Never Use a Chicken and Other Stories by Jim Newell Read Free Book Online Page A

other door to the living room and out into the hall leading to the bedroom. I hoped the floor didn’t squeak because I was in too big a hurry to be careful. I could hear the commotion on the sofa but I was too busy to look at that, either. Finding the money took about a minute and a half. It was in a nylon roll bag, just lying on the dresser partly under a white shirt George had thrown across it. Now, how would I get out?
    I was standing in the doorway of the bedroom considering that little problem when the door to my left opened and an older woman walked out. She obviously didn’t sleep in the nude. She was even wearing something over her hair. Ginger’s mother wasn’t looking toward me. She was heading toward the family room and her mouth was about to give me a way to get out of that house.
    “What’s going on out here? Ginger, haven’t you got any more sense than.... George! Ginger! No, no, don’t get up! I mean ...”
    I walked out behind her. I was still wearing the nightie that had been tossed over the back of the sofa onto what was supposed to have been the floor but landed on me.
    “Good night, George,” I said. “Ladies.”
    I kept on walking through the still-open sliding doors to the patio. I tossed the nightie in the direction of the pool. I was wishing I could see what was going on behind me. I heard a scream from the old lady and a yell from Ginger. Nothing from George.
    “Who’s he?” That was Ginger.
    “Stop that man! He must be a burglar!” That was mother.
    “George!” Ginger again. “Go after him!”
    George said what I was counting on him to say. “With no clothes on? You kidding?” Good old conservative George, the accountant.
    Then I was out of earshot and had cut in the afterburners, running for the van. I was gone before poor George found his pants, or realized that the money was gone, whichever came first. I had no trouble looking after the money. That’s the trouble with accountants. They’re too careful. I even took the next couple of nights off and slept eight solid hours each night in my own bed. In the dark. Day people in night jobs have to take every available opportunity to lead a normal life.

Fred Versus the Government
    I have an acquaintance whose name is not Fred Smith, but that’s what I am going to call him here. You will understand why I don’t want to use his real name as you read on. Fred is unique. True, we are all unique in that we are each different individuals, but if it is possible to be so, Fred can by all standards be considered more unique than anyone. If he were a circle, he would be more circular than other circles. He is one of those individuals who has his own way of living out the moral code that says, “If that’s the way the law says it shall be done, then that is the exact way I shall do it. Those administering the law shall also do it that way.”
    Fred runs a business connected to financial affairs. He’s a bill collector. Don’t mess with him! If you owe money to somebody and they send Fred to collect it, you might as well pay it now, because you are going to pay it sooner or later. If later is more expensive, pay it now and save, because Fred never fails. Never.
    Nor has Fred ever failed with any branch of the government that he has engaged in battle, and there have been several departments, federal, provincial and municipal, which have deployed their troops against him. The biggest battles have been with The Income Tax people. Fred has won them all. He also took on the Department of Consumer Affairs, with light touches from the Attorney General’s Office, but he considers that one a mere skirmish because he had fun while he was winning.
    Let me tell you about that one. Fred was told by a local judge that he could not charge more than 24 percent per annum interest on overdue accounts. He argued, but was unable to sway the learned legal opinion. So he made a strategic retreat to his office where he called the Department of Consumer