of April
"The good news," Walter Skinner said, "is that you have been reinstated."
"Wow, really?" Mulder said, shoving away the shopping cart full of bottles,
cans, and porno tapes he had been collecting for recycling.
"Really. Here's two hundred dollars for a suit. It won't be Armani but, at
least, you will be clean," Walter said, wrinkling his nose at the redolence
odors wafting from Mulder.
"Two hundred dollars?" Mulder moaned.
"Ross Dress for Less. Here's Fred's card. He's the devil with a measuring tape,
but he gives a good snug fit," Walter advised.
Somehow in the rush of getting ready, Mulder didn't even ask to which division
he was being assigned. On Monday morning he reported to his new assistant
director and gaped.
The guy could have been a body double for Woody Allen. Nervously polishing his
black- rimmed glasses, the man said, "Agent Mulder, I don't expect any
supernatural explanations for your cases. We rely on solid investigation in my
department. And math, good math skills are essential. Also, I expect every penny
to be on your expense report with a logical explanation. If you say we owe you
a shoelace, I want to see the receipt from when you bought it and I won't pay
anything but the depreciated value."
For once, Mulder didn't argue. He was too stunned. He'd forgotten that there was
a financial fraud division.
Assistant Director Weeble handed Mulder a case file and said, "Here's your first
case. You'll find your 402 and a Greyhound Bus ticket inside. You can study the
case while you are on the road."
"A Greyhound ticket, but Sir...." Mulder whimpered.
"It's not as if there is any hurry. Many of my agents make very productive use
of the time," Weeble said.
A big-bottomed woman held a toddler two hours past changing on one side of her
lap while she ate an endless supply of sardine and limburger cheese sandwiches
with the other. Mulder hunched his six-foot frame as far away from his fellow
passenger as possible. His old home behind Starbuck's Dumpster was beginning to
gain a nostalgic glow.
Trying hard to lose himself in the case information, Mulder occupied at least
enough of his brain to lessen his awareness of his horrible surroundings. Hmm,
well, as a case, it wasn't as bad as he had expected. He was supposed to
investigate the Church of Jar Jar Binks, a church that the IRS suspected was a
tax shelter and the FBI had cause to be concerned because of fraud. The church
seemed to be recruiting large numbers of men and women with extensive medical
histories.
Of course the easy explanation was that the church was fleecing the innocent.
Somehow people couldn't learn the difference between pastors who were shepherds
to their flocks and con men that were ready to fleece them.
Mulder wasn't a man who accepted the simplest explanation. In fact, he regarded
simple explanations as cover-ups. Unlike Mr. Spock, if he dropped a hammer on a
high gravity planet, he'd never stand right over it. You just never knew.
Perhaps the church was just another of the myriad ways to defraud the public,
but what if there was another hidden purpose?
Could it be that Immigration had not destroyed the alien menace as Agent Doggett
had said?
Mulder's thoughts turned to the alien healer he had once hope would cure his
mother. If they had one of those, it would make one hell of a telethon!
All Mulder could say was that the Church of Jar Jar Binks was not hurting for
money. The gigantic purplish monstrosity resembled an erect penis, straining
toward heaven with two fat, darker purple balls bunched tight to launch its
seeds.
Joining the visitors thronging the foyer, Mulder had to kick away various
costumed characters, all of which wanted to peddle various souvenirs that looked
like Star Wars toys. Some of the souvenirs even had the remains of Happy Meal
waste clinging to them, long dried smears of mustard, flecks of concrete like
fat, and pickle pip dotting a plastic face. Despite their origin, people were
shelling out twenty or thirty bucks a pop for the junk.
The crowds in front of the Sacred Cantina were thick even after services were
announced.
As Mulder tried to decide which of the two chapels he should investigate first,
a man who was costumed as Jar Jar Binks approached. "Crippled, blind, or sexual
dysfunction?" the man asked.
Before Mulder could answer, the man laughed and said, "Whom am I kidding?
Definitely a sexual dysfunction case, take the center elevator."
Mulder's complaint went unheard. He was pushed into a large elevator with a
number of odd characters. A man held the door open for an excessive length of
time, snapping every few seconds, "Darien, Darien? Move your ass!"
The man had a demented look, a bulge under his rumpled jacket and male pattern
baldness to rival Skinner's. Finally, he said, "Man, could you be slower? He let
the door close at last and reached out to close on empty air. He took out a
stick of chalk and drew a large circle around one corner of the elevator. "This
is our personal space," the man announced. He grimaced fiercely as the next
passenger boarded.
Someone unseen giggled and loudly announced, "Ding, Ding!" as the newcomer
pushed their stop.
Mulder was jostled towards the corner. As soon as he crossed the chalk line, the
bald passenger hissed, "My space...you're one of them, aren't you?" He turned to
face the wall, speaking rapidly into his cell phone.
The elevator jerked to a stop several times as the same unseen person alternated
between "beep beep" and "She's climbing the stairway to heaven."
"Oh, knock it off, Fawkes, shape up or we won't be allowed to see if this guy
can cure your quicksilver madness," the bald man said.
Hearing his hated first name, Mulder said, "Don't call me Fox! Who the hell are
you?"
"I trust no one," said the bald man. "Except Darien. Who the hell are you?"
"I TRUST NO ONE!" Mulder shouted. "Who the hell are you?"
The two men continued to shout at each other in escalating tones until they were
thrown off the elevator. As the other man walked away, Mulder watched scowling
until suddenly a metallic shimmer in the air gave way to a tall, foxy male
figure. The guy turned around and grinned at Mulder, winking suggestively. His
companion hissed, "You're mine, Fawkes, all mine!"
Mulder ignored the urge to follow the pair. He had a case to solve and it wasn't
the Invisible Man.
Hissing sounds came from behind one door. Mulder peered inside and saw a tall
man holding up snakes. Although the guy looked familiar, Mulder had been there
and done that with snake handling cults. He wanted something new and different.
The next door immediately caught his attention. "The Church of Alex Krycek"
Shit, Mulder was sure that Krycek was behind his discomforts. He pushed past the
cluster of swaying men and women who all murmured, "The truth, there is no
truth." They all had left hands covered with black leather gloves and held their
arms stiffly. At odd intervals, they all picked up their phones, dialed, and
said into the phones, "Look who's answering the bat phone."
Mulder's first instinct was to check for drugs in the water coolers...
On closer inspection, the water coolers were Erlenmeyer flasks; each containing
an ice sculpture made to resemble an alien fetus.
What kind of place was this?
Music from 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind" began and a spotlight lit the
stage which resembled a silo. A huge 1013 logo, with a cross out line though it,
occupied the backdrop.
The black leather clad figure that was projected to a ten-foot height was
someone Mulder knew all too well. Alex Krycek...
At first, Krycek simply fluttered his eyelashes as the assemblage squidged. Then
a throne was lowered...a throne carved to resemble Jar Jar Binks. Krycek writhed
on the throne, whipping the crowd into a frenzied mass of pulsating flesh.
Mulder had seen enough.
Like a bull charging, Mulder dashed toward the man, yelling, "My name is Fox
Mulder. You killed my father. Prepare to die."
"Oh, look, it's M/K! M/K in action," yelled some of the worshippers.
Immediately pandemonium broke out as different people argued, "No, he loves
Skinner. Scully! Jeff Spender! No Romance; he doesn't have time. Marita!
Doggett! Mulder and Skinner! Mulder and Scully! Kim and Skinner! Pendrell!"
Most of the crowd fell to fighting and Mulder was able to make his way across
the struggling, spitting and hair pulling fans to gain access to his dreaded
enemy. Everyone was so involved in the struggle that Mulder was able to drag
Krycek away from the temple.
Moments later, before Mulder could even call for backup as the unruly mob
realized that their beloved was being taken away, a Myrmidon army of gray
flannel clad men and women marched upon the temple. They begin severing parts of
the building using only knives made of paper yet they were able to carry away
bits and pieces until there was nothing left but the frame.
As Mulder gaped at this miracle, one sharp-eyed suit strutted up to him and
jabbed him with a writ. "Did you pay taxes on that?"
"What?" Mulder asked.
"This pleasure craft," the man answered, grabbing at Krycek's right arm.
"Hey, wait, he's my prisoner," Mulder yelled.
"Under the fair usage doctrine," the bureaucrat muttered, pulling out his palm
pilot, "Assuming reasonable deterioration, offsetting with a fine for unreported
income and outcome. Obvious causality loss. Imputed Interest factor." The man's
hands were a blur over the keyboard as he worked until he said, " I think this
is correct."
Before Mulder could react, the IRS agent had hauled Krycek away, leaving Mulder
with only the man's prosthetic arm and the echo of the man's screams dying away
in his ears.
Shaken, Mulder walked away and thought, 'Not even he deserved being left in
their hands.'
Time whooshed by and....
The baying of the hounds was a terrible noise. Mulder stumbled through a dark
landscape, strewn with broken rocks, cactus, and empty Acme product boxes. He
hoped that Native Americans would again rescue him, but his brilliant mind told
him it was a vain hope. There was a major pow-wow in Gallup, and every potential
ally was there.
The yelps of the pursuit grew nearer as Mulder tripped over a loose plot line.
He fell and when he managed to roll onto his back; his enemy was upon him. He
gasped as he saw...
Krycek.
His enemy was dressed in a beautiful leather suit, a peculiar garment that
appeared to writhe over his skin. Alex brushed it nonchalantly and said, "Tax
payers...our motto 'We skin them alive because it hurts more that way'." The
suit whimpered pathetically.
At that point, Mulder noticed that the supposed dogs were actually Doggett and
Skinner. The two pushed off the fake heads they were wearing and panted. "Those
things are too hot," Skinner said.
"Alex, this collar is too tight and also the leather thong is riding up my ass,"
Doggett said.
"Did you try putting a knot in the back?" asked Skinner, who was wiggling in a
manner unbecoming to a man of his stature and high rank.
"No, what good would that do?" Doggett complained. "Your thong is still riding
up your ass."
Wiggling harder, Skinner's face was getting very red and his eyes fluttered
closed. He said between heavy breaths, "Yes, but." Gasp. "But" Gasp. "The knot"
Gasp. Pant. "Makes it soooo good!" "Ahhhhh"
"Good boy," Krycek said, patting the bald head as it came to rest on his thigh.
"Keep it up and we'll go to Viagra Falls next week."
The two men flopped at Krycek's feet like big dogs. Alex grinned and said, "So
Mulder, things have changed."
"You dirty rat," Mulder started, his teeth automatically forming a Jimmy Cagney
face. "You killed my father. Prepare to die."
"Nah, look at this," Krycek said, tossing a file at Mulder.
"It was a tax shelter? He had you fake his death as a tax shelter?" Mulder said.
"Well, I understand that the alimony was too high," Alex said. "Given that your
sister has been in a state of suspended animation that has kept her a minor
child and thus eligible for support since she was abducted."
"What?" Mulder said. "She's alive?"
"Well, you could call it that. She's enclosed in a slab of carbon, but it's not
all that bad. Hans Solo is in there with her," Alex explained.
"How did you get loose from the IRS?" Mulder said. "It's been a nightmare. First
they went after Skinner, then Doggett. Reyes joined a nunnery to avoid them and
as for Scully, she's living with William in the hundred acre woods under the
name of Sanders. The last I saw of Skinner and Doggett they were being evicted
with only barrels to wear. As for you, I thought they declared you a pleasure
craft and were auctioning you for back taxes."
At this point, Skinner piped up. "And bless all who sail in him!"
Alex said, "I figured after all those years of switching sides, being thrown in
prisons, betraying, wheeling, dealing, and fighting aliens, a guy needs a break.
When you busted my church, it was the last straw. I hit bottom. That was what
worked. It turns out that the IRS loves to screw you; so being the perfect
bottom worked. I took over the place. As for the aliens, forget them. They have
fled in terror before my ultimate weapon, Tax Form Plan L Alien Merger or as I
called it 'PLAM'."
"It took up most of the UFO just to store the instructions," Doggett gloated.
"If you were on my side all along, Krycek, why are you chasing me? Why have you
hounded me all over this desert?" Mulder asked.
Alex smiled wickedly and he leaned forward to blow a kiss at Mulder. Then he
said, "Now it's time to collect my dividends, Mulder."
And with that, Alex lifted his Mulder up in his arms and they lived happily ever
after or at least until next tax day.
The end.
The End
Beware the Ides of March
by Ursula
