Ripping Time by Robert Asprin & Linda Evans

“Tell it to the judge,” the red-clad BATF agent said in a bored tone, “or pay the taxes.”

“But I tell you—“

“Lady, you can either pay the five-thousand-dollar tax fine due on this jewelry, or you can turn it over to a representative of the International Federation of Art Temporally Stolen, to see that it’s returned to its proper place of origin, or you can go to prison for violating the Prime Rule of time travel. You can’t profit illegally from a time gate. Robert Li is the designated IFARTS agent for Shangri-La Station. His studio is in Little Agora. You have exactly a quarter of an hour to dispose of it there or pay the taxes due here.”

The woman sputtered indignantly for a long moment, then snapped, “Oh, all right! Will you take a check?”

“Yes, ma’am, if you have three forms of identification with a permanent address that matches the information you gave in your records when you entered Shangri-La Station. Make it payable to the Bureau of Access Time Functions.”

“Fine!” She was digging into a large, exquisitely wrought handbag. That bag had walked out of some designer’s studio in Paris, or Skeeter didn’t know high fashion. And since Skeeter had made it a lifelong practice to keep tabs on haute couture as well as cheap knock-offs, as a way of distinguishing rich, potential marks from wannabe pretenders, he was pretty sure it was the real McCoy. She dragged out a checkbook cover made from genuine ostrich leather with a diamond insignia in one corner and scribbled out a check. Five thousand was probably what she dropped on restaurant tables as tips in the course of an average month. Skeeter shook his head. The richer they were, the more they tried to pull, sneaking out contraband past customs.