Three (3) days before his surgery, Henry K_____ received an unexpected fortune in the mail. Drummer Boy Inc., a company he’d toiled for from 1999 to 2003 had closed out his 401K and sent him a check for $1,432.07. He looked at the check in dumb disbelief, looking for the catch, the baited hook, the VOID watermark.
It looked to be legitimate.
He was rich, sort of. Or at least better off. Somewhat. His squirrel monkey, Monte (he’d ordered Monte from a comic book in 1974 - Skull the Slayer #2) gibbered weakly, lying atop a black file cabinet. Monte didn’t exist. Monte was forty-two years old. Monte was an old man in monkey years. A weak, withered old monkey with the wisdom of a Nepalese Yeti.
Henry dressed quickly, anxious to get to the bank. There was a teller at the bank named Florence Nettleblade and all that that implies.
“We’re in the money, Monte old boy!”
Monte opened his blind, cataract eyes, moaned and dribbled green saliva on the cabinet.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself!”
Henry put on his coat and headed outside.