When Aunt Martha asked about his business, he would hum, “Income tax! You don’t pay income tax on gifts; they are voluntary donations.” His explanation usually ended there, and it was the same for everyone, with one exception. He once explained in detail to Martha, saying, “I tell someone how to make money. I devise a plan and find someone who can implement it. After the plan succeeds, he sends me gifts. You can’t report such gifts for income tax. I don’t even count the money; that would be like being picky about someone else’s gift…”
The doorbell rang, and Aunt Martha went to welcome Peggy: “Oh, hello, Peggy. What have you been up to all day?” “I’ve gotten myself into a bit of trouble,” Peggy said. “I read in the paper you found a girl’s body that had been poisoned.” “Yes.” “Oh, heavens, let’s not stand here chatting, come in quickly.”
For years, Aunt Martha had been Uncle Benedict’s “assistant,” always ready to help, dressed in a tight black bodysuit, a mini skirt barely covering her hips, and a low-cut top, with a fixed smile on her face. During Uncle Benedict’s performances, when he needed to make quick switches or perform sleight of hand tricks out of the audience’s sight, Martha would “involuntarily” wiggle her bottom, her smile becoming more pronounced and lively. Then, the wiggling would turn into a lively rhythm. Uncle Benedict often described it this way, “It gave me the chance to pull off my deceptive tricks, but by the time I was done, half the audience wasn’t clapping for me. They were still watching Martha’s butt.”
“How’s the old warrior?” Peggy asked. Aunt Martha glanced into the living room and said, “He’s either taking a nap or pondering a new scheme; I can never tell.” The “sleeping man” sat in his chair, head tilted forward and slightly to one side, softly snoring. He suddenly jolted awake, stopping a snore mid-way, looking at Peggy with embarrassment: “My goodness, Peggy, how long have you been here?” From the perfection of his movements, Peggy knew this old “sleeping man” was just practicing his napping routine.
“Uncle Benedict, I’ve got a bit of trouble,” Peggy said. “That’s nothing serious,” Benedict replied. “I’ve been hiding things from the police.” “Oh, why not? You can’t go around telling everyone everything you know.” She laid out the situation to him, and he listened intently: “What do you need me to do?” he asked after she finished. She said, “In the glass trash container at apartment 519, there’s a fragment of a whiskey bottle. I want to get it before the garbage collectors do. I need someone to process it for fingerprints and photograph them for preservation, to be used as evidence if needed.” “What else do you need?” “Your ongoing support.”
