The Wallet

   This is a short story about greed. If you like these stories, follow Ken Pealock on Facebook, YouTube, Amazon books, Twitter: Ken Pealock@KPealock.

The Wallet

Barney Radcliffe had to puke.

     Mutton. It was the mutton. He swore he’d never again eat from the dumpster.

      Rather than puke on the sidewalk in view of everyone, he stepped into an alley and heaved his guts out. He felt better immediately and turned to leave.

      That’s when he spotted the wallet.

      He picked it up and saw the ten-dollar bill inside. Nothing else was inside the wallet: no ID, no photos, not even a business card. He slid the bill in his front pocket and tossed aside the wallet. But just as it left his fingers, he glimpsed the corner of another green bill protruding. How did he miss it? he wondered.

      Picking up the wallet once again, he pulled out the ten-dollar bill, then blinked in disbelief when another bill appeared. Am I losing my mind? he asked himself. He removed that ten-dollar bill and yet another appeared.

     Barney was afraid. If this was a nightmare he should have woken by now. But he couldn’t. He extracted still more bills, stuffing them in his pockets until they bulged. And yes, another ten-dollar bill remained in the wallet.

     Barney looked around to see if anyone had seen him, before stepping out of the alley. The sidewalk was thick with pedestrians returning to work from lunch. Some bumped into him, which convinced Barney he wasn’t dreaming. He didn’t know how the wallet magically replenished itself, or what fool had tossed it away. All he knew was that he felt better than he ever had in his entire life.

     He shoved the wallet in his front pocket between the wads of cash and kept his hand on it. No pickpocket was going to take it away from him. As he continued walking, it occurred to him that the wallet might eventually dry up. He needed to take as much cash out as he could before that happened. But where to put it? His pockets wouldn’t hold anymore.

     Barney Radcliffe strolled into a department store, figuring the first order of business was to purchase a couple of suitcases and a fresh set of clothes to replace the filthy rags he wore. He changed clothes in the store, paying for them and the suitcases with ten-dollar bills. Then he checked into an expensive hotel, paying for one night with his cash, and taking the first bath he’d had all month.

      He was a destitute bum, but things were looking up for Barney. All evening and late into the night, he pulled cash out of the wallet and packed it in the two suitcases, not stopping until they were completely full. He was exhausted and fell asleep, clutching the suitcases.

     The following morning, he awoke and peeked inside the suitcases to make sure the money was still there. Smiling, he checked the wallet and it still had a ten-dollar bill inside. He pulled it out and another appeared. Barney screamed out, “Yes!” and punched his fist in the air.

     He went into the bathroom to take another hot shower, stopping for a moment to look at himself in the mirror. His smile vanished when he saw all the grey hair he had. A week ago, he’d only had two grey hairs; now he had hundreds. Perhaps the light here was better, and he simply never noticed them before.

     Barney got dressed and went downstairs where he paid the concierge in advance for an entire week. He took both suitcases with him to prevent theft and wondered where to safely store them. Banks were suspicious of large cash deposits and had to report them to the authorities. Next thing you know, he’d be accused of being a drug dealer or laundering money. Being wealthy, he suddenly realized, came with its own set of problems.

     His immediate problem, of course, was for personal transportation. He couldn’t exactly run around town lugging two suitcases everywhere he went. Ahead, he noticed a Cadillac dealership and figured he might as well ride in style. He chose an Escalade since it would give him space for storing lots more money. After paying for the Caddy and storing the empty suitcases in the trunk, Barney drove to an old Army surplus store and bought five duffel bags. At a tobacco shop he bought a box of expensive cigars and returned to his hotel room where he phoned room service for champagne and caviar. He’d never tasted either, but figured that was what rich folks like him were supposed to indulge in. He deserved a lot more than that, he felt, so he called for pricing on a yacht, a Gulfstream jet, and a mansion in Beverly Hills.

      After all, if you got it, flaunt it.

      He spent three days filling the duffel bags with cash from the wallet, too busy to notice his aging appearance until he came downstairs hauling his cash in a hand truck and the concierge commented.

      “What happened to you, Mr. Radcliffe?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Pardon me for saying so, but you look like you’ve aged 10 years in three days!”

      Barney smiled. “I’ve been counting my investments and haven’t slept much, Sir, but that’s hardly 10 years of aging.”

     “Look at my mirror, Mr. Radcliffe.” The concierge handed him a small mirror.
     Barney’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. He saw bulging dark bags under his eyes, his hair was completely gray, and the cheeks of his face had noticeably sank in. “My God, I don’t know what’s going on with me!”

      “May I suggest you see a physician, Mr. Radcliffe, you may have been poisoned or something?”

      Barney felt sick to his stomach. This couldn’t be happening, he thought, right when his life was turning around. He took the keys to the Escalade and drove to the nearest clinic, which was directly across the street from the local hospital. He had no choice but to leave the duffel bags in the Escalade while he went inside.

      “What can we do for you, Sir?” the clinic receptionist asked.

      “My name is Barney Radcliffe and I think I’ve been poisoned; can you have a doctor check me out?” Barney ran his hands through his thinning grey hair and stroked the rough skin on his face.

      “You’re lucky, Doctor Boone isn’t busy right now. I just told him you were on your way in.”

      The doctor asked Barney to sit down on the edge of the table. “What seems to be the problem, Mr. Radcliffe?

      “Doc, my hair turned completely grey in three days and my skin seems to have aged 10 years, have I been poisoned?”

      “I don’t know without doing a complete bloodwork on you. First, let me examine you. Doctor Boone looked at Barney’s eyes, inside his ears and mouth, and checked his vitals. “I see nothing visibly wrong with you, just the usual signs of aging to be expected for a 60-year old man.”

      “What? I’m only 35 years old!” Barney said.

      “Are you an alcoholic or drug addict?”

      “Of course not.”

      “That’s good because both of those poisons will cause premature aging.”

      “In three days?”

      “No, not that quick. I’ll draw some blood to make sure you haven’t been poisoned, but I’ll have to send it to a lab. Come back in a week for the results.”

      “Alright, doc; I guess I can wait that long.” Barney pulled several ten-dollar bills from his wallet to pay the cashier and left. His knees ached so badly he had to pull himself into the Escalade. He told himself it had to be poison since he was too young to have arthritis. It must also be the poison that affected his vision since the gauges of the SUV were blurred.

______________

Barney bought a dozen more duffel bags and continued pulling cash out of the mysterious wallet he’d found. He now slept in the SUV to guard the bags of cash that were stacked to the ceiling of the Escalade. He had taped over the rear-view mirror, not wanting to see his haggard appearance.

      On the way to the clinic one week later, he stopped at a pharmacy to purchase a cane and a magnifying glass to help him see. When he gazed into the pharmacy mirror, he was horrified to see curling grey hair growing out of his ears and nose. When he handed over the cash to pay for the two items, he noticed the hair on his hands and arms had turned grey overnight.  

      Barney sped to the clinic. Bracing himself with the cane, he limped to the door, stooping like an 85-year-old man. “Go on in to Dr. Boone’s office, Mr. Radcliffe, he has a specialist in there who wants to see you.”

      “Thank you, ma’am.” Barney noticed that his voice was coarse; he even sounded like an 85-year-old man.

      Dr. Boone looked up from his notebook at Barney. “Holy Moly! What happened to you, Mr. Radcliffe?”

      “I had a rough week,” Barney replied.

      Boone regretted his unprofessional outburst but couldn’t help it. Radcliffe was pale and much older looking than last week. He resembled a walking corpse. Boone struggled to contain his shock while introducing Dr. Stone, an expert in unnatural aging.

      “After reviewing the results of your bloodwork, Mr. Radcliffe, I brought in Dr. Stone for consultation. I’m afraid it’s not good news, but Dr. Stone can explain it better than me.”

      “Mr. Radcliffe, apparently you have a disease called progeria. The official name is Hutchinson-Gilford progeria syndrome. It’s an extremely rare disease that mimics aging, and is normally found only in young children, including 1 in 5 million newborns. In fact, not long ago, BBC News reported that a 17-year-old girl in England died from old age: she had the body of a 104-year-old. Typically, children with this condition grow old and die in a matter of years, but there is no recorded instance where an adult gets the disease – until now, that is, and to grow old in a matter of a week or so is, well, impossible.”

      “Maybe I was poisoned.” Barney managed to croak through his aged vocal cords.

      “No, we’ve ruled out poisoning. What we found, Mr. Radcliffe, is that you have the same genetic malformity as children with progeria. We’d like to put you in the hospital to try a risky gene therapy procedure.”

      “And if I don’t agree?” Barney asked.

      Boone answered. “Let me be blunt, Mr. Radcliff; if you don’t let us try gene therapy, you’ll be dead in less than a week. I say that because the oldest person with progeria was a South African named Leon Botha; he died at age 26 and you already look like 126.”

      “Thanks for the compliment, but I don’t think you two quacks know what...” Barney suddenly grabbed his heart in mid-speech and collapsed to the floor.

      Dr. Boone grabbed a gurney to wheel him across the street while Dr. Stone phoned the hospital emergency room. Barney protested leaving his Escalade in the clinic parking lot, but Dr. Boone assured him it would be safe.

     

The following morning Dr. Boone and the resident cardiologist saw Barney in his semi-private recovery room.

     “The EKG shows no serious abnormalities, Mr. Radcliffe,” the cardiologist said. “Apparently you suffered a mild heart attack. Of course, your arteries have undoubtedly hardened, which isn’t surprising considering your advanced age.”

      “I’m only 35,” Barney said.

      “Are you sure you don’t want to try the experimental gene therapy?” Dr. Boone asked.

      “I already said no. What I want to know is whether my Escalade is still in the clinic parking lot.”

      Dr. Boone dropped his head. “I’m afraid someone stole it last night.”

      “You said it would be safe!” Barney pounded his fist on the bed.

      “I was wrong.” Boone shrugged his shoulders.

      “Both of you just get out of here!” Barney tried to yell, but his vocal chords were too aged to cooperate. After they left, Barney smiled when he saw his wallet on the nightstand. Frantically, he opened and closed the wallet a dozen times but there was no cash. “This can’t be happening!” he croaked.

      His roommate spoke up. “What can’t be happening, pal?”

      “I’m broke, mister. Old, sick and broke.” Barney wept.

      “Take it easy, pal. You’re not the only one to die broke; I’m in the same shape as you. I worked hard all my life to make money. I lost my health chasing wealth and lost my wealth trying to regain my health.”

      Though distressed over his loss, Barney pulled himself together. “I did the same thing, Mister, except in a far shorter time span.”

      “We were both greedy fools, pal; the devil got hold of us.”

      Barney suddenly turned. “What did you just say?”

      “I said the devil got hold of us.”

      Suddenly, Barney realized what had destroyed him. The wallet was cursed. Old and feeble now, he shuffled to the window and slung the wallet out. It landed on the sidewalk near the entrance to the hospital. He watched a man pick it up and look inside. The man pulled out one ten-dollar bill after another, while repeatedly looking around to see if anyone saw him. Smiling, he stuck the wallet in his pocket and walked away.

      Barney stood a little straighter now and the pain in his joints lessened. He walked without his cane to the wall mirror and saw color returning to his hair. Maybe, he thought, a devil was sometimes needed to teach us a lesson in greed and humility.

The End

Copyright ©2018-2019 by Ken Pealock