Laura Resnick - The Misfortune Cookie

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.”