"Didn't you see the IRS sign out front?"
"Nope. Can't read. Why do you think I'm pushing a broom in a basement?"
The IRS agent eyed Remo closely. "You a nonfiler, Remo? You look like a nonfiler to me. What's your Social Security number?"
From the side door came the pounding of fists on stubborn steel.
"Open up! IRS!"
"Open it up for them," the agent ordered Remo.
"Why not?" said Remo, setting the broom against the door to the computer room.
When the door opened, it really opened. Remo faded back only inches ahead of the inward surge of armed IRS agents.
"I thought you guys were from the IRS," he said as a fan of gun muzzles tracked him.
"We are." The agent with the pinched temples stepped up to flash his ID. "Jack Koldstad. With the IRS Criminal Investgation Division."
"You act like Paddy O'Toole with the IRA knee-capper squad"
"Shut up. I'll ask the questions around here. An agent came down earlier."
"Haven't seen him. And I've been here all day."
Koldstad eyed his agents. "Sweep this place."
"I think I beat you to it," said Remo.
"I meant sweep it for contraband."
"My job description covers dirt only," Remo said.
The agents moved through the basement with grim purpose. One of them found the fuse box and noticed a switch in the red position. He reset it. The overhead lights came on.
"Didn't you notice there was no light?" Koldstad asked Remo.
"I notice it now," Remo said.
An agent came upon the triple-locked door and called out, "Mr. Koldstad, I think I found something."
"What is it?"
"A door with a lot of locks."
Koldstad hurried over, saying, "Bring that smartass along."
"I'll go quietly," Remo offered as the gun muzzles closed in on him.
Koldstad was looking over the door.
"Where does this lead?" he asked Remo.
Remo shrugged. "To the other side."
"Don't get smart."
"If I knew, I'd say," Remo lied.
"Who has the keys?"
"Dr. Smith."
Koldstad grabbed an agent by the arm. "You go upstairs. Bring me every key from Smith's office."
While the agent was gone, Koldstad turned to Remo, "What's your name again?"
"Remo."
"Okay, Remo, we're the IRS. You know what that means?"
"I get a refund?"
"No!"
"Shucks."
Koldstad lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Work here long?"
"Too long."
"Good. You must know a lot of what goes on here."
"I know which end of a broom to hold." Remo swept the men around him with his deep-set eyes. "I also know not to point a weapon at a man unless I intend to use it."
"The IRS doesn't shoot compliant citizens," Koldstad assured him.
"I'll try to remember that."
"We've seized Folcroft."
"That explains all the guns."
"We suspect illegal activity is going on here."
"What kind?"