TEMPORARY INSANITY
by Dara Sloan
Part 1: The Taxman Cometh
Disclaimer: I was going to write a really amusing, witty disclaimer, but it's *way* past my bedtime, so I'll leave it at this: Arcane & Graham are property of, uh, BBK Productions or somebody. Kris Bolin is property of somebody else whose name I can't be arsed to look up. Respective owners can sue me if they really want to, but since my assets consist of a Honda with 106,000 miles on the clock, a Panasonic VCR circa 1983, and an Atari 2600, and a whole heap o' student loans, I don't think it's really worth it.
Additional disclaimer: The accounting stuff is mostly bollocks. But I didn't feel like researching it, and nobody really feels like wading through a 10-page play-by-play of an audit, do ya? Let's hear it for creative license.
Summary-ish thing: Crossover of sorts with "The Temp," a so-cheesy-it's-cool movie starring Lara Flynn Boyle (a.k.a. "Donna," from Twin Peaks) as an ambitious and possibly psychotic secretary. You don't have to have seen the movie to understand this story.
Rating: PG-13, if you're feeling generous. Nothing too terribly offensive, unless you happen to have a *really* delicate constitution (I'm saving the really tawdry bits for Part 2, heh heh...) Mild profanity, a dash of subtext, nothing you couldn't see in primetime.
email comments to Dara Sloan
Allrighty, enough of this yammering, on with the show...
Wednesday, 10 AM
An electronic bleating pulled Kris Bolin out of a sound slumber. It took her a few groggy moments to realize it was the phone beside her bed, then she was wide awake and grabbing the receiver. This was it, a job, her love spuds were finally off the barbecue...
"Hello!" she said, eagerly.
Silence. Then, a click, and a tinny voice: "Hello, DuPont customer! Today is your lucky day! You may be eligible to win a *free* vinyl siding installation-" Kris slammed the phone back on the cradle and stared at it venomously, as if it were screening out calls from the agency out of sheer bloody-mindedness. For the millionth time, she cursed whatever deranged part of her brain had convinced her that moving to Houma was a good idea. Her rent was late, her LeBaron was one missed payment away from being repossessed, she was ducking calls from the cable company, and she couldn't even afford to get her dry cleaning out of hock. To put it simply, she was out of money, out of options, and out of luck.
A tall, imposing figure strode through the hallways of the Arcane Complex. Every now and then, some hapless security guard would get in his way. One flash of his badge had them cowering in terror, but he had bigger fish to fry. And fry him, he would.
"Graham, have you ever had an out-of-body experience?"
"No, Doctor."
"Would you like to?"
"Uh..." Just then the lab door slid open. Both Arcane and Graham turned to see a menacing form in a dark suit striding purposefully toward them.
"Dr. Anton Arcane?" The intruder's voice would have been perfectly suited to making demon hordes snap to attention.
"Who's asking?" Arcane said, edging toward his desk, and the revolver in the top drawer.
"Special Agent Sebastian Simms. Internal Revenue Service."
Arcane had thought he knew the meaning of fear. He had been wrong. "Can I help you, Agent Simms?" he asked, plastering his most winning smile across his face and trying to keep the panic out of his eyes.
Simms' expression could have stopped global warming. "I'll need to see all of your business and personal income and expenditure records, bank statements, deduction worksheets and payroll books from 1988 to 1993."
"Certainly," said Arcane. "Graham, show this gentleman to the office." He nodded toward the containment chamber, hoping Graham would get the hint, and surreptitiously eyed the table in front of him for a syringe of mutagen.
"Why don't *you* show me to the office, Doctor. And keep your hands where I can see them."
Arcane chuckled politely before realizing that Simms hadn't been kidding. "Very well, then. Right this way." He walked toward the laboratory door, Simms' heavy footfalls uncomfortably close behind him. "Come along, Graham," he called over his shoulder, in a tone he hoped conveyed the hidden meaning 'shoot this son of a bitch before he arrests me, because you know what happens to guys with nice hair in prison.'
The trio arrived at the accounting office door without incident.
-Dammit- Arcane thought, -Remind me to hire an assistant who isn't the offspring of a village idiot and a tv weathergirl.-
"Here we are, then," Arcane said cheerily as they entered the office. Well, "office" was rather the wrong word. "Rat's nest" hinted at the truth. The desk was a burial ground for paperwork, the filing cabinet bulged unspeakably, and somewhere under the paper Alps, a fax machine gasped for air. -Damn. Never should have mutated my accountant. Even if the bastard *was* robbing me blind.- "I'll just leave you to it." He turned to leave but the doorway was occupied.
"Let's start with the expense reports," came Simms' sepulchral tones.
"Of course." Arcane felt like the top of his head was going to crack off if he couldn't turn down the phoney smile soon. "Graham, where do we keep those reports?"
"Try the filing cabinet, sir," came a plaintive voice from somewhere out in the hall.
By 'where do we keep those reports,' Arcane had actually meant 'what are you waiting for, you bloody idiot? waste him!' but apparently the subtlety was lost on Graham. Arcane reached for the drawer of the filing cabinet. Maybe he'd get lucky, and some abominable creature would have evolved in there, which would then leap out and make Simms Soufflé out of the IRS agent.
No such luck. Arcane gave the handle a tug, and the drawer wheezed open to reveal nothing more menacing than a bunch of overstuffed file folders. He picked up the first one. It was a two-handed job.
"Expenditures- 1993" read the tab. "Here you go," he said, dropping it into Simms' meaty paw.
Simms opened the folder and looked at the top sheet, his eyes narrowing to onyx slits. He rifled the rest of the folder's contents.
"Alberto's House of Hair... Sharper Image... International Male... Xandria's Exotic Delights..." Simms snapped the folder shut and fixed Arcane with a *look*.
Arcane was becoming more and more certain that he wouldn't be able to charm his way out of this one. Since disposing of the man didn't seem to be an option, it was time to try Plan C.
"Agent Simms," he began, in his most sincere, earnest tone of voice, "Arcane Industries is a cutting-edge operation. Some of our practices are a bit unorthodox, but we have a *very* large cash flow." Simms' eyebrow tensed almost imperceptibly. Arcane continued, "I'm sure we can come to some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement."
Simms took a step closer to Arcane. His voice rumbled like the gears in a gigantic meat-grinder. "Are you trying to bribe me, Dr. Arcane?"
-Bloody hell. My luck to get stuck with Internal Revenue's version of Elliot Ness.- "Of course not. I was merely saying-"
"You have until noon tomorrow to get your records in order." Simms let his gaze linger on Arcane long enough that no further threat was necessary, then turned and walked off, completely ignoring Graham, who was still outside the office door.
"Ow!" said Graham, as Arcane slapped him on the back of his head.
"You imbecile! You were supposed to get rid of him!"
"Sir, he's an IRS agent. There are some things even *you* can't get away with."
Arcane pulled the desk's chair out, knocked a pile of receipts off the seat, and slumped into it. Graham was right, but having it pointed out only added insult to injury.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Let's get to work on this disaster area."
Wednesday, 12 AM
Two hours later, Arcane and Graham had managed to excavate some of the desktop. The bad news was, they were now going to have to go to work on the floor. They'd gotten as far as separating the papers into income and expenditures, but beyond that, it was still a jumbled mess. "Graham, this is hopeless," Arcane exclaimed, tossing a Bank Americard statement onto the "expenditures" pile. "Call my travel agent and charter a flight to Borneo."
"It's no good, Doctor. They'll find you."
"It's too bad Stella's still on vacation."
"Well, if it's any consolation, sir, even if she were here, I don't think she'd be much help. I remember her complaining to me once that she needed a check card because keeping up with the bills was 'a pain in the tuckus'."
"Graham," Arcane said, putting his hand on his assistant's shoulder and leaning toward him in that way that always seemed to make Graham flustered, "I am not going to prison."
Graham swallowed audibly. "No, sir. We'll find some way out of this." He resisted the urge to give Arcane a comforting hug.
"Good." Arcane smiled. "I, for one, am going to brainstorm over lunch." He clapped Graham on the back and left the office. Graham sat down in the chair Arcane had vacated, and got that uncomfortable-yet-not-entirely-unpleasant warm-seat sensation. -What we need- he thought, -is a professional.- He dug under the rest of the clutter on the desk until he found a not-too-old phone book, pulled out his cellular, and started dialling.
-This is it- Kris thought, -I've hit rock bottom.- She opened the newspaper to the want ads.
'Help wanted: Outgoing, energetic "People Person" for Houma McDonalds. Flexible hours.' Kris pictured herself in a red polo shirt and visor, asking some overweight hick slob if he'd like fries with his cholesterol-burger. The image was too hideous to contemplate.
'Wanted: Experienced Swamp Guides for growing tour business.' No.
'Retail help wanted.' Hmm. Not a great start, but maybe opportunity for advancement. She circled it and kept reading.
'Deputy needed. Inquire in person, Houma Sheriff's Office.' In a pinch, it was a possibility. She started to circle it, and dropped her pen when the phone rang.
-I don't know what I'm getting excited for,- she thought as she ran into the living room, -it'll just be some jerk wanting to sell me double glazing or some damn thing.- Nevertheless, there was a cautious optimism in her voice as she picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Kris, it's Stephanie from McCallion."
It took all of Kris's effort not to shout "YIPPEE!" and start running around the living room like a lunatic. "Hi, what's up?"
"Well, it's only a short-term, and it's really short notice, so if you've got something else going on, I'll understand..."
-You couldn't possibly.- "Uh, huh?"
"It says on your application that you have accounting experience?"
"Yeah, I minored in it at Vassar, and my first assignment back in Oregon was at an accounting firm."
"Well, this is some light accounting work. You'll be helping a client get his tax records in order. Can you start this afternoon?"
"Sure." Kris would gladly have walked out the door the second she hung up the phone, if it would get her a paycheck.
"Great. It's at Arcane Industries." There was a pause. "That won't be a problem, will it?"
"No, why would it be?"
Another pause. "No reason. I'll call and tell them you're coming. How soon can you be there?"
"What is it now, quarter after? I'll be there at one."
"Fabulous. Just go to the main gate and ask for Graham."
"Got it. Talk to you later." Kris hung up the phone, took a moment to do a short dance of joy around the living room, then dashed into the bedroom to change.
Wednesday, 1 PM
"Welcome aboard," said Graham, shaking Kris's hand. "If you'll just follow me, we can get to work." He turned and marched off down the hallway, Kris's heels clicking along behind him. He had a bad feeling about this. She didn't look like any accountant he'd ever seen. Her skirt was too short, and her legs were too long. He'd tried to get a real accountant, but every firm he'd called had claimed to be completely booked through 2004. The temp agency had been his last hope. Whatever happened, Graham hoped to hell he could get her out of here before Arcane came back from lunch.
"I don't know how much they told you," he said, "but we're being audited and we've got until noon on Thursday to get our records in order." They came to the accounting office. "We've got things more or less under control," he continued, "we just need an extra pair of hands to expedite things." Looking into the room, Kris guessed they had things less under control, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she walked over to the desk and picked up a handful of the mess.
"Hmmm," she said, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Is there a computer under all this, somewhere?"
"Not that I know of."
"Do you have a laptop we can use?"
"Probably. I'll go find one." He waved in the general direction of the desk. "See what you can do with that. He needs them in order by business and personal income and expenditures-"
"Deduction forms and payroll logs," Kris smiled. "I know. oh, and get some manila folders while you're at it. And maybe some loose-leaf binders."
-Bossy cow.- "Right." Graham took off for the lab in search of a spare laptop.
Five minutes later, as Kris was attempting to make more sense out of the stuff on the floor, Graham came back, toting a Thinkpad and a stack of file folders. He pointedly ignored the way her skirt was riding up her thighs. She stood up, took the computer and the folders from Graham, and sat down at the desk.
"What years did you say these were for?" she asked, labelling the folders.
"1988 to 1993."
"Here," Kris said, handing him the finished set, "make four more of these while I set up the spreadsheets."
"Look, Kris-" Graham didn't get to finish, which was probably just as well, because in walked Arcane. He looked at Kris and smiled. -Dammit,
how come he never looks at *me* that way?-
"Well, hello," said Arcane, extending his hand to Kris, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
-Yet- thought Graham.
Kris took Arcane's hand. "I'm Kris Bolin. I'm here to help out with the audit."
"Dr. Anton Arcane." He didn't release her hand, and she didn't seem to mind. "It's nice to see my finances are in such...capable hands." He ran his thumb over hers, holding not just her hand, but her gaze as well.
"People tell me I've got the magic touch." There was the subtlest hint of sauciness under her collected cool. Arcane's smile, at present merely slightly lecherous, was preparing to cross the line into utterly predatory.
"A-h-h-*hem*" Graham did a convincing impression of a severe phlegm-sufferer, breaking the reverie between Kris and Arcane. "As you can see, Doctor, we've got everything under control, so we'll just be getting back to work now."
"Of course. Do call me when you're finished, Graham. I'm sure we can find a more permanent position around here for you, Miss Bolin."
-Oh, brother.- Graham rolled his eyes. -What the hell is this, a James Bond movie?- "You'll be the first to know, Doctor."
"Good. I'll be looking forward to it."
"Indeed," said Graham. "Now, if you'll excuse us..."
Arcane finally let go of Kris's hand, and backed out the door. "I'll be in my laboratory if you need me," he said, still with a big smarmy grin at Kris.
"Don't tempt me," she teased. Graham had a suspicion she wasn't kidding. As soon as Arcane was out of sight, she turned to Graham, all business now. "Okay," she said, "you read them off and file them, I'll type."
-Yes, mistress, and can I peel you a grape while I'm at it?- "Right."
Graham picked up the first receipt his hand fell on. "New Orleans Imports, lube and filter for Dr. Arcane's Porsche, July 16, 1992, $259.97..."
Wednesday, 5 PM
"...Computers for Houma Children's Hospital, $20,873.65." Graham peered into the empty file drawer. "That's all she wrote." He looked around at the stacks of immaculately organized folders. "Well, thanks for your help, we'll call you if we need any more miracles worked-"
"Didn't Dr. Arcane want us to call him when we were done?"
-Damn.- "Yeah." Graham took out his cellular and dialled the lab extension. -Maybe I'll luck out and he'll have knocked off early.-
"Yes?" Arcane answered.
-Damn.- "We're done with the tax records, sir. Shall I send Miss Bolin on her way?"
"Nonsense, Graham, I don't want to let such an obviously talented individual go just yet. I'll be right down to have a look at her work."
-This is really not my day.- "Very good, sir." He hung up. "Dr. Arcane is on his way down."
"Good," Kris smiled.
Graham was trying to think of a way to say 'don't get your hopes up' without sounding catty when Arcane walked in. He took one look around the office and broke out the smarmy grin.
"Extraordinary," Arcane said, "If I didn't know this complex like the back of my hand, I'd think I wandered into the wrong room." He sauntered over to the desk. "Ms. Bolin, you're truly an accounting prodigy."
"I helped, too," Graham felt compelled to interject.
"What? Oh, yes, Graham, whatever you say." He waved his hand dismissively.
"Here," Kris said, "Let me show you how this works." Graham slunk around to look over her shoulder. Arcane just leaned on the armrest of her chair. "This sheet is your deductions," she moved the pointer over one tab and clicked, "this is your payroll," another click, "these are your expenses," click, "and this is your income." She hit the 'save' button. "You can just print these out and show them to the auditor, with all of that," she waved toward the files, "to back it up."
"You say this as if you're not going to be there," said Arcane. Graham inwardly groaned.
"Am I going to be?" asked Kris, a smile playing around the corner of her sensual lips.
"Of course," said Arcane, "assuming I can convince you to stay on as my accountant." He veritably oozed charm.
"I'd love to."
Graham's groan was audible this time. Arcane looked up at him sharply.
"Hunger pangs," he said quickly. "I, uh, skipped lunch."
"Well, then, by all means, go get dinner. Ms. Bolin and I will stay here and work out the particulars over veal marsala," he turned to Kris, "if you don't have any other plans."
"Nothing I can't break," she twinkled.
-Uh oh. Think fast.- "Actually, Doctor, there were some glitches in the Z-13 project that need your attention. I was thinking I'd call out for Szechuan and we could go over the status reports."
Arcane's smarmy grin soured a bit. "Very well. I'm sorry, Ms. Bolin, it looks like I'll have to take a rain check."
"I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to get things together, Dr. Arcane."
"Oh, call me Anton... I insist."
"All right, *Anton*, I'll see you tomorrow at nine o'clock?" She stood up, well within Arcane's personal space.
"I'll be looking forward to it," he smiled, before stepping aside to let her through.
"Until then," she said, with a smoldering glance over her shoulder as she walked to the door.
-Hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave- Arcane thought, realized he was quoting John Travolta, and shook his head crossly. "Now then," he turned to Graham, "what's this bollocks about the Z-13 project?"
Kris revved the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, barely slowing down at the security kiosk. Something about being in a great mood always made her want to drive recklessly. Maybe it was just a need to prolong the adrenalin high. She had a feeling she was going to be doing a *lot* of reckless driving in the weeks to come. Nothing put her in a great mood like getting laid and/or getting promoted, and prospects looked good. She cranked up the stereo and sang along to "Everybody Wants Some" as she raced the car down the road into town.
Thursday 11:59 am
Simms steamrollered his way through the Arcane complex. This time, everyone stayed out of his way. He hadn't even brought his briefcase, because he knew he wasn't going to have to do any real work. Simms never smiled when he was on the job, but today he was severely tempted. He could just picture the look of abject, desperate panic on Arcane's face as he begged Simms for mercy. He looked like the type who'd break down crying when Simms slapped the cuffs on. Simms *so* loved it when they cried. It gave him the closest thing to a warm, fuzzy feeling that he ever got.
He knew something was wrong when he walked into the office and saw the three of them there, smiling. Real smiles, wide and smug; not nervous, 'I'm one second away from a mental breakdown' smiles, but cheerful 'I'm on top of the world' smiles. Arcane was leaning nonchalantly against the desk, the assistant with the cheap Ray-Ban knockoffs was standing next to him with his arms folded, there was a woman sitting in the desk chair, and all of them were grinning as if they were glad to see him. No one *ever* smiled at Simms like that. What's more, the office was clean, and they probably wouldn't have been beaming so cheesily if they'd just shoved all the papers into the filing cabinet.
"Good morning, Agent Simms," said Arcane, his eyes positively sparkling with mirth. "Allow me to introduce our new accountant, Ms. Kris Bolin." He gestured toward the woman sitting in the chair. "She's quite the expert numbers-cruncher."
Simms didn't even spare her a glance. "Your records," he rumbled. As if neatly choreographed, Arcane moved aside and Kris flipped open a laptop computer.
"Excel spreadsheets," she said, "As allowed in section 118-C, subsection 4A of the tax code." She slid the computer forward. Simms glowered at it and flipped through the pages of the spreadsheet.
"I need to see the hard copies."
"But of course," smiled Arcane, "Mr. Graham, if you would..."
Graham strolled over to the filing cabinet, opened the top drawer, and began unloading file folders. "1988," he said, setting the stack on the desk, and yanking open the next drawer. The folders were alarmingly neat. Simms grabbed the top one. '1988 Expenditures - Business' read the tab. He opened it and thumbed through the receipts. Not a hairdresser in the bunch. He slammed it back down on the pile.
"I'm seizing all of your records for review."
Arcane's calm didn't crack. Not even a hairline fracture. "Very well," he said, spreading his hands magnanimously. "I want to cooperate in any way I can."
"Here, you'll want this," Kris said, ejecting the floppy disk and holding it out to him. Any other man would have been charmed by her smile. "We have backup copies of everything, so take your time." With a stony stare, Simms took it and slipped it into his pocket. Arcane took out his cel-phone and dialled.
"Yes, would you be so kind as to send a couple of men up to help Agent Simms carry our tax records out to his car? Jolly good. Oh, and have them bring some large cardboard boxes." He hung up and went back to standing around looking smug. Simms was just itching to do something unpleasant to him. For once, it didn't look like due process was going to be good enough. Simms glared balefully as Arcane's men came in and started loading the records into the boxes.
"The black Montero," he told them when they were finished.
"Which one?" one of the men asked. "Half our employees drive black Monteros."
"The one with the IRS parking sticker and the license plate that says SKREW-U. I'll be out as soon as I'm *finished* with Dr. Arcane." The two lackeys took one look at his face, grabbed the boxes, and split. As soon as they were gone, Simms turned around and invaded Arcane's personal space. Arcane didn't back up. Granted, he was already leaning against the desk, but he could have at least leaned back
intimidatedly. Simms got even more annoyed. He wasn't leaving this room until he got Arcane to show some fear.
"Arcane," he seethed, "I'm going to go over your records with a goddamn flea comb, and if I find so much as a missing comma, I'm going to bend you over a barrel and fire up the Roto-rooter."
"Promises, promises."
It was hopeless. He'd just have to wait until tomorrow to knock that smirk off Arcane's face. No, he'd start on the records out in his car. No sense wasting the gas on an extra trip. "Don't even think about leaving town," Simms hissed, spun on the heel of his steel-toe boots, and stalked out.
As soon as Simms' footfalls had retreated down the hall, the three of them looked at each other and broke into raucous, celebratory laughter. Graham and Kris even went so far as to high-five each other.
"Bloody good show," Arcane grinned, clapping both of them on their shoulders.
"You weren't so bad yourself," said Graham.
"I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel after that 'promises, promises' thing," giggled Kris.
"So much for taxes, now let's get to work on death!" Arcane pulled them both into a hug, kissing Kris on her forehead and ruffling Graham's scalp.
Two arms slide around Arcane's waist, getting into a traffic jam in the middle of his lower back. Kris and Graham eye each other across Arcane's chest. Kris winks at Graham, and he raises an eyebrow in return. Both of them half-smile knowingly.
And so it begins...
TO BE CONTINUED
(probably)
Afterward Rambling: Okay, it's only a rough draft, but I'm rather proud of it :p Most of it was written during lunch break at work. I myself happen to be a temp; McCallion is the name of my agency, though as far as I know, they don't have offices in Louisiana. Unfortunately, my boss looks about as unlike Arcane as you can get.