Hello, This is a sample of my novel. The novel is about a computer attack on the IRS. The one publisher brave enough to try to publish this book backed off because of problems with the IRS, So I am trying to make it available through the net. Following are the first few chapters. If you are interested in reading the rest, there is an order form at the end. Please feel free to copy this sample to as many places as you can. I hope you enjoy these chapters, Paul Mahler ---------------------------------------------------------------- BACK TAXES A NOVEL BY PAUL MAHLER (c) Copyright 1991,1992 Paul Mahler "Exciting from the first page. Sex, adventure, violence . . . . This book has it all." --Paul's accountant "This is a book that every taxpayer will want to read . . . and then have their friends buy it to read." --Paul's mother "A moving account of the destruction of the enemy of the American worker. The sex scenes are better than real life."--Paul's wife --------------------------------------------------------------- None of the characters in this novel are real. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any form. For information address Paul Mahler, 1800 Market St. #257, SF, CA 94102. "He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people, and eat out their substance."--The Declaration of Independence Preface While the characters and events portrayed here are purely fictional, the events are based on actual case histories, court cases, and the real day-to-day procedures of the Internal Revenue Service. Some, who have read this novel, have suggested toning down some of the events, that they are preposterous or unbelievable. I only wish that I could still find these events preposterous. In fact, all the events that follow are all too possible. All the events described here are based on real people's real problems. The statistics, the case histories, the events are all real. Paul Mahler San Francisco, April 15, 1991 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Part One--Driving Me Crazy CHAPTER ONE The last day before Christmas, after work, I found a letter waiting for me at home. It was an ugly reminder of two thousand dollars in back taxes I had never paid. I was on unemployment two years ago and couldn't pay my taxes. I had to file without paying. I let it slide. The IRS didn't call me. I didn't call them. I looked at the letter wondering how much it would add up to. Taxes, interest, some penalty. I guessed four thousand dollars. Maybe forty-five hundred dollars. I opened the letter. The letter said: "We have been unable to resolve your account (see attachment), and our attempts to reach you by telephone have not been successful. To eliminate the need for a personal visit to your residence or place of business, send payment in full and all delinquent tax due in the enclosed envelope within seven days from the date of this letter." It was signed "Chief, Research Group." The attachment said: "We have previously written you asking for payment of the Federal tax identified below, but we have no record of receiving it. The tax is overdue, and the law authorizes us to seize your property, wages, or other assets to satisfy your unpaid tax. The total amount due includes interest and penalty and should be paid immediately to avoid additional charges." $58,398.77. It had to be a mistake. I called the IRS office on Golden Gate Avenue here in San Francisco. It took me a week to get them on the phone. It was the week between Christmas and New Years and the lines were always busy. When I got through, I got the run-around. Finally, I got William Lincoln, Revenue Officer, on the phone. I arranged a time to see him. I ended the conversation by saying, "Thanks Bill." He said, "You may call me Officer Lincoln." Revenue Officer Lincoln was corpulent. He had pants that wouldn't fit over a belly gone to pot and a shining gold tooth that flashed when he talked. He leaned back in his chair and squinted at me over a large pock marked nose that had never recovered from being seventeen years old. I was scared and said, "I know I owe back taxes. There is no question that I owe back taxes. But there is, I think, a question of how much back taxes I owe." Agent Lincoln said, "Mister Hansen, you apparently owe a substantial amount of money and have made no effort to pay it. I am only authorized to collect money. If you feel there is some error in the computation of the taxes due, you may pay the amount in full and then file a request that the account be examined. If some mistake has been made, the extra tax that you pay will be refunded. Of course, no interest will be paid on the excess amount." It was like he didn't hear me. "Look, you didn't listen to what I said. I owe about two thousand for that year. Here is a copy of my tax return showing I owed about two thousand. Look at the bottom line: 'Taxes due, eighteen hundred and ninety-five dollars.'" He said, "Mister Hansen, the IRS will be happy to reopen your case once you have paid the fifty-eight thousand dollars. If, after paying, you are dissatisfied, you may file an appeal to have the file reopened. If we made a mistake, your excess payment will be refunded." I was starting to get angry as well as scared. "I have two problems here. First, it's not clear I owe the IRS fifty thousand dollars. Second, I would be amazed if I ever have fifty thousand dollars." He still wasn't listening. "Mister. Hansen, do you own a car?" "Well, yes. I have a Chevy that's about a year-and-a-half old." "Well, we can take your car and sell it and apply the proceeds to the outstanding balance on your tax account." "Wait a minute! We still haven't figured out how much I owe you guys, and now you are going to take my car away. I don't see how that makes any sense. I still owe more on the car than it is worth." "That's not our problem Mister. Hansen. You should discuss that with the bank." "How much do you pay in rent?" I told him, "Seven hundred fifty per month. Why?" "We can take back your rent from your landlord each month and apply that money toward your tax bill." "Wait a minute. I pay my rent. You go to my landlord and tell him it's really your money and take it. What does the landlord do?" Officer Lincoln flashed his gold tooth in his first smile of the day. "Your landlord will probably throw you out." "So, now that I don't have a job because I can't get to it without a car, and I can't take showers anymore because I don't have a place to live because you got me thrown out--how am I supposed to pay the fifty thousand dollars?" "Mister. Hansen, you owe us a great deal of money. How you propose to pay it is not really my problem. It is my responsibility to take any steps necessary to collect these taxes. I am authorized to take your car and your rent. I can even take your entire paycheck every week." "Now that you get all my paycheck, my car, and my home, I might as well move to another country." He didn't even blink. "Mister. Hansen, we have collection offices in every major city in any country you are likely to move to. We are happy to continue this matter in the country of your choice." This was all I could handle for one day. I told him I needed a day or two to think about all this and would call him back. I left the Federal building and wandered into the fog. Since they put in the underground, Muni has been running antique streetcars on Market Street in the summer and during the holidays. I was in no hurry. I had time even if I didn't have money. I hopped on an old streetcar that must have been salvaged from the Spanish-American war. I had my head leaning on the glass watching things spin by and spotted the Libertarian Bookstore. I got off at the next stop and walked back to the store. The place was full of pamphlets, posters, books and magazines. I asked the clerk, "Do you have anything about the IRS?" He said there was a whole section and asked me what my problem was. I told him. He told me, "You know, there is a group of people meeting tomorrow night. Maybe you should go." He wrote down the address on the back of a bookmark for me. I didn't think much about it and stuffed it in my pocket. I went through the IRS section and bought a few books and pamphlets. I walked the rest of the way home. My apartment is just above Castro Street, almost in Noe Valley. I made myself a sandwich and opened a beer. After the news on TV, I started reading the books and pamphlets. One book interviewed an IRS agent. They asked if there would ever be a tax revolt. He said, "No, because people who don't want to pay taxes don't have to. People who make enough money, or people who work in the underground economy, and people or organizations with special interests don't pay taxes." The books didn't cheer me up. I consoled myself by thinking Revenue Officer Lincoln was having a bad day. No one can stay angry for ever. Tomorrow would be better. CHAPTER TWO I got up late, hung over. I called the appointment clerk at the IRS office and made a two o'clock appointment to see Revenue Officer William ("Don't-Call-Me-Bill") Lincoln. At two, butterflies were running a track meet in my stomach. I did some quick breathing then went up to see the man. I hoped he had a good night's sleep. Maybe his football team won. He was ugly and unpleasant, but who knows, maybe he got laid last night. I said, "Good Morning." He said, "Mister. Hansen, in our meetings you have been unhelpful. I don't feel that you are co-operating with me." "Wait-a-minute," I said. "I told you I owed you some money. I even filed a return, almost on time. I would love to pay you the money I owe. I would just like to know how much I really owe, and I don't see how it can possibly be fifty thousand dollars. I would love to pay what I owe. The sooner the better. You have been very effective. I am very scared. But I don't have fifty thousand dollars, even if I did owe you that much, which I don't." "Mister. Hansen, when you have been a revenue agent for a while, you start to get a sixth sense for people who are holding out on you. A sixth sense about people who are trying to cheat on their taxes, or hide something. I know you are one of those people. I can feel it. I can tell you are hiding something from me, concealing money." I opened my mouth to say something just as Lincoln said, "You leave me no choice in this matter. I am registering our tax lien with the county recorder. This will show up on your credit report immediately. You won't be able to borrow any money from now on. I am also going to attach your wages--all your wages. We will come and get your car. Then we will take your rent money back from your landlord." It sounded convincing. I didn't see how things could get worse until he said, "I am convinced you are concealing assets from us and have probably cheated on your taxes. I am going to request a full audit of all your tax returns for the last five years. If the auditors find anything wrong, you could go to jail." I got mad. "Look, this is bullshit. I owe you maybe four grand with penalties and interest. You are trying to make me sound like Al Capone. You won't tell me what I really owe." I had read in one of the pamphlets that I was entitled to see speak to a supervisor if I was having a problem with a revenue agent. "I want to talk to your supervisor." "No." I hesitated. "I am entitled to talk to your supervisor, please get him." He left the room for a minute. He came back in smiling and said, "I have discussed this matter with my supervisor. He doesn't want to talk to one of my taxpayers." At least the buck I spent on the pamphlet was tax-deductible because it wasn't helping me much. "Well, come and get me, asshole, because there is no way I am ever going to find fifty thousand dollars!" He told me, "Call me when you know how you will pay us the money you owe," and handed me his business card. I took it and stumbled out of the office. Outside I put the card in my jacket pocket. When I reached in I felt something else there. I pulled it out and saw the bookmark from the Libertarian bookstore. It had the address and time of the meeting. The meeting was for later the same day. I left the Federal building and headed for the nearest bar. I found a cute place on the edge of the Tenderloin. The Tenderloin is famous for ten-buck hookers, drunks, and great Vietnamese food. We call it the "wine country." The neighborhood was as depressed as I was. This is probably where I would wind up after they took my apartment. A nice gutter in the middle of the wine country. After a few beers, I looked at my watch and saw five-thirty. I fished out the bookmark, and there was the address in the Western Addition and the time--six o'clock. If I didn't hurry too much I would get there just at six. I took the bus, then the shoe leather express, to a flat across from the projects--deep in the Western Addition. I wouldn't have had the courage to walk around here without the beers. This wasn't a good place for a skinny programmer to be without track shoes or a gun. I rang the bell and got buzzed in through the security gate. Upstairs at the door I said, "Hi, Joe sent me." The guy at the door looked me up then down then let me in without saying anything. The meetings was in the living room of a flat that had seen better days. The flat was carved out of what had once been a fancy Victorian house. An old building that had seen its share of faded dreams. I looked for a seat, saw one in the back, and sat down behind this really great looking lady. No one would see me next to anyone that good looking. I would get lost in the rug or the wallpaper. Someone named Jim Samuelson stood up, introduced himself, and said this was a meeting of "Citizens for Just Taxation." "The United States began in a revolt against unfair taxation. Where have we come to?" "On average, thirty-four percent of what everyone makes goes to Federal taxes. Except for the rich who don't pay much. He pointed out the fifteen per cent of the gross national product went directly for taxes. Another fifteen percent went to pay for tax collection. This included paying IRS agents, accountants, CPA's, attorneys, and the like." "Over a million people don't pay any taxes at all. They are were tax dodgers, or conscientious objectors, or didn't want to pay for guns and bombs." Samuelson ended the meeting by soliciting donations and pointing to pamphlets at the back that were for sale. I felt I already had a corner on the pamphlet market. I didn't donate, I was saving my money for the IRS. I was getting ready to fade back out to the street when much to my surprise the hot-ticket blonde, the one I hid behind, who looked even better standing up and facing my direction, said hello. This was a surprise as good looking girls had developed a blind spot for me in Junior High. She introduced herself, told me her name was Susan and asked if she could buy me a drink. We took her car to a fern bar near the opera house. It was quiet. The in-crowd had been avoiding it for the last few months since the big coke bust. I ordered a beer, she asked for white wine. Susan asked me where I was from, what I did, and how I felt about all this trouble with the IRS. The beers made me more glib than usual, and I told her everything. I got tired, and we called it quits. She offered to drive me home. I said, "Sure," and we left. As we pulled up in front of my flat, she asked me for my phone number. She added, "Maybe we could get together for another drink some time." I gave her my number, but no one that attractive would ever call me again. But I would rather fantasize about her than Officer Lincoln. CHAPTER THREE Susan called and invited me to dinner. No accounting for taste. I never expected a call. I said yes. Maybe my luck was improving. Susan lived downtown at the base of Nob Hill, on Bush. I told her seven and asked what to bring. I said I could bring anything that didn't have to be caught, cleaned, or cooked. She said to bring wine. Even though the IRS was after me, I still had to work for a living. I worked at a printing company. We had just bought the newest fanciest laser printer to replace our older laser printer. My job was training it to be useful. We did high-volume custom printing. We took computer tapes and printed from them. We did the telephone books for the telephone company, for example. Telephone books for large multi-nationals headquartered in San Francisco. Catalogs. Big books that would change frequently. My work never got me laid but I liked it. After computers I was interested in Monday Night Football--and beer. Maybe Susan liked football. On the way over, I stopped at a big liquor store. I don't know much about wine, so I bought something that was red and cost twelve dollars. I rang the bell. She buzzed me in and I trudged up three flights of stairs. She was dressed in a shift kind of thing. She had misplaced her bra somewhere. She looked even better than I remembered. Susan was five-five, maybe one hundred and fifteen pounds and blond. I would wait until after dinner. If she could cook I would propose over dessert. Well, could she cook. Pasta, salad, and a killer triple chocolate layer cake from Just Desserts. The wine disappeared, even though it turned out to be the wrong color. Susan said how much she liked it. I assumed she was being nice. Our conversation turned to the IRS. Her father had been in big trouble. That was why she was at the meeting. He got a letter like mine. His letter said he owed fourteen hundred dollars. He didn't think he owed it. He had paid all his taxes, he had filed on time. So he wrote a letter asking for a meeting. The IRS never wrote back, just kept sending dunning letters. He was afraid they would come after his bank account. So he wrote to the bank and told them not to give the IRS any money without a court order. The bank said, "Sorry." if the IRS came after his checking account they were going to give it to them. They had to, it was the law. Next month, the bank turned fifteen hundred dollars over to the IRS Pop was a farmer--stubborn. He thought nobody was guilty until proven guilty. He figured no one should take his money without a court order. Acting as his own attorney he filed a suit against his bank. Pop owed half of a farm-equipment loan for a new tractor. Because the bank took the money out of his account without his permission, he wrote saying he wouldn't be paying the note anymore. In the first week of July, the court issued an order for the bank allowing the tractor to be taken. Susan showed me a news clipping from the Little Forks, Herald. It said: "Yesterday morning, on the Fourth of July, Deputy Samuel Dick and Deputy Jim Frost of the Little Forks Sheriff's department went to Donald Cherry's farm twenty miles south of town. they took a truck with them planning to take his tractor. They said he hadn't paid his loan." "Sheriff Johnson said the deputies arrived at the scene at 11:30 a.m. The deputies claim they met someone at the sight who said Cherry didn't want the equipment moved. They were told Cherry had a gun and knew how to use it." "The deputies hitched the tractor to the truck and started back to Little Forks. One Sheriff's car was ahead of the truck. Another was behind it." "Miller said Cherry's car approached the convoy from behind. Cherry passed the rear car and the truck. Cherry cut in front of the truck, forcing it to pull over." "The deputy in the front car pulled across the road, blocking it. Cherry had his wife Jane and daughter Susan in the car. he jumped out and exchanged words with the deputies." "The deputy in the front car told Cherry, over the loudspeaker, to get back in his car and leave quietly. Cherry refused. The deputy than said he was under arrest, that he should raise his hands and stand quietly." "Cherry refused the order and got back in the car. He drove toward the deputy's car which was still blocking the road. The deputy claimed to see something that looked like a pistol in Cherry's hand. No pistol was found in the car." "The deputy ordered Cherry to halt, but he kept driving. The deputy fired two rounds from his twelve-gauge shotgun into the Cherry car. Mr. Cherry was taken to the hospital where he died shortly after arrival. Mrs. Cherry was treated for minor wounds and released. The daughter was unharmed" "Cherry had no criminal record." Susan told me how terrible it was. Her father would have never fired at a sheriff's deputy even if he had a gun, which he didn't. He had not been expecting any violence. That's why he took his wife and daughter. Susan said her father believed in his country. He couldn't believe the IRS could take his money without a court trial. He thought he was a free man living in a free country. It wasn't over. Susan and her mother were charged with attempted murder. If they hadn't charged Susan and her mom for a felony, the deputies couldn't justify the shooting. Susan left rather than face the charges. She was still on the run. I didn't know that nobody, a creditor, the federal government, another citizen, a foreign power, has the right to seize property without due process of law--except the IRS. The President would have to declare martial law to get away with something like this. I didn't know what to say. "That must have been incredible horrible." She started to cry.I put my arm around shoulder to comfort her. She cried and cried. After the crying we talked and talked until the small hours of the morning. I finally looked at the time and said, "I should go home, it's late." Susan said, "Don't go, please, it's so nice having you here." The next thing I knew, we were kissing. I said, "Gee maybe we should stop for a while." Susan started unbuttoning my shirt. The next thing I knew, we were headed to the bedroom. Susan sat me down on the edge of the bed and said. "Don't go away." I wasn't going anywhere. She disappeared. When she came back, she had on even less than before. She lit some candles, she said they made her feel sexy. I didn't think she needed help. She took off all my clothes, slowly. She pulled back the covers on the bed and pushed me on my back. I tried to grab her, but she pushed me back on the bed and asked, "Do you like being tied up?" I didn't know, I had never tried it before. I was too excited to say no. She reached into the nightstand and pulled out some ribbons. She tied the ribbons around my wrists, and my wrists to the headboard. Then she tied my ankles to the foot-board. She said, "You've been verrrry naughty. Susan is going to have to punish you. She took out a huge feather and started stroking it up and down my body. I was going bullshit. I was dying to grab her, and couldn't. I couldn't believe how much fun this kinky stuff was. Next she brought out an ice cube and started working me over with it. This left me gasping for air. She was telling me what to do the whole time. I loved it. Then she started kissing me all over. My lips, neck, down my chest. Then a blow-job. I don't know why the call it a blow job, she wasn't doing much blowing. She grabbed my balls in one hand. She started squeezing. Just as I came, she broke a vial of something under my nose. I found out later it was a "popper," amyl nitrate. It was intense. It felt like a NASA moon-shot. I had never been tied up before, but I couldn't wait to try it again. It even made me forget about the IRS for a while. CHAPTER FOUR Susan was up early. She said she had things to do. I didn't know where she worked. I didn't know if fugitives worked for a living. I showered and dressed, went out for coffee, then went home. I wouldn't have believed Susan's story about her dad a few weeks back. After my own visits with Revenue Agent Lincoln, anything seemed possible. From that night, Susan and I spent all our free time together. We had much in common. I liked being tied up. She liked tying me up. We both disliked the IRS. Susan was working for a political organization. This explained the odd hours she worked. She said they knew she was in trouble with the IRS and the law. I hadn't seen my accountant yet. I was hoping the IRS would go away if I ignored them long enough. It was only January seventeenth, I didn't think anything would happen fast. I had been spending nights at Susan's. That morning I was supposed to drive to Sunnyvale to see a client. The client had custom printing needs and I would have to do some programming for them. I had to see them to estimate a job. I was running late to work. I went downstairsand opened the front door. I didn't see my car. I figured my car had been towed. It would cost me one hundred and twenty dollars, to get it back with the fine and the towing. I remember a friend saying they would take Mastercharge so I could get it out even though I didn't have the cash. I hoofed it down to the city towing lot. It was depressing, there was a long line of people trying to get their cars out of hock. It took me 45 minutes of standing in line to get up to the bullet proof window and see the cop-in-a-box. He said they didn't have my car and asked why didn't I just call first? He told me they didn't have any record of my car and that the street I had parked on wasn't a tow-away zone anyway. He asked me if I would like to file a stolen vehicle report. I told him no, that I think I knew who had it. I would have to let my boss know so they could get someone else to attend the meeting in Sunnyvale. I took the bus to the office. When I got there, Lois, the receptionist, said the boss had been looking for me and wanted me to meet him in accounting immediately. On the way to accounting I was trying to think about what to tell Larry about my missing car. When I got there he was in the controller's office. He didn't even ask about Sunnyvale. The controller spoke first. "I received a notice of levy today form the IRS ordering us to pay all your salary to the IRS. We are supposed to give them ALL your salary. Christ, what have you done?" "I tried to go to bat for you. I was called by some guy named Lincoln. He said you owed them a lot of money. He said I should give all your pay to them or I could be in a lot of trouble myself." My boss, Larry, said, "I have talked it over with one of the vice-presidents here. We don't have any choice, we have to let you go. We don't know how you could have gotten into this much trouble with the IRS. What are you going to live on when the IRS is taking all your pay? How can you do any work for us?" "You have been a great employee. You have done a great job, we are all pleased with your work, but we're going to have to let you go. I'm sorry." I couldn't believe it. My legs couldn't either. They buckled under me as I tried to stand up. Larry got me some water, told me again how sorry he was, and that as soon as I could stand up he would help me clean out my desk. There was one small carton of junk in my desk worth taking. I took it outside and caught the bus. Nobody asked for an explanation--it was just goodbye. When I got to my apartment, I found a bright pink notice stapled to the door. It was a notice of levy from the IRS and said that everything I owned had been "confiscated by the United States Government." I took it off the door, folded it up and put it in my pocket. The door was unlocked. I went inside. Everything was gone. The place had been picked clean. They had even taken the beer out of the refrigerator. I found a note taped to the refrigerator from my landlord asking me to see him as soon as possible. Something about having to give my rent money to the IRS. I dumped a few papers that were left into my box and left it in the bedroom. There were a few clothes they didn't take still in the closet. I left. On the way out I saw that there were letters in my mailbox. I opened the box and got them out. They looked like bounce notices from the bank. They were bounce notices from the bank. I use my personal computer to balance my checkbook. I have never bounced a check. When I opened the envelopes I saw all my checks were bouncing. I could guess who had the money that used to be in my checking account. No car, no job, no apartment, no money. All in one morning. I did have a dollar, so I took the bus to Susan's. She was home when I got there. She took me inside put me on the couch and gave me a beer. I told her about my morning. She said, "Those bastards. Someone should get those bastards. Don't worry, you can stay with me." I was shell-shocked. I spent most of my time sleeping or drinking. Susan tried her best to cheer me up, but couldn't really. I spent that next week feeling sorry for myself. Only Susan kept me going. I felt uncomfortable that Susan was supporting me. I had been staying at her place, eating her food, letting her take me to the movies. She had been so nice to me and I didn't see how to repay her. I told her this over breakfast. She was quiet for a bit. Thinking. She said, "I should introduce you to the people I work with. They may have a job for you." I asked her, "Why would they want to hire me?" She told me, "It's not really a job. We all get some money, but it's not really a job. I'll tell you more but you have to keep it secret." I told her, "I won't tell anyone anything. I'm so pissed at the IRS I don't care if it's illegal." She told me, "It is." It was my turn to take a pause. I could tell that knowing what she was doing could get me into even more trouble. At least up 'till now I hadn't broken any laws. Sure, I was in a bad spot, but maybe I could still get it fixed. I told her, "I would like to do whatever you think is best." She said, "This will work out just fine. Your going to get an opportunity to fight back." CHAPTER FIVE I was angry, but it came with a wierd sense of freedom. Life had never held surprises like these. I Went to college because my folks thought I should; I Studied computer science because my advisor thought it was a good idea. I Got a job. I Did what you're supposed to do. I Worked. I paid most of my taxes. I had a quiet predictable life. A nobody landlord, a mediocre job, a broken stereo. A car that I didn't own. I told Susan that I was ready for anything. Susan went to talk to her friends about me. She came back happy. She said, "I talked with everyone. They already knew we are dating. Everyone wants to meet you tonight. After dinner we went to a house in the Haight-Ashbury. That neighborhood has changed even though some of the people are still trapped in a time-warp. The old head shops have been remodeled to sell coffee beans and imported cheese to yuppies. The group was nondescript--until they talked. They all had an axe to grind. We were talking serious tax protestors here. There were six people, four men and two women, beside Susan and me. One of the men, Steve, started talking to me. "This group is dedicated to the elimination of the IRS. We believe that politicians have ignored the Constitution and sold out American workers and the middle class. "Taxes have transformed American workers from free men to slaves. You think slaves wear leg-irons and are confined and beaten? A free man owns what he produces and a slave doesn't. "In the Middle Ages, serfs gave over to their lord twenty-five percent of everything they produced. In return, they received protection. How does a serf gving up twenty-five percent differ from the American worker who gives up thirty-five percent? "Increasing taxation, driven by Government greed and incompetence has made slaves out of America's working people. By 1972, Government expenditures equaled eighty-three-point-five percent of the total gross product of all U.S. manufacturing, all U.S. agriculture, all U.S. Mining, all petroleum and natural gas production, all U.S. communications, and all electrical, gas, and sanitation services--combined! By 1979, the IRS had over eighty- seven thousand employees, and spent well over two billion dollars to collect the equivalent of two thousand and eighty-three dollars from every person in America. "Over sixty percent, over one and a quarter billion dollars, of the revenues the IRS collect are budgeted to enforcing collection: collection procedures, auditing, investigating, and prosecuting. This is the harassment and intimidation of American taxpayers. Even more money is wasted on lawyers, accountants, and record keeping needed to feed the IRS bureaucracy. "In order to allow the IRS to enforce the collection of usurious taxes, politicians have sold our constitutional rights down the river. "The IRS extorts people into waiving their constitutional rights. By demanding a signed return, they force you into perjury." "The IRS has IRS courts, where most of the judges are ex-IRS employees. The IRS maintains their own hit list. The IRS has over three thousand armed agents. They enlist the aid of the FBI and local police forces as they see fit." "The IRS collects massive amounts of information on private citizens. Any other agency would be prohibited from having this information. The IRS is willing to drive businesses into bankruptcy to collect taxes. The IRS can take all your property without due process of law. IRS procedures are designed to intimidate, harass, and suppress the individual. "The IRS goes to extraordinary lengths to prevent the taxpayer from seeking relief or redress outside the agency. They make it almost impossible for a taxpayer to be judged in a court of law by his peers. The IRS goes to great lengths to hide their abuses from the public. It protects itself by ruining the careers of elected officials who oppose them, destroying files that would prove IRS misconduct, and scaring the average taxpayer. "In enforcing the Sixteenth Amendment, the IRS has thrown away the First, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, Eight, Ninth, and Tenth Amendments to the Constitution. "The IRS encourages confrontations with tax protestors. The IRS does not dislike tax protestors; it needs protestors to create fear in the mind of the average taxpayer. The The IRS encourages confrontations with the patriotic Americans who struggle against IRS tyranny. "Politicians have unleashed a bureaucracy of terror called IRS. This IRS has grown so powerful that even the politicians who created the monster are scared of it. No politician dares investigate it. When a politician is either brave enough, or foolish enough, to oppose the IRS, the IRS will harass that politician up to and including the rigging of elections. "Our organization is dedicated to the destruction of the IRS. We, like the American patriots who founded a country in rebellion against oppression and tyranny and excessive taxation, are fighting this modern tyranny and oppression. Like our ancestors before us, we are dedicated to the struggle for human rights and dignity granted to every American by the Constitution. We will defend this Constitution, with our own blood if need be, where the politicians are too weak to make a stand." CHAPTER SIX Other political groups provided our support and funds. Foundations gave money--like the Americans for Americans Foundation. Liberals who had supported the anti-war groups of the late sixties kicked in money, surprising amounts of money We were even a non-profit, tax-free organization. The events team was always busy. The regular media wouldn't give us the time of day. They were afraid of the IRS, too. We weren't Republican or Democrat or large, so we didn't get media coverage. We worked with groups that focused on environmental or nuclear issues. When they held rallies or events, we supported them. Later, they would support us. We were well organized. There was even a personal computer. I fell into working with the computer. I automated the mailing list for the newsletter and put fund-raising information into a data base. I stopped hearing from the IRS. They didn't have a forwarding address, and I wasn't going to give them one. I owed them money, so they claimed, but I hadn't done anything yet that was illegal. When I wasn't working or with Susan, I was at rallies. I remember my first one. We were protesting foreclosures of farms in the Midwest. We had been working to gain support for a noontime rally downtown. There was a terrific amount of work in organizing permits and speakers and sound equipment and all the million things needed for a political rally. More rallies were held over the months, more newsletters sent out. The day-to-day grind of political activism. When I signed up, I had thought every day would be an adventure. But, no, things moved slowly, and no adventure reared its head. We made a big push at tax time to send out extra editions of the newsletter. We tried to capture the interest of the popular press and television. The press and television wouldn't cover us. The best we could get was a few paragraphs in the "Bay Guardian." We couldn't even get into the San Francisco Chronicle, even though just about anything else could. It was frustrating. Anyone I talked to would listen to my IRS horror stories then give me a polite brush-off. "You're kidding. They can't do that." If I hadn't experienced trouble with the IRS, I wouldn't have believed Susan's story. Nobody was interested in the IRS. Everybody was busy trying to file before the deadline on the fifteenth. The world got through tax time just as it always did. Except that I didn't file--I was finally breaking the law. People just kept on paying, thankful that the system left them as much as it did. Withholding taxes makes it easier for people to ignore taxes. People get used to withholding. They think in terms of what's left in each paycheck. There was a factory in the South, years back, that started taking all of a month's withholding out of one paycheck. This made it clear just how big the bite was. This didn't last long, and the IRS made it mandatory that withholding be taken out of wages as they were earned. A nice psychological buffer, withholding. Just think how people would react if at Christmas time the IRS said, "by the way, you owe us fifteen thousand dollars." The average taxpayer was complacent. I didn't see what we could do to blast away that average complacency. Mr. and Ms. Middle America were still dancing down the yellow brick road to April fifteenth. There are many tax protestors, perhaps millions. Some people don't file taxes and stay in the underground economy. Some brave, foolhardy souls file "Fifth Amendment" returns. These have names and a statement against paying taxes. Just an unsigned Form 1040 with a note that says signing it would violate Fifth Amendment rights about self-incrimination. These folks were too loosely organized to be effective. Some of what we were doing, like not filing our income tax returns, was illegal, but we weren't into any of the big stuff. Nobody was shooting at us, and I didn't feel we were changing the IRS. CHAPTER SEVEN Several months went quietly by. I was happy. A nice job, a nice girl, a nice computer. I spent more time outdoors with rallies. I can remember when it ended. It was my fault. We were back from a rally at the University of California medical laboratories. We were there in support of animal rights. The school board of directors was meeting, and we arranged a demonstration for them. A show of force by people who didn't have any force and wouldn't have used it if they did. It was successful. Ten of the animal rights activists were arrested for being disorderly in public and had their pictures taken by the TAC squad. I had been to so many demonstrations that I was on a first-name basis with the tac squad. Pro-animal support was far afield, but we owed favors. Someone had called in a political debt. There were print reporters and one television crew. It looked like we might get press on this. We got back late. Everybody was tired. We decided to have supper together. Eating always cheered us up. We had home-made pizza-- vegetarian in honor of the day's activities. We had beer, too--my favorite after-demonstration beverage. I was digesting the pizza and reading a computer magazine. There was interesting new stuff. It always amazed mo to see equipment get smaller, faster, and cheaper. Gear that would have cost millions a five years back only cost thousands now. The new stuff does things the old gear would never do. It was a Tuesday night, and no interesting sports were on the tube. Everyone was lounging around waiting for the peppers on the pizza to wear off. A spontaneous meeting sent Steve into one of his eloquent tirades against the IRS. Everyone went on and on. I listened then dozed off into day dreams. I was thinking about what I would do to the IRS if I had the bucks. I had an idea. Patently simple. I batted it around inside my head for a while. Held it up to the light, looked underneath it. The more I thought about it the more it seemed like a good idea. I got out note paper and, while everyone else was talking, started writing. The more I thought about my plan, the better it looked. I starting outlining what would be needed: people, machinery, supplies. Then I put times on everything and figured what equipment and supplies would cost. It seemed like a wonderful idea until I added up the numbers. Nine to ten months and a bunch of money. I already knew that the IRS had all the money. We kept getting enough to eke by, but this involved serious bucks. I grew depressed again. My idea seemed like an adolescent fantasy. I started thinking what an edge in material and resources the IRS had over us. Only a couple of us were still sitting around talking. Finally, someone said, "We need stop the IRS. We need to stop the bastards. I responded, "You know, It's just a shame we can't do anything effective." The guy snarled. "Oh Yeah? So what makes you so smart, asshole. What would Mr. Programmer do?" I said, "Look, busting the IRS would be duck soup. I could stop them dead in their tracks. The trouble is it would be expensive." Steve said, "What's expensive?" I looked down at my scribbles and said, "About two hundred thousand dollars." Steve got up, walked over to me, looked me straight in the eye and said, "I can probably get two hundred thousand dollars." This is when my life stopped being easy I was about to make my first run-in with the IRS look like friendship day at a gay bathhouse. I told everyone my plan. They tried to poke holes in it, but the more they listened, the more they liked it. Like all good plans-- and even if I say so myself, it was good--this plan was simple. It was easy to the point of foolproof. You just had to have the right idea, the right people, the right funding, and the right equipment all at the right time. All of which we could get. Except the money, maybe. I had to spend a lot of time explaining the equipment I would use, how it would work, where you could get it. My idea was a technology trip. This required serious explaining to the troops. Most of these people couldn't tell a computer from a toaster. Susan, for example, had trouble getting Mr. Coffee to come on at the right time in the morning. It looked as if we could fuck the IRS if we could get the money. Steve said he would check about the money first thing in the morning. I thought two hundred thousand dollars, or more, was big money. I didn't see anyone giving it to a group like us. If we were the Republican Party, two hundred thousand dollars wouldn't be a big deal, but who would give it to us? We went home for the night. When we got back home, she was excited and a bit drunk. She loved my plan. We had more to drink and headed for the bedroom. One thing lead to another, and before I could say, "Blow up the IRS," I was tied to the bed frame. Susan said, "You have been verrry, verrry, bad and I have something special for you." She was talking with long r's again so I knew I was in for a big treat. I won't tell you everything she did, I'm far too shy, but just let me say it was great. ------------------------------------------------------------ Does our hero live or die? Does the IRS win or loose? Will there be an IRS when our hero is done with his scheme? What is our hero's plan? If you are excited enough by the sample to fork out after tax dollars to read the rest, please fill out the following order form and send it to Paul Mahler 1800 Market Street #257 San Francisco, CA 94102 The cost of the novel is $4.50 plus shipping and handling of $1.50. Please send a postal money order. If this is too difficult send a personal check made to Paul Mahler. Please do not send cash or stamps. Please allow 3 to 6 weeks for delivery. Orders by check will be shipped as soon as the check clears. Orders with a postal money order will be shipped fast. ________________________________________________________________________ HANDY ORDER FORM Please send a copy of "Back Taxes" to: Your Name:____________________________ Your Address:_________________________ _________________________________ City:____________________________ State:___________________________ Zip:_____________________________ I have enclosed a postal money order or personal check for $4.50 for the novel and $1.50 for postage and handling for a total of $6.00.