Vulpine

Like a fox, crafty (adj.)

Jason Guar opened the door and its hinges moaned and little bells tinkled magically as it shut behind him. His feet creaked the wood as he walked the plank of the trading post. He held his briefcase confidently and unbuttoned the top button of his business shirt.
Shelves surrounded him, full to the edges with authentic-looking Pueblo trinkets and souvenirs: baskets, vases, homemade fishing poles, t-shirts, knitted hats, quilts, pillows and pillow cases, moccasins, totem poles, drums, snuff boxes, painted pocket knives, dream catchers with feathers and feather headdresses. Every single piece he saw had a similar insignia painted on it--the face of a cat, or coyote, or fox-- a sharp face with two ears and two sly slits for eyes. Everything seemed to be hand-made and in great quantity.
Guar walked up to a shelf with a box of key chains and held one in his hand. It was a piece of smooth burnt wood with a fox face painted on it in white.
"Like that key chain?" the voice of an old man boomed from his right. It startled him. He put the key chain on the shelf and looked toward the end of the aisle. The question was said with an unnecessarily loud volume, as if the speaker were close to deaf, so Guar returned responded with what he thought was an appropriate loudness,
"Oh, yes, very much!" he said.
Guar heard some shuffling to his right and saw a old man appear at the end of the aisle. He looked about five feet tall and had bright white hair. He looked concerned.
"Alright, I can hear you son, don't need to shout."
The old man shuffled his legs toward Guar and spoke again.
"How can I help you?"
"Actually," Guar said, "I'm not looking for something, I'm looking for someone. Herbert Lobos?"
"Herbert Lobos?" the man repeated.
"Yes, Mr. Herbert Lobos."
The old man looked at the key chain Guar had put back on the edge of the shelf. Then he slowly raised his arm and put it back in the pile of key chains like it.
"Hmmm," he said, "I'm Herbert Lobos," he said, looking up at Guar.
"Oh, well," said Guar, surprised, "that's very helpful. Mr. Lobos, I'm Jason Guar from the Internal Revenue Service and I need to ask you a few urgent questions about your taxes."
"From where?" the man asked.
"Oh, I'm from the Internal Revenue Service. The IRS."
Lobos looked Guar up and down.
"Never heard of it," he said.
Guar looked around, nodding, and blinked largely and obviously several times.
"Well, that would explain quite a bit actually."
He removed several pieces of paper from his briefcase looked over a series of printed numbers.
"Mr. Lobos, you owe the United States government $143, 562.73 in federal income taxes. You owe the state of New Mexico $65,783.23 in state income taxes."
Lobos hobbled next to Guar so his chin almost pressed againt Guar's upper arm and squinted at the forms.
"Oh," he said.
"Somehow, you've avoided paying taxes for over nine years Mr. Lobos. The IRS sent me to make sure everything in your store was here and to warn you of this. If you don't pay the government back you will be in serious trouble.
"Hmmm," Lobos said, "trouble."
"Yes, quite a bit of trouble," Guar said in his most administrative-sounding voice.
Lobos blinked and looked up at Guar. The old man was like a nymph, like a god and a child and an animal combined. Guar watched him as he nodded.
"Okay," Lobos said, "I'll have the money for you tomorrow."
Guar took a breath in and nodded, humoring Lobos.
"All the money, Mr. Lobos, by tomorrow?"
"Yes, I'll have the money for you tomorrow."
"Well, uhm, okay, then, do you need these amounts?"
"No, that's okay, " he said, "I will see you tomorrow."
Guar, not knowing what else to do, closed his briefcase and continued nodding. Then he said,
"Okay, well, I'll leave these papers here just in case. I'll be back for them tomorrow."
"Good," said the old man, who stuck out his leathery hand for a shake. Guar took it and pumped it twice. The man's hand was warm, like earthy clay. Guar took a short breathe and turned around and walked out the door, bells tinkling as it shut behind him.

The next day, Guar pulled into the trading post parking lot. He walked to the front door and opened it. The hinges moaned, but the bells didn't tinkle when the door shut. There were no bells. The Guar looked up. There was nothing inside the store. It was completely empty. Guar's feet creaked on the wood as he took small steps in circles to scan and make sure of what he saw. He saw empty shelves and sunlight catching plumes of dust floating in the air. Guar walked to the counter and saw the papers he had left with Lobos the day before. The key chain with the white fox face painted on it was lying on top of them.