The Misfortune Cookie ed-6

by Laura Resnick

  Lucky added, “He’s the reason she lost her last job, after all.”

  “That’s right,” I said with an emphatic nod, though I recognized that Detective Quinn had a point; I’d lost my job because I was working in a mob joint that got busted. Even Thack had said it was bound to happen eventually.

  “Besides,” Lucky added, “it’s no secret that Detective Lopez has got a thing for Esther. Anyone can see it. So he probably feels bad about what he did to her. Maybe he even wishes he could go back and change what happened.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” said Max, oblivious to the subtext that I suspected I was hearing. “Helping her now was obviously the honorable thing to do.”

  “Hmph,” I said, recalling that Quinn seemed to think Lopez was helping me in hopes of getting laid again.

  “Yep. If he’s bein’ a stand-up guy now,” said Lucky, “well, it’s no more than he should do for a lady he’s wronged that way he wronged our Esther.”

  Our eyes met for a moment, and I saw that he did indeed know. But he was, in his way, a gentleman of the old school, so he would never mention it. Not directly, anyhow—and probably not ever again, either.

  So I smiled at him and said, “Being saddled with the job of liaising between Ted Yee and city bureaucracy might even be sufficient punishment. I sure wouldn’t want to be in Lopez’s shoes now.”

  “And speaking of Detective Lopez,” Lucky said, though his tone suggested he was changing the subject, “it’s kinda funny that he’s poking around Chinatown because of the Ning family.”

  “Funny ha-ha or funny strange?” I asked.

  “From where I’m sittin’, funny coincidental.” He added with a philosophical shrug, “Or maybe not. Uncle Six has got his fingers in so many pies, maybe it ain’t that strange that Young Blue Eyes and I both wound up with our hooks stuck in him at the same time.”

  “Ah!” said Max, who had obviously followed Lucky’s mixed metaphors better than I had. “While Detective Lopez is revisiting his former investigation of the younger Ning whom the elder Ning is now trying to get exonerated, you have uncovered relevant information about the Nings in the course of your inquiries into Benny Yee’s affairs.”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh.” I said in surprise to Lucky, “Do you mean you think Uncle Six wanted Benny dead?”

  “Sure looks like it,” he confirmed.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “They were both in the Five Brothers tong. Wouldn’t that make them allies rather than enemies?”

  “Well, I don’t know about the Chinese, kid—John’s an educated boy, so he could tell us—but Sicilians must have a hundred proverbs that warn you how dangerous your friends can be,” said Lucky. “Sometimes they rat on you . . .”

  Which was presumably what Victor Gambello was worried about these days, with so many of his “family” members being arrested.

  “. . . and sometimes they stab you in the back—which they’re in a position to do because you trusted them. After all, giving someone an opportunity like that is a mistake a man doesn’t make with his enemies.”

  Max asked with interest, “Are you saying you’ve learned that Benny Yee coveted Uncle Six’s leadership position in the Five Brothers?”

  “Bingo, Doc.”

  I said, “And I suppose a man like Uncle Six holds onto his position by being ruthless to challengers?”

  “It’s pretty much a requirement of the job,” said Lucky.

  “Then I would say he seems a viable candidate for our unknown adversary,” said Max.

  “But Uncle Six was so courteous at the wake,” I argued. “Bowed before the coffin, spent a lot of time paying his respects to the relatives, stayed to mingle with visitors. John said his behavior is what restored the family’s face after that scandalous scene between Benny’s mistress and his wife.”

  “Hearing about that is what put him on my radar,” said Lucky. “The Chens told me they were surprised by it, since everyone knew he didn’t like Benny. So that got me to thinking that maybe he was the one who whacked the guy.”

  “Because he showed such respect for the departed?” I asked. “Don’t you think he might have done that just because exercising benevolence toward a dead rival was good for his face?”

  “Esther’s point is well taken,” said Max. “No doubt Uncle Six’s behavior that evening enhanced his own social credit, not just the Yee family’s. It was a shrewd choice, a way of confirming his unshakeable stature.”

  “Maybe,” Lucky conceded. “But another possibility is that Six is one of those guys who get a kick out showing up at a funeral and acting like the dead guy was their favorite person, when they’re really the one who sent him down for the dirt nap.”

  “Well, that’s creepy,” I said disapprovingly.

  “No argument there,” said Lucky. “I mean, sure, sometimes you can’t get out of attending the send-off of a guy you whacked. But that ain’t no reason to be oily about it.”

  I couldn’t think of a reply to that, so I stuffed my shredded duck dumpling into my mouth.

  “A person who could murder Benny Yee and then show such solicitude to his widow at the wake . . .” Max nodded. “That would certainly be in keeping with the cruelly ironic methodology of the murder—sending a death curse to a notoriously superstitious man.”

  I asked, “Do you think Uncle Six could be some sort of sorcerer?”

  “Possibly,” said Max. “Lucky, do you know if he has any previous connection with mystical events?”

  Lucky shook his head. “As far as I can tell, he don’t. I’ve talked with reliable sources about this. And Six is a high-profile guy, after all, meaning there’s always a lotta chatter about him. So I think I’d have found something by now—at least a question mark—if he had a habit of conjuring mysterious mojo.”

  “In that case,” said Max, “I am inclined to think that rather than possessing the sort of power used in this murder, he instead is a man with the resources to secure the assistance of a discreet person with the necessary skills.”

  “Definitely,” said Lucky. “I know something about this guy’s reputation. If he wants a thing to be done, it gets done. Maybe he saw someone with dark power and thought of a way to use it to get rid of an inconvenient upstart who was getting on his nerves.” He added, “Or maybe he wanted to whack Benny in a way that would never point to him—or even be recognized as murder—and so he looked around for someone who could help him pull that off.”

  “Either way,” I said, “it sounds like Uncle Six is someone who could have arranged the weird way Benny was killed.”

  “And he had motive,” said Lucky. “In fact, he might’ve felt pushed to it. I hear that Benny was getting pretty aggressive with Ning by the time he died.”

  “That sounds reckless,” I said, remembering the ruthlessness I had sensed in Uncle Six at Benny’s wake.

  “Or desperate,” said Lucky. “Benny was having a run of bad luck lately, just like his widow told your movie director. One of his perfectly legitimate business interests went bust last month, and then the cops shut down a less-than-strictly-legal operation that was a good earner for him. Maybe if things had been going well, he’d have been more patient and bided his time. But with his luck turning sour and his business concerns bleeding money, he started getting pushy, demanding a bigger cut of things and trying to grab more power. And that didn’t go over well with Joe Ning.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so,” I said, finishing the food on my plate and resisting the urge to reach for seconds. I had a feeling that every extra bite would show up in whatever costumes Ted wanted to me to try on at his mother’s store tonight. “Well, at least we have a viable suspect now. That’s progress. Uncle Six is not a person I look forward to investigating, though.”

  “You should stay away from him,” Lucky said firmly. “Leave this to me. At least until we know more. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I was not inclined to argue. After all, whatever we might suspect about Joe Ning, the
only thing we actually knew for certain right now was that he was the sort of adversary whom Lucky knew how to handle—even while lying low in a funeral home. “I gather you’re going to try to find out if Uncle Six has made friends lately with someone who has unusual talents?”

  “That’s the plan.” He looked at Max. “How about you, Doc? Any information on the magic cookie front?”

  “I have made progress in my research,” said Max, having finished his meal, “and am ready to implement a partial solution to our problem.”

  Since Lucky seemed to be finished eating, too, I started closing the food containers as Max continued speaking.

  “Using a physical object to deliver a death curse is a widespread phenomenon and longstanding tradition, of course,” he said. “The specific method of conveyance being used in this instance—a fortune cookie—seems to be unprecedented, as far as I can ascertain, but apart from that, this appears to be a very conventional form of mystical murder. In a sense, it’s a bit like dispatching someone with a firearm.”

  “I’d say it’s nothing like that,” said Lucky. “Killing someone with a cookie? That’s just wrong.”

  “I think I see what you’re saying,” I said to Max. “There are all different kinds of guns and bullets, but there’s a sense in which they’re all the same. With every one of them, after all, you point the weapon, pull the trigger, and shoot the victim.”

  “Precisely,” said Max. “There is obviously talent involved here—we witnessed in my laboratory a few nights ago how much sheer power was instilled in the curse that Benny received.”

  “And I won’t be forgetting that experience anytime soon,” I said truthfully.

  “Yet there is also a certain . . . mundanity, if you will, to this person’s practice of magic. In studying the matter, I have come to believe that our adversary is methodical, deceptive, and thorough, but not particularly creative or original. This may be a natural mindset, or it may be that the conjuror is relatively new to the practice of mystical arts and still learning the classics, so to speak.”

  Nelli made a cheery, high-pitched sound as she shifted her position on the floor by the door to get more comfortable, then resumed gnawing on her bone.

  Max continued, “The conventionality of cursing someone with death via an ensorcelled object means that I have previous experience with related phenomena, and also that I have found substantial research material to rely on for some of the specifics of this particular method.”

  I rose to my feet and started putting the remains of our dinner into the little mini-fridge that Mr. Chen kept here for pack lunches and leftovers. “So how do we take the whammy off the next misfortune cookie that comes along?”

  “I’m pleased to say that it’s a simple matter of destroying the cookie via mystical means,” Max replied. “I have already made the preparations in my laboratory, so that we can immediately dispose of any suspicious cookies that we encounter.”

  “Excellent,” I said.

  “There is a catch, however,” Max warned.

  “There always is,” Lucky said on a sigh.

  “All my research on similar conveyance methods strongly indicates—to the extent that I consider it a virtual certainty—that breaking open the cookie is what activates its dark magic. Until then, although extremely dangerous in terms of its potential, it does no damage.”

  “That’s also in keeping with how we were told Benny died,” I noted. “He was fine after receiving the cookie; it wasn’t until he cracked it open that he died.”

  Max nodded. “In the act of breaking or cracking the cookie, the curse is immediately inflicted. And once engaged, I am sorry to say, it cannot be lifted, mitigated, or redirected.” His expression was grave as he said, “Thus the victim is doomed. Inexorably cursed with death. Nothing can save him or her from that imminent fate. Based on the immediacy with which Benny Yee’s death curse took effect, I postulate it’s unlikely the victim will survive more than a few minutes after the cookie is cracked. Certainly not more than a few hours, anyhow.”

  “Well, that’s grim,” said Lucky.

  We all looked at the fortune cookies which had come with our meal. They were still sitting on the big desk where we’d just had dinner.

  “I may never eat another one of those things again,” I said.

  “These don’t look like the one that killed Benny,” Lucky pointed out.

  “Even so . . .”

  He nodded. “You’re right, kid. I’ve lost my appetite for these things, after what Max just said.”

  “Obviously,” said Max, “we must be vigilant. Rather than risk another murder, any suspect cookie should be seized immediately so that I can safely destroy it. But such seizure must be conducted with the utmost care. Any damage that the cookie sustains before I am able to nullify its dark power is likely to be fatal.”

  “You mean that even after the cookie is no longer in the presence of the victim,” I asked, “cracking it will still cause his death?”

  “Or it may cause the death of the person carrying it,” said Max. “It depends on the intention, the method, and the skill being exercised in the creation of the curse, and we don’t have that information at this time.”

  “In other words,” I said, really starting to dread the next cookie, “if Benny’s secretary had gotten hungry and broken open the cookie herself, or if she had tripped and dropped it while giving it to him . . . We don’t know which one of them would have died, but one of them would probably be toast?”

  “Precisely.” Max looked at both of us with concern. “So if you take possession of a potential misfortune cookie, you must be very careful.”

  “That does it,” Lucky said darkly. “We gotta put this killer out of business. What if Benny had given that cookie to one of his grandkids, for chrissake? What then? Huh?”

  “Oh, my God,” I said, realizing the horrific extent of the Evil we were confronting. “Either the child might die as a result of breaking open his treat, or his grandfather might die right in front of him.”

  Max nodded. “Lucky is correct. We must find and stop this killer. Otherwise—”

  He was interrupted by Nelli suddenly jumping to her feet and growling menacingly at the closed door. We heard a footstep and realized someone was on the other side of it.

  Lucky rose quickly, pulled a gun out of his waistband, and ordered me in a low voice, “Get under the desk and stay there. Now.”

  13

  Feng shui

  A system of geomancy for orienting and organizing buildings, structures, and spaces.

  I was about to crawl under the desk, as instructed, when there was a knock on the door. Then a man’s anxious voice called, “Alberto? Are you in there?”

  “Oh, good God,” Lucky said in exasperation, lowering his gun. “I’m getting way too jumpy.”

  “As am I.” Max took a steadying breath. “I thought Nelli had detected a demonic being or menacing entity.”

  Nelli’s tail wagged a little with uncertainty as she realized the new arrival was not a threat.

  “Alberto?” called the voice, sounding alarmed.

  “That’s Mr. Chen, isn’t it?” I said, heading for the door.

  “The way our favorite familiar growled, Nathan probably thinks there’s a demonic being in here.” Lucky called, “Yeah, it’s me, Nate. Everything’s fine.”

  I shoved Nelli aside and opened the door for John’s father. Since we hadn’t really met, I introduced myself, then I apologized for our dog—whom he was eyeing with alarm. Nathan Chen was not as tall as his two sons, but he had the same trim build, good posture, and attractive features. His lined face was pleasant, his hair was mostly gray, and he looked about sixty.

  “Nelli, calm down,” I admonished.

  Canines are among the most socially oriented animals on the planet, so they’re very sensitive to etiquette. Nelli, by now, realized she had growled at someone who was a friend of her pack, so she was embarrassed and eager to rectify this blunder. But the g
rinning and panting apologies of a dog the size of a Shetland pony could be a little off-putting to a stranger unfamiliar with Nelli’s goodhearted nature—especially if he was not a dog person, which John’s father clearly was not.

  As I pulled Nelli out of his way so he could enter the room, Mr. Chen’s gaze fell on the gun in Lucky’s hand.

  “Is there bad news?” he asked sharply. “Are you in danger?”

  “No, no,” Lucky assured him, setting the gun down on the desk. “I’m just tense. Been cooped up for too long.”

  Mr. Chen nodded. “This isn’t good for you, stuck inside here for two weeks. I think it’s time to risk moving you. John’s worked out a plan for . . .” He glanced at me and Max, then said, “Well, we can discuss the details later.”

  “I ain’t ready to move yet,” said Lucky. “We gotta solve this thing first. Then I’ll get out of town.”

  “You’re that convinced Benny was murdered? And that whoever killed him is a threat to others?” Mr. Chen asked.

  As he answered, I could see that Lucky was thinking of the grandchildren to whom Benny Yee might so easily have given that deadly cookie. “Yeah. Me and the doc and the kid, we’re gonna see this through, like we always do. And then I’ll be ready to make a move.”

  “The doc and the kid?” Nathan repeated. “This is starting to sound like a Western.”

  “How do you do, sir? I’m Dr. Maximillian Zadok. You were so busy during Mr. Yee’s wake that I did not have the pleasure of an introduction then.” As he extended his hand in greeting, Max added, “I hope our canine companion didn’t alarm you too much just now.”

  “She’s a bit startling,” was the tactful reply, “but I can see that she meant no harm.”

  They chatted for a couple of minutes, both civilized men with Old World manners. Max complimented Nathan Chen on his well-run business and his fine sons. Mr. Chen, in turn, expressed an intention (insincere, I assumed) to visit Max’s West Village occult bookstore one of these days.