Mr. Delenkey's Paw


" ....Thus, my dear readers, if you enjoy reading absolute drivel, and you do not mind Joe Roberts' hackneyed pseudo-Dickensian characters, not to mention his habit of leaving steaming piles of metaphors everywhere, then by all means go ahead and read his latest crap-fest: G'ampa loves me too!.
-Tom Delenkey
The Daily Gazette"

Tom Delenkey e-mailed his work to The Daily and contemplated his writings. He had once been good. No, not just good. He had been terrific, the best in the city. Buses, he recalled, used to have his face on their side. Now he was lucky if his name was written on the side of a toilet.
He sighed. Lately he hadn't been making a mint at literary reviews. In fact for the last ten years he had been forced into critiquing children's literature, part time. It had become so bad that he had to take a job one-rung lower than literary critic, he was a janitor.
As he re-read his last paragraph he wondered if his spite was showing in his work. It is possible, he thought, remembering the young writer's competition, after all how many critics make six-year old writers cry?
"Not many I suppose." He said out loud " But dammit, the kid had absolutely no idea that his characters lacked depth. After all, I expected good things from My Vacation with Daddy!" He banged his fist on the table dramatically.
He needed to simmer down. So, he decided to take a leisurely stroll down the street. It was cold, raining, and downright miserable. All in all, it was quite fitting.
"Tom!" A voice called out from the shadows. Tom turned. A large man stepped out of the darkness. Tom estimated his mother must have been a big woman and his father must have been a tank. "As I live and breathe if it isn't Tom Delenkey!"
"Well!" Answered Tom " It's always nice to know that your fans haven't forgotten you! You are a fan, right?"
"You kidding? I used to read your review everyday! Just because you've had some slow years doesn't mean I'd forget you. So how're things?" The man shifted to a more comfortable pose. Tom did so as well.
" Not that great."
"Of course, it's that damned economic slow-down." Tom agreed. The man continued. " Whole country's gone to hell. Aw, well. Wallet, please."
"Sure."
"If it isn't too much trouble can you sign it?"
"Anything for a fan."
"Thanks. Take care."
The large man strolled off and Tom waved. It wasn't until about a minute or two later that he realized that he had been robbed. He ran to the first place he found, an antique store, and ran in. The store clerk was at the desk, polishing some sort of mummified hand.
Tom hardly noticed, as he was occupied with the idea of finding some sort of communications device among these antediluvian artifacts.
"Can I help you?" The man asked. He had a striking resemblance to Vincent Price.
" I'm looking for a phone."
" I don't know if you have noticed, but this is antique store. We don't carry anything made after 1850."
" I need to use the damn thing. I just got robbed."
"Fine. Here." He handed a new looking phone to Tom.
Tom dialed 9-11. A bored sounding man answered.
"Officer Johnson speaking."
"Is this the Police?" Tom asked frantically.
" No. This is the 9-11-pizza delivery service. We deliver in thirty or it's billed to the government."
" Listen, I've just been robbed."
"At gunpoint?"
"No."
"Knife-point?"
"Er...Not exactly."
" Did the thief threaten to harm you or your family?"
"No. He sort of talked me into giving him the wallet. Then I signed it."
" What are you, a putz? Alright give me the address and we'll send a cop over."
Tom gave the dispatcher the address of the store.
" So he'll be here soon?"
"Yeah, right away....That is, if we don't run out of doughnuts first. So, probably tomorrow. Next week at the absolute latest. Definitely sometime before New Year's eve ...maybe."
Tom hung up.
" What's going on?" Tom hardly noticed that the shopkeep was still there.
"Oh, uh... I didn't realize that the police have become so sarcastic."
"Yes, life is just one ordeal after another. Here, I feel somewhat responsible for your mishap. Take this... in some countries it is worshipped as a god. In others, it makes a damn good soup." Tom studied the object carefully.
"It's a diseased bear's paw." He said.
"They say it will grant the owner four wishes."
"Who says?"
"The woman who sold it to me."
"Who's that?"
" Lionna from the Price Club. She said it comes with a warning. I can't seem to recall...." The shopkeep thought hard "Screw it. Listen, make your first wish, it's time for Murder, She Wrote."
Tom thought. What did he want? He needed some money; he had enough of fishing his hand through toilets for a living.
"Ok, paw, I wish for some money!"
"Ah," The old shopkeep exclaimed "how original."
The paw began to hover in the air ominously. One of the claws retracted, the paw then began to vibrate and emitted noise not unlike that of a large man's flatulence.
"Your wish," The shopkeep said looking at his watch "has been granted."
"That's it?"
"What, you want a light-show or do you want money? Now leave, I'm missing the opening credits."
The old man began to herd Tom out of the store and out onto the street. Tom began to cross the street, all the while contemplating what had just happened to him. Suddenly, light was thrown upon him. He heard a siren grow louder and louder. The next thing he knew he was painfully thrown up in the air by a speeding ambulance. The medical technicians stopped, got out and picked up Toms mangled body, and the paw.
"Sorry! We were on our way to deliver this woman's overdue baby and save it's life, when we hit you."
Things began to get hazy, but the last thing Tom saw was the old shopkeep laughing.
"Ha! The irony is strong in the air tonight! Ha, ha, ha! URRRK!"
"Aw, crap! The geezer's having a heart attack." Cried one of the technicians "Screw it. Let's go. Hey, Joe! Take a look at the guy we hit...why is he smiling?"

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Several months of traction and months of physical rehabilitation came and went, but Delenkey did not see a single dime. Eventually, he forgot about it and placed the paw in a closet. One day, however, the postman came with a letter from the government.
"Cripes! A fourteen million dollar settlement? The paw, it worked. And it only cost me severe pain and the use of my left eye!"
"Wow." The postman said "Fourteen million! So, now that you're rich and all, can you afford to tip your local letter-carrier every once and a...."
Tom slammed the door and ran for the decomposing bear's paw. He dusted it off and said:
"Alright paw! I want you to give me a wife who's exciting, and adventurous!"
Again the paw rose, vibrated, retracted the claw, and made the odd sound. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Tom ran so fast, his shag carpeting was scorched. A voluptuous blonde was at the door.
"Hey baby," She said seductively. "I've missed you so much during my adventures in East Timor. How's about showing me how fun the city can really be?"
After some booze and some adult entertainment, Tom and his new wife were in bed together. Now, Thomas Delenkey didn't know much about female anatomy, but he was sure that little piece of equipment should definitely not be there.
" What the hell is that? "
"I thought it would be exciting to go to a plastic surgeon before I came back. I thought it'd make our love life more...adventurous."
The speed with which Delenkey used to get away to the paw verged on defying conventional physics.
"Dammit, paw! I meant adventurous in a good way!" He cried.
"Come to bed, honey! We're waiting for you!" His wife called.
" Ok, third wish. Uh, I wish things to be the way they were ten years ago, but to be more famous than I was then."
"Ooh. Look at that, it's growing!" She called again.
"And for the love of all that's holy, HURRY!"
The same shtick happened again. Suddenly, his wife was gone. But there was a knock on the door.
"W-who's there?" Tom timidly called out.
"The mayor. You're late, Delenkey!"
"Go ahead without me, I don't feel all that well today."
"How can we have a parade in your honour without you?"
"Parade? Ok! I'll be right out!"
Tom got up, but he placed the paw in his jacket.
"Just in case." He whispered.
The parade was for him, after all. There were floats, ticker tape, and children laughing as they followed his float, which was conveniently filled with large checks made out to him. Throngs of people cheered as the mayor and the Pulitzer committee bestowed two awards upon him. Tom went home that night, followed by mobs of people trying to touch him. They even followed him into his apartment complex and then into his home. He tried to get them to leave but couldn't. It went on for weeks. Every day a bigger parade and even more people followed him. It came to a point where he couldn't breathe any more. There were just to many of them. Suddenly, he remembered his paw!
"I wish everyone would just go away!" He gasped.
Then it was empty. Nobody was in the streets, the television had nothing on it. The radio blared static and the newspaper was just blank sheets.
"Hello?" He called out. There was no response. That's because nobody was there.