The Wallet

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
There's a thick wallet on the ground in front of you. What would you do?

Submitted: June 10, 2017

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Submitted: June 10, 2017

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The Wallet.

 

So there it is just lying on the pavement in front of you. A wallet! An ultra-thick one at that. There is no one else around other than yourself; no one for you to call out to and ask if it is theirs. Now here’s the question: what should you do?

 

No, that’s wrong. You know what you should will you do? As a model citizen you should pick it up and take it to the nearest police station, or at least look inside to see if there is some contact details for who it belongs to. A mobile phone number, perhaps, because, after all, they can’t be that far away or the wallet would not still be lying there.

 

You open it up, gingerly, as though it might bite. You look furtively around, just to check that no one is watching you. For a second you consider whether it might be some kind of set-up; a test to see just how honest you really are. But that’s crazy, isn’t it! Who would possibly be setting up that sort of thing.

 

Going by the thickness of the thing, the weight, you expect to find it full of cash. There’s plenty of plastic – all either gold or platinum colored. Gordon Holmes; well, at least you know the owner’s name now. Mr Holmes must have a pretty good income to have those cards in his possession!

 

And look at that wad of notes. There must be hundreds of dollars there, if not thousands. More cash than you’ve ever had in your hands in one go, that’s for sure. And it is so tempting. If you just removed one note, maybe two, who would notice. You’d bet your life, Mr Holmes himself has no idea of the exact amount of cash he is carrying.

 

You could pay off your rent, catch up on all those accumulated bills or even just treat yourself to something special. Your fingers are itching to do it, remove just a couple of those notes.

 

But you stop yourself! You don’t do it. You look in the back pocket and see a driving license. The address – well, not somewhere you’ve ever been, being one of the exclusive areas reserved for the rich, powerful or both. You could return it in person, perhaps get some kind of reward for your honesty. More likely though, if you went round there you’d find yourself being questioned by police about what you were doing there.

 

Temptation is a hard thing to ignore but somehow you make yourself snap that wallet shut. The police station is not far, you’d have been passing it any way. You hold the wallet away from yourself, as though it is somehow contaminated and you walk up those station steps, push through the doors and pass the wallet to the officer on duty.

 

As you turn to walk away the officer calls you back and asks you to fill out a form, ‘just in case a reward is offered.’ He flicks through the wallet and frowns but you don’t notice that, or see him press a button underneath the desk. Handing the form back you turn towards the door once more but now your way is blocked.

 

Two detectives, plain-clothed, approach you. One takes your arm. They just want to ask you some questions, that’s all. Nobody is accusing you of anything, not yet. They just want to know how it is that you happen to be in possession of the wallet belonging to a recently murdered man.


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