THE WALLET

George let out a derisive snort as an article in the evening paper caught his eye; yet another sucker turns in a wallet, complete with five hundred cash to the cops. How dumb could a guy get! Keep the money and ditch the wallet in the river, you idiot.

Two more do-gooder articles followed and George flung down the paper in disgust, startling the pigeons surrounding the park bench, then gazed out over the slowly undulating waters of the river. "What's the world coming to, eh, fellas?"

He tossed out the last of the stale bread loaf's crumbs. A few of his feathered friends returned at the softer tone of voice, dancing around cautiously to see if George was going to fling something more their way.

George hated do-gooders. Always getting in the way of his schemes. He'd been tossed in jail a few times because of them, but never charged.

His tongue was glib enough to get him out of most scrapes, but the loss of income was what annoyed him more than anything. He made his living that way. It was a matter of pride and five generations strong of con men. Not a one ever doing hard time. He was proud of that family record.

He was going through a bad streak, not a single con had paid off in over two months. Usually, his sojourns down to the park fronting the river helped clear his brain and gear it for action. It wasn't working. George rose from the bench and reached into his pocket, fingering the scant remaining coins. His finances needed a good shot in the arm.

George sullenly walked back toward his apartment, paying only moderate attention to the argument up the street in front of Luigi's Restaurant. Another dead-beat customer being tossed out, probably.

That was one thing George never did. No flim-flamming restaurants for cash. They came in handy when money was tight. He knew every owner of every cafe within a two mile radius. He'd helped them all at one time or another. Usually spotting a customer who wanted a meal for free with the old roach-in-the-salad routine. Kid stuff.

It was easy to con a meal out of them; go in, sit down and order only a cup of coffee. Always when the owner was around. Smile wanly, look pathetic and wait for the owner to come ask how you're doing. Only on the rare occasion did it take George more than one or two restaurants to get a meal. And never the same one twice within a month. George was a master at looking affronted and ashamed when they offered a meal on the house. But he ate well.

"I tell you, someone in there stole my wallet! You're a den of thieves, all of you!" The customer was yelling back as Luigi nudged the man further toward the curb.

"That's what they all say, mister. I ain't no hard-luck haven for deadbeats. I gotta make a livin' and bums like you don't pay my bills." Luigi was getting redder in the face by the moment. His spoutings of crude Italian emphasizing the anger.

"There's money in that wallet, I'm a rich man! I ... I'll send you a check, I promise!"

"Yeah, right. You and Vanderbilt. You both got lotsa money. But you ain't got it on you, so out you go!"

George shrugged as hunger pangs hit, so why not. In moments, he stood in front of the cafe and helped Luigi convince the man his patronage wasn't wanted. The customer was a huge, red-headed hulk of a man and Luigi would have been on the losing end if George didn't intervene.

As usual, Luigi thanked him profusely as the man stalked off down the street. "Man, that was a close one. Thanks, George. Come in, have a cup of coffee, eh?"

George did the lowered eyes and one-foot-shuffle, "Naw, thanks anyway, Luigi. It's been a tough day."

"No good with the job hunting?"

"They want kids, Luigi. Right outta college." George lowered his voice and muttered, "Not old has-beens like me."

"You ain't no has-been, George. You're a wonderful fella. Always there to help a friend. Like me. Like just now. I owe you, so come in and have a nice meal on me."

"Aw, gee, Luigi. I can't take char ..."

"Nonsense! It's not charity. It's self preservation! George, you know Mama would have my hide if she found out I let you get away without it, y'know." Luigi's brilliant smile lit up his face as he grabbed George's arm, pulling him into the cafe, "Besides, that deadbeat ordered the most expensive dinner on the menu and now it's just sitting there, waiting for someone to eat. Good thing I make customers pay ahead for the bar bill. He'd have gotten away with it."

George's mouth watered. He knew what the most expensive item on the menu was ... scampi and veal in the most delicious wine sauce this side of Naples.

"Maria! Get George that no-good scum's dinner. He helped me get rid of him." Luigi showed George to the back booth, clearing away the other man's remnants of the first courses and resetting the table. George's eyes glowed with anticipation the second Mama's younger sister, Maria, set the steaming hot platter of food in front of him.

It was tender, delicious and George savored every bite. Luigi kept coming by, filling his goblet of wine and patting George on the shoulder. George automatically to looked humbly grateful each time.

There was yet another confrontation at the restaurant, shortly after George finished his meal. He frowned. The whole neighborhood seemed to be going to pot.

He could smell Mama's pies, just out of the oven. What the heck? A slice of pie would top off the meal nicely.

George helped Luigi yet again and Mama plopped an enormous chunk of steaming apple pie on his table ordering him to eat. He couldn't very well disappoint her. The quick peck on her cheek and the bashful grin got him a scoop of homemade ice cream to go with the pie. He was doing alright in the meal department tonight. He'd face tomorrow when it came.

Maria turned off the outside lights and put the closed sign on the door. George let out a huge, gastronomically satisfied sigh, time to get going. Sliding out of the half circle booth, his hand slipped and he felt something wedged firmly down between the seat and back. It was pretty big, whatever it was. George's nose started to twitch as his long fingers investigated further, recognizing the shape.

He scanned the room ... no one could see what he was doing. Tugging, George managed to pry the item from its hiding place. A wallet. A big, fat, hefty wallet that was bursting at the seams. George's heart started to pound and a film of moisture formed on his upper lip.

Careful, he chided himself. Don't blow it now. Even if it has been a long time since you scored, no need to call attention to yourself with amateurish bungling and sweating.

He slipped the wallet into his jacket pocket, plunging his fist in to cover the noticeable bulge. It wasn't easy retaining the down-trodden facade with that wallet in his pocket. His fingers itched to yank it out right then and there to count the wad. Time enough for that when he reached his apartment.

The key refused to turn in the lock. George swore softly. Several attempts finally convinced the lock to his apartment to surrender. He carefully slipped the two dead- bolts into place when closing the door, as well as the restraining bar. You couldn't be too careful these days. Thieves were everywhere.

It was hard to remember his last decent haul and George almost giggled as he slipped out of the jacket, tossing the wallet on the bed. It was so heavy and overstuffed, the bills popped out as if on a tightly coiled spring. George grinned.

George wasn't grinning for long. After fixing a drink from the last of his scotch and sitting on the bed, he began to sort through the bills. Something didn't feel right.

"Oh, no!" He jumped up, pulling the floor lamp closer to inspect them. They were all counterfeit. Every last one. George leaned back on the pillows and sighed. It was just the way his luck was running lately. Wouldn't you know it. "Five thou and all of it funny money!"

That guy they'd tossed from the restaurant. This was the lost wallet.

A further search of the wallet only netted George three hundred in real bills, tucked away in a pocket behind the license. It was better than nothing. There was also a slip of paper with groupings of numbers. The wallet belonged to Herbert Sandoval.

That name was familiar, but George couldn't pull it from his memory. He could picture his Pop saying the name a long time ago and it wasn't friendly. Sandoval couldn't be the passer, George reasoned, he had to be the courier. No one in their right mind would walk around with the entire wad on them. Just one, stuck in with some real dough so the explanation of having just received them would work.

Only one thing to do. Dump it. It was a `rule' that his family never dealt with funny money. That meant Feds.

"If you're ever caught," George's Pop would always say, "Make sure it's small stuff. No Feds. If you're careful, you can always talk your way out of the locals, but not the suits from Washington. They've got no sense of humor."

George didn't sleep well that night. Every footfall on the bare wooden steps outside his door brought him fully awake. Wary for any indication that the cops might be on the other side of the door.

Nah, he thought as he turned over and thumped his pillow again, they couldn't know I have it. The sirens just before dawn flooded the city woke him up yet again. Peeking out the winow, he saw a squad car pull up outside.

George could feel a sweat gathering on his brow until he saw them enter the building across the street and eventually haul the drunken husband away. He'd been hitting on his wife again, more than likely. Dumb broad kept bailing him out and taking him back.

The street settled once more. George couldn't get back to sleep. Perhaps he should just get dressed and walk the few blocks to the park and dump the wallet right now. While no one was around.

Sounds of people waking and moving about, dogs barking, the odd trash can rattling met his ears as he trudged on down the street and turned the corner. George came to a halt.

There, in front of Luigi's were several cop cars, lights flashing. An ambulance too. None of the shops along that street were open yet. The hairs began to prickle on the back of George's neck.

Family rules said he should turn around and go another way. But his desire to make sure Luigi, Mama and Maria were alright overrode common sense. Another family rule broken ... don't get attached to the marks.

He did cross over to the other side of the street, which was cast in early-dawn shadows. George saw Luigi, Mama and Maria. They looked okay. A paramedic was just finishing with a bandage on Luigi's head, but it didn't look serious from what George could see. He'd just slip on by and get to the park.

Luigi spotted him and waved in an agitated manner. George tried to pretend he didn't see him. He berated himself for allowing his curiosity to get in the way of dumping the goods. Pop would never understand.

"Hey, George! Come here, I need to talk to you!" Luigi's plea was urgent.

George couldn't ignore it. His fist clenched around the handkerchief he'd carefully wrapped the wallet in after removing his prints.

The cops were listening to something Luigi was saying along with his wild gestures and pointing directly at George. The cops all turned in unison and looked his way. Thank goodness they were from the local precinct. He never did cash-cons on home turf.

Geez, Luigi, this is exactly what I need, George growled inwardly, go across the street and stand around with a bunch of cops with a load of funny money in my pocket. George took a deep breath. It would look worse if he didn't go across. He went.

Luigi's and Mama's agitated voices, interspersed with the occasional tearful wail out of Maria drifted on the crisp morning air as George walked across the street.

George wondered if Luigi was going to expire right there on the spot, the way his face was turning an alarming shade of purple. The officers were taking notes, not interfering with the words flying about. The two guys in handcuffs and seated in the back of the patrol car confirmed the break-in.

George glanced over at two men in suits, leaning calmly against an unmarked car. The hairs raised even further on George's neck. Identical suits, close cropped hair, sunglasses in their breast pockets, exempt tags on the car ... Oh, hell! Feds!

George was barely listening to the rest of Luigi's tale of woe. He nodded briefly as Luigi introduced him to the cops and then stepped back to Mama to put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Just as if he belonged there. Blending in was another of George's talents. She leaned her head against him and began to mutter in Italian.

Maria eventually sidled over and was still blustering through several tissues. She leaned on George's other side ... the side with the wallet in the pocket. George didn't have a choice so he put his other arm around Maria, hoping she wouldn't make a comment about that huge bulge in his pocket.

"Okay, Luigi," The older cop said as he turned yet another page in his notebook, "These two," he jerked a thumb toward the patrol car, "Threatened you if you didn't turn over whose wallet?"

"Hey, George!" Luigi turned, "Did that guy we threw out yesterday give his name? I don't remember. Those two that broke in mentioned someone named Sandy and wanted his money."

"You were here yesterday, Mr. er ...?" The two Feds were moving forward now as the blond one asked.

George felt the color drain from his face and hoped the early dawn's grayness would cover it. "Gardner. George Gardner. Yeah, I was here. Some deadbeat claimed he'd lost his wallet. Called Luigi a thief. I don't remember a name though."

"That's right. He did call me a thief. And my good friend George here helped me. He was one big fella, wasn't he, George?"

George nodded and when the other Fed asked, they described the red-haired man. One Fed looked at the other and they briefly nodded in agreement. So the Feds knew about Sandoval and his funny money. George had to get rid of it, and fast. This was too close.

He also wanted some justice for Luigi. No, that would mean getting involved. If his family ever found out, it would smack close to a do-gooder and George shuddered.

Maybe, George thought, as the cops wound up their investigation, he could have both. The wallet could be replanted in the booth, if those two thieves hadn't torn up the place too much. George needed to get inside that restaurant and see for himself.

Mama and Maria were pressing closer. Maria pulled back for a brief moment and glanced down at George's pocket.

"Luigi? I want to get Mama and Maria inside, okay? It's still pretty chilly out here." George put in quickly and began herding the two women into the restaurant. He was certain Maria had been about to say something.

"Such a sweet boy, that George," He heard Luigi's praise as he closed the door. Maria flipped on the main switch and the staccato of fluorescent lights crackled to life.

George glanced around the room. Good. The booth was undisturbed. If he could just get over there ...

The bell sounded above the door and the two Feds followed Luigi inside as George turned to the sound. He halted half way across the room, turning to upright some chairs that were scattered on the floor. They'd done a good job on the place, but hadn't made it to the booths.

While the Feds continued their questioning about Sandoval, he went about the room helping Mama straighten up. No, Sandy, George berated himself. No one had mentioned the full name yet. He kept away from the booth, hoping Luigi wouldn't point in its direction and the Feds would search.

When Luigi got to the part in his story about the hoods threatening the women, light began to flicker in George's brain. Sandoval. Of course! He suppressed the smile and an urge to snap his fingers.

Sandoval had been big in the rackets several years ago, a real strong-armer, always threatening women. George's Pop had a personal vendetta against Sandoval. He'd roughed up Pop's sister once when they were in grade school together. From what little he could remember, Sandoval was the type to send more henchmen and perhaps the next time, someone would be killed.

That made this whole gambit George wanted to do legit as far as the family was concerned. Sandoval was revenge material. George let out a sigh of relief at knowing he could anonymously help his friends and still be in the right with the family rules. Now to just get that damned wallet back into the booth!

The Feds took down the last of the information Luigi was able to give them and left. Luigi, bless his heart, George breathed, hadn't pointed out the booth. Mama came out of the kitchen with a tray of coffee mugs, the steamy aroma rising invitingly.

George took one and walked over to the booth area, setting his mug on the last table, continuing to straighten more chairs that had tipped. Casually, he removed his jacket and laid it on the booth's seat. He sat down and picked up his coffee, taking a sip, sliding further into the booth. Reaching into the jacket's pocket, he pulled out the wallet and was in the process of stuffing it back between the cushions when Maria's screech froze his actions.

"Luigi! Antonia! Look, our George found that man's wallet! Oh, George, how clever of you to look there." Maria beamed her approval.

George shut his eyes tight for a few seconds before looking up. Mama and Luigi were making their way to the booth. And so was the reporter who had just entered the restaurant, complete with camera in hand. He was snapping pictures right and left.

George had no choice but to put up a show of struggling to pull the wallet from its hiding place. Feeling a loose nail, he snagged the wallet, tearing some stitching. He struck what he hoped was an awed look at his discovery. The door opened again. A TV news crew this time, the lights atop the mini- cam glaring into George's eyes.

The next hour was the worst nightmare George could imagine. Luigi and his family were extolling his virtues as a `dear friend'. Luigi even went so far as to call him a Good Samaritan! God, George thought, I'll never live this down. Cameras, lights, reporters, even the Feds showed back up to take possession of the wallet.

The Feds refused to give the reporters any details, just grinned at each other, even going so far as to shake George's hand and thanking him for his cooperation. Reporters kept asking George questions. He could only shake his head.

"Ah, that's our George," Luigi beamed at him, "Always shy and never wanting to take credit."

George escaped the hubbub as soon as he could. He walked the streets, went down to the park, threw stones into the river for hours. His stomach growled from lack of food and his eyes felt like sandpaper was firmly embedded behind his lids. It had been a long night and a longer day.

George finally worked his way around the neighborhood, dodging anyone he knew who might have seen the television. The sky began to cast its pink glow of sunset before George climbed the stairs to his apartment.

His apartment door was ajar and a weeping sound was coming from within. Cautiously easing it open, his face fell when he saw his mother, seated on his bed, crying. Two of his brothers were giving him a how-could-you look as they stood beside their mom, patting her on the shoulders. His father's face was a study in controlled fury mixed with disappointment. George was a do-gooder.

His father held up the evening's paper with a picture of George's startled face as the Feds shook his hand and the glaring headlines read:

"George, you and I need to have a very long talk."

Please feel free to email me with your suggestions or critiques: mparker@mkdesigner.com

Copyright © 1997, Margaret S. Parker. All Rights Reserved.

Return to my homepage