Pocketbook Novels & Stories

For a moment, I just looked at it, then walked over, unzipped it, and reached inside. My hand closed around my wallet first. Then my documents. Then, the small things I always carried with me without thinking about it. I placed them neatly on the table, one after the other. I pulled out my phone again and opened a booking app, my fingers moving without pause as I searched for a storage service. It didn’t take long. I selected one, chose the size, confirmed the next day's time, and completed the booking in less than a minute. I set the phone down and looked at it for a second, then let out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh but without any real humor.

Huh. She had to think about that. Was there anything important they hadn't talked about? An idea popped into her head. "Do you have pictures in your wallet of your family?" "Not in my wallet, but on my phone." He reached into the back pocket of his shorts and pulled out a leather wallet. "ID's in there. You should look at it." From the other pocket he pulled a smart phone and started pushing buttons.

My gaze latched onto Maeve. “It’s okay.” I caught sight of a glint near her shoe, stooped down, and picked it up. It was a strange little device that looked like a USB drive with a crystal stuck to the end of it. “What’s this?” Maeve snatched it away. “Nothing.” That didn’t sound suspicious at all. I cocked my head to one side. She tucked it into her pocket, then said, “It stores and plays audiobooks. I like to listen to them while I clean.”

I reached into the pocket, my fingers slipping past the wad of hundred-dollar bills until they touched the cold metal of the device. The screen didn't show an anonymous number. It didn't show a university contact. It was a pre-recorded text message sent from a secure, hidden application, timed to release

He was in his late 20; dark and taller than I was; that I never cared about - moreover, I looked older than I was. There was a book on his desk titled 'Cashflow Quadrant' by Robert Kiyosaki. I was taking a glance at the book when my phone rang. It was Automatic calling. "Yo Auto! Sup my g?" "Pretty good fam, where you at?" "I am in Capital city, I want to get a new controller to replace that faulty one."

He quickly responds with he will see me soon and I love you. I reply the same and shut the phone off. I open the bedside cabinet and pull out the phone I bought a few days ago. I power it up, Andros doesn’t have this number, only zio does. I walk to the walk in and grab my luggage that I had prepared a short while ago out quickly throw on my converse, grab my jacket and check I have my passport and all the legal documents I have in my carry on. Giving the room a once over, I walk out.

I waved both of my hands, hoping she would know that I am grateful. "Oh right, I forgot..." She said before she reached in to the front pocket of her pink apron. The woman pulled out a pink mini notebook with a snap button and a small pen tucked in the gap of the strap. "Here." She said as she offered me the notebook. Accepting the book with both of my hands, I looked down at it with confusion. "I thought it might come in handy. Besides it's small enough to fit in to a wide pocket so you can carry it anywhere." The woman said.

The better to blend with shadows. On his feet were laced Nikes, all the better to run in. Because pockets weren't exactly plentiful-and ruined the line of his suit-he tossed his wallet, phone, and keys inside the trunk for his car. But before he shut the lid, he leaned in to grab an ornate box. Less box and more a coffin for ashes. Roderick's ashes. No matter how many times he did this over the years, the thought of what he had to do wasn't any more palatable. He flipped the lid and grimaced. The gray, ashy contents exuded a burned-pork-roast aroma. When human, he'd preferred beef.

There was nowhere left to hide. He had to go. Now. Hobbling to his feet, his body a symphony of fresh agony, he began to search the body. No wallet. No phone. No ID. The clothes were plain, mundane. A phantom. But phantoms sometimes carried messages. In the front pocket of the man's tactical pants, his fingers brushed against something small and rectangular. He pulled it out. It was a flash drive. Smooth metal, plain except for one word etched in a sharp, modern font:

Inside is a gold necklace, half of a heart. There are some other, more useful items in my box spring as well: a Glock nine-millimeter and some ammunition, a Canadian passport with my picture and someone else’s name, twenty thousand dollars in cash in four neat bundles of five thousand each. There’s also a small black notebook containing vital pieces of information, among them the account number and PIN for a bank account where I’ve saved a bit of money, and the name and contact information for a man who promised me a long time ago that he’d help me disappear-for good, if necessary.