Pocketbook Novels & Stories

Nasa wallet kaya? Bumitaw ang isang kamay niya sa manibela upang kapain ang pitaka sa bulsa ng suot na tailored pants. Nakakapanliit ang makapal na bungkos ng perang papel na nagsisiksikan sa loob ng black leather wallet. Kay raming pera ni Monsour, ngunit hindi naman nito nagagawang bilhin ang kaligayahan na ubod nang ilap...!

They are filled with cheap, hollow decorative storage boxes meant to look like classic literature. I open one. Empty. I open another. Empty. I reach for a large, leather-bound fake book on the second shelf. As I pull it down, my wrist strains. It is heavy. I pop the cover of the fake book open, and tucked perfectly inside the hollowed-out velvet interior is a thick, black leather ledger. My heart drops into my stomach as I open the cover. It is filled with handwritten columns of initials, massive seven-figure dollar amounts, and what appear to be routing numbers for offshore accounts.

The back cover appeared ordinary at first glance. Worn leather. Cracked corners. Age. Then she pressed against one edge. A click sounded. A hidden compartment sprang open. Silence filled the room. Inside rested a phone. Tiny. Older than modern smartphones. A compact satellite device, no larger than a wallet. The screen glowed softly. Incoming call. No number. No name. Just a single word. HOME Nobody breathed. The phone rang again. And again. The sound seemed unreal. Like something dug out of a grave.

I went to my walmart eco bag and place some cash on my little chinese envelope. I will need it for my plan tomorrow. Atm's are overrated. It's not overrated you just don't have an account at all you illegal alien. Hey it is not my fault if I have no legal documents okay. I really need to go back to the flat to get my savings on my other pouch. Calling it pouch is going too far more like money that was wrapped in a giftwrapper. Hey at least it has design. Nope it looks like a sanitary napkin wrapped in a gift paper.

Steal shoes next. My stomach growled. "Shut up," I whispered to it. It growled again. The kitchen lights were off except for the small lamp above the counter. Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I opened the pantry. Cookies. Chocolate. Potato chips. Cereal. Who needed this many snacks? Rich people. Definitely rich people. I reached for the chocolate cookies first. Then a packet of chips. Maybe the chocolate too. Actually, if I was already committing theft—

Yves: this application collects all the information of the person who installs it on his phone. Me: be more explicit Yves: the application has all the bank details, password etc ... The user will not know anything Me: what is the app? Yves: it's an application to be able to manage your property. House, bank etc ... Me: where is the anarch from? Yves: by entering your data you transfer your goods to louis un truck like that. He has all the information about your belongings Me: I bet my mother uses this app Yves: yes that's clear

He then delved his hand into his suit pocket and brought out a tablet. This was the device he always carried around for me, and whenever I needed it, he gave it to me without hesitation. As he had explained to me, this device contains everything I need to accomplish tasks, including managing finances, from anywhere in the world where I find myself, and for this reason, it is always kept under his protection. Scrolling my hand on the tablet and launching one banking app out of many others that I have, “Account details,” I said confidently. Hearing me loud and clear, and as Avanna recited her account details to me, we all heard her phone ring almost immediately.

“By the way, if anyone asks, this never happened.” “Got it,” I said. I peered into the drawer. It was mostly empty; just a couple of boxes containing some expensive jewelry and a designer watch. Far in the back, though, tucked right up against the wall, was a small leather pouch. I pulled the pouch out and opened it. It contained a few items—a platinum credit card. A checkbook that looked like it hadn’t been used in ages. The receipts for the other items in the drawer. But there was one folded up piece of paper that caught my eye.

“We improvise it live.” Pauly handed her a slim, battered paperback—Mockingbird, cover worn, pages gutted to hold a wafer-thin transceiver and a micro-SD slot. “Your new copy. Same weight as the real one. Press the title twice if you’re burned; it wipes your last three hours and plays an audiobook. Press the author twice and it pings us with location.” She slid the book into her tote without looking. “And if I press the spine?” “It complains about being objectified,” Pauly said.

Jarren “Baby, what are you doing?” I questioned as Jillie stuck her hand into my back pocket. We’d arrived to meet Mason and Alyx just a few minutes ago and were all standing in the middle of the shopping plaza. She pulled my wallet from my back pocket, opened it, and took out one of my debit cards. Then, she handed me the wallet, and I put it back into my pocket. She dropped it into the side of her purse and grabbed my belt loops.