Deadly Part Four: Greed (Revelations)

 James, “Sticky-Finger Jim” to his few friends, was out in the uptown business district, plying his evening trade as a master pickpocket. Thanks to his talented hands, he could make up to five hundred bucks a day, enough to take weekends off.

High rises built mostly of glass loomed over the narrow, one-way street. The sidewalk was teeming with people; Jim called them “easy marks.” With great care, he slid a man’s wallet out of a back pocket and stuffed it into his own. He sidled away from the man before opening the wallet to survey its contents. About a hundred in twenties, which he extracted before dropping the leather billfold on the sidewalk. He hoped, vaguely, that the owner of the wallet would come back and find it. He always left any credit or debit cards alone because he knew such things could be tracked.

He checked his pockets. So far, he had made about three-fifty, enough for the day. He headed home. His spacious studio apartment was the only luxury he allowed himself, despite a high-paying job and his lucrative side hustle. He bought knockoff designer clothes, replaced his phone only when it stopped working, and ate the cheapest food he could get. Every dime he acquired just made the number in his bank account bigger.

The next day he was up at six with coffee in hand, preparing for his daytime trade as a stockbroker. It paid well, which further increased his account balances. He held stock in a multitude of hot commodities, meaning that at this point he didn’t really have to work at all. But he wanted the money. As much of it as he could get. His motto was “He who dies with the most cash wins.”

On Friday night, he was back out on the streets, lightening the loads of back pockets for the cash within. As he moved down the sidewalk, he spotted his next mark: A well-dressed man with a briefcase in one hand and a cell phone in the other, talking away and paying no attention to his surroundings. Jim, walking the other way, waited until the man had passed by before turning around to follow him. He reached the man in two quick strides and gingerly tweezed the man’s wallet out of his pocket.

As soon as he did so, the man dropped his phone and grabbed Jim’s hand. Then the whole street went black, and the man had transformed into a tall figure in a cloak made of what looked like thousand-dollar bills. Eyes like emeralds and a gold-plated, diamond-studded grin gleamed in the darkness of the hood. Nothing else of its face could be seen. It spoke to him in a deep voice.

“We need to talk, Jim. I am the embodiment of Greed, your greatest vice. I am offering you one chance to change your avaricious ways.”

The apparition released him and turned around. With one hand, he drew a man-sized dollar sign, which materalized before him. Like the apparition’s teeth, it looked like solid gold edged with diamonds.

“Follow me.” The figure turned and walked through the dollar sign and disappeared. Jim, not knowing what else to do, followed him.

They were in Jim’s apartment, where he saw himself sitting at his desk in front of them with a letter in his hand. They saw him pull out his phone and dial a number.

“Mr. Hamilton, this is James Warner. I received a letter. Something about my grandmother and her estate?”

A pause. Then Jim scribbled something on a piece of paper and left the apartment. 

The cloak turned to the real Jim and said, “You just found out that you inherited all of your grandmother’s substantial estate because you are the sole remaining heir. Now see the good you may do with such wealth.” He walked back through the wall and Jim followed.

They came out in a lobby, somewhat shabby and worn. There was a tired-looking woman in her late forties behind a receptionist’s desk. The other Jim was talking to her. They came closer to hear the exchange.

“I’d like to make a donation. Can I pay by check?” He was asking.

“You sure can. Just make it payable to The Montgomery Shelter and Resource Center.” She seemed already dejected, like she knew it wouldn’t be much.

Jim wrote out a check and handed it over. The woman stared at it for a long time, then handed it back.

“I think you wrote it wrong. This check says one hundred thousand dollars, and that can’t be right.”

“No, that’s right.”

“Not that we aren’t grateful for such a generous donation, but…are you sure?” Hope had dawned on her face.

“Yes I am. I want to make a real difference,” Jim explained.

The embodiment of Greed said to Jim, “Because of your substantial donation, they were able to buy food and blankets. You became a regular and generous donor to multiple homeless shelters and food banks in the city, all anonymously, but your activities ended up in the newspaper. Now let me show you what will happen if you do not accept my offer.”

They turned around and walked back through the wall. Now they were in a condo, even nicer than his old studio. The other Jim was on the phone.

“Look, Adam, I told you that I wouldn’t loan you money. You know how I feel about this. I never thought you would come begging, but I just can’t have you in my life if you are going to do shit like this.” He hung up.

Jim was astounded. “Adam is my best friend!” he protested. “I would never cut him off like that!”

“Money becomes more important to you than any friendship or anything else. But that’s not all. Come with me.”

Through the wall again, and they were in a parking garage, in front of a silver BMW with a vanity plate that just said “Jim.”

“You surround yourself with things instead of people. Adam is not the only one you cut out of your life. In fact, he was the last. By the time you buy this car, you will have no real friends. Now look at where your avarice will lead. Look.”

Out of the garage and onto a busy sidewalk. Just to the right, sitting on a battered camp chair and holding a cardboard sign that said “Anything helps,” was Jim. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks and his clothes could have been run over by a car several times. By his face alone, he was about fifty. Most of the pedestrians walked right past him, barely sparing him a glance.

“You will lose everything when the stock market crashes. It led to a domino effect that had you out in the streets. This will not only be your future, but also your eternity: A starving beggar on the street, hearing the clink of coins in your tin can but it will always be empty. What say you, James Andre Jackson? Your choice.” Then he laid one finger in the center of Jim’s forehead.

“I want to help people. I want to be a good person.”

Five years later, Jim was out with friends, heading to a restaurant after a show they had all enjoyed. As they moved down the sidewalk, talking animatedly and laughing, Jim noticed a man who looked familiar carrying a laptop bag and talking on his phone. As Jim stared, the man glanced over and winked at him.

“Dinner’s on me, guys!” He declared.

“Just like always?”

They all broke out laughing.