"As I understand it, we are only required to pay taxes once a year on our land," I said and thrusted the papers back into his hand. "This is absurd. Get the hell out of my office before I become uncivil."

If my snarl was not clue enough, the look on my face should have been a clear indication to the man in the suit (and a mask that covered just his eyes) standing on the opposite side of my desk to make himself scarce. Yet, undeterred, he remained.

What a cockroach he was.

"You are certainly entitled to your opinion, Miss Rynieyn, however, as you know, the clause in your lease allows for us to demand a secondary payment should we receive a complaint as we recently have, several in fact," the Tax Man said with a grin.

I sat forward in the chair which had been made for me long ago by the proprietor of the Rhy'Din Asylum, my old friend, that being Mad Max and despite that psycho's assertions that the chair was in perfect working order, it still creaked and pitched a fit whenever I sat in it, even though I weighed all of ninety pounds soaking wet.

The chair was a cockroach too.

As most people that know me will tell you, while I may be a huge fan of the bug itself, I like to kill me some cockroaches here and there, for sport or in times like this when it was absolutely necessary I remind people just who and what they were dealing with here.

I ain't no cockroach-killing upstart! I got me some skills!

"Lease, what lease? When Vizer died it passed to Hesse an' when he kicked the bucket, it became Brutin's. We own this land outright." I said with some degree of surprise as I was not too sure the man was dealing in facts but in speculation and gossip alone. "What complaints? I want their names...rank, file....serial numbers."

"Your business is causing some feathers to be ruffled," he said, again with that grin that I would, at some point, like, very much, to cut right off his face but for now I let him speak.

"I get that. Who is complaining? " I asked more forcefully. " And take off that mask! You look ridiculous!"

Note to would-be anti-slavery blowhards: When making an argument or a point, it is generally considered polite to do so out in the open and not hide behind complicated or even simple disguises as those you are attacking will know to take you seriously and not think of you as some sort of bad joke.

"I am not at liberty to divulge their names only the nature of the complaint which is that slavery is widely considered to be deviant behavior, is demeaning, is wrong and degrades women," he said.

"So you are going to tax us because of a few nameless complaints? Am I hearing you correctly?" I asked and began to rise out of Max's stupid chair.

"We have no choice. We are afraid of the backlash, Miss Rynieyn," said the grinning Tax Man.

I had a feeling in a few moments he would no longer be.

"How do you know there is going to be a backlash if those who are complaining don't even have the balls to come say this to our face but instead send someone else to do their dirty work like you?"

"We must be prepared, in any event," he said with a nod.

"I see, so let me see if I understand all this," I said and walked out from behind my desk to join him on the other side.

"By all means," he said with a gesture.

"You are going to unfairly tax our business, which is situated on the outskirts of town, behind high walls so that no one can see what goes on here, based on complaints made by cowards who claim what we do is deviant behavior yet you have absolutely no proof to back up these claims and as I happen to know for a fact, neither do they?"

The masked Tax Man tilted his head. "Yes."

I smiled up at him. "Then I must say, I am very confused."

"What is there to be confused about Miss Rynieyn? Your business has long been a thorn in Rhy'Din's side. This should come as no surprise."

"No, see, Mister, I disagree."

"How so?"

"Because, if, as you say, the general consenses or majority was that we were so bad and no one wanted to do business with us because of it, tell me, why is it that we are still here?"

Just as I suspected he might the Tax Man stopped grinning then and it was not entirely his fault. I helped him out, just a little. Then I sat me down on the marble floors and made me two paper airplanes out of the papers he insisted I take and I got to thinking. Boss likes to learn new things almost as much as I do. As I lifted my arm and sent the first paper airplane through the air to see how far it would fly down the hall (which wasn't very far because apparently bloody paper doesn't take to the air very well), I wondered. What would Boss think about my art project? I sure hoped he was going to like it because let me tell you.

I'd do just about anything to make my Boss happy even if meant sacrificing something I loved.

Nothing was sacred where it concerned him.

Not a blessed thing.