The Fortune Cookie

Crime Fiction by Jim Wright

“I swear on the soul of my Doberman, Jeanette,” said Trevor. “I got no feelings for Vicky anymore. Honest. You’re the one I love. As soon as I see her again, I’m ending it.”

The couple sat across from each other in a corner booth at Tio’s Chinese Palace. They had finished their meal and were waiting for the check. With chopsticks, Trevor picked morsels from congealing dishes of Kung Pao Chicken and Szechuan Beef and popped them into Jeanette’s mouth.

“And, no, for the thousandth time,” he said, “I’m not going to give you any info about her. I want to keep Vicky and you in separate worlds, baby. She’s my past and you’re my future.” He reached across the table and caressed Jeanette’s cheek.

Trevor was a good-looking guy, with a head full of thick brown hair, light brown eyes, and olive skin. People sometimes had a hard time recalling his smooth, symmetrical face, because he had no obvious imperfection to pin a memory on.

Jeanette stared at Trevor with wide, hazel eyes. She shook her long curls and touched his hand.

“You’re a good man,” she whispered.

Trevor saw her eyes locked on his face and knew that she was besotted with him. His heart swelled like a movie score. He shook his head.

“No, no, baby, I got to admit, I’m no saint. Truth is, I kinda stepped out on Vicky once or twice and I’m not proud of it. But you make me want to be a better man, Jeanette. To set Vicky free so she can find someone with the right chemistry…”

Their server came over. He was a thin, elegant twentysomething in black jeans and black long-sleeve shirt. He set down a small tray with Trevor’s credit card, payment slip, and two fortune cookies.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked.

Trevor looked up at the server, glancing at his name tag.

“No, we’re all set, Quinn,” he said. “By the way, your English is really good.”

“Thank you,” said Quinn with a slight bow. He waited for Trevor to enter a tip on the bill. Then he came close to Jeanette, as if to share a confidence.

“Miss, would you like to know my secret for achieving excellent English?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Well,” said Quinn, “…I was born six blocks from here.”

Jeanette laughed and quickly covered her mouth.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Trevor’s face. He swept the fortune cookies off the payment tray and pushed the tray toward the server.

“We’re done here,” he said.      

“Don’t forget your fortune cookies,” said Quinn.

“Just what I need,” said Trevor. “More sugar and superstition.”

“Oh, no,” said the server. “Fortune cookies are a big deal. See my grandmother there? Behind the cash register?”

They looked to where Quinn pointed. A wizened old woman sitting behind the counter looked back with the gravity of an owl. She waved stiffly. They waved back.

“Grandma always says to treat fortune cookies with the greatest respect,” Quinn said. “Because each hides a profound mystery. Is your fortune blank until you crack open the cookie and then a message magically appears intended only for you? Or was your fate actually decided back when the universe was first created, and the cookie just announces your unavoidable future? Or does the cookie present to you a coming fork in the road of your life and frame for you a choice? Or…”

 Trevor waved a hand impatiently: “OK, OK, Sensei. Mysterious, I get it.”

He stood and pulled on a hooded sweatshirt.

“Got to go, sweetie,” he said to Jeanette, pointing at his watch. “Call you later.”

He gave her a quick kiss.

“Aren’t you going to read your fortune?” said Quinn.

Trevor grabbed a fortune cookie, dropped it in his sweatshirt pocket, and exited the restaurant.

Jeanette looked at Quinn as he cleared their table.

 “Wow, you make your fortune cookies sound so mystical,” she said. “Where do you get them?”

Quinn shrugged. “I don’t know. Some place in Jersey.”

***

Trevor pulled into the marina parking lot and climbed out of his pickup. It was twilight and the ocean lapped against the quay under bright streetlamps. He checked his phone for the directions Vicky had sent to find the berth where her research boat was docked.

As he started along the quay, Trevor turned weighty matters over in his head. He was polyamorous, and that was just a fact. But try telling that to any of the women he was dating, like Vicky or the new girl, Jeanette, who all insisted on romantic monogamy. So, to fill perfectly natural needs, he had to commit the venial sin of lying to his partners, pledging hope-to-die that each was his one beloved. These were just white lies, really, teeny victimless crimes. What did the Almighty care about his love life?

Ahead, Trevor saw a boat docked along the quay with its running lights on. It was small, maybe forty feet long. It looked like a converted fishing charter, with low gunwales and an enclosed cabin. There was a university seal and name emblazoned on its side: The Seeker. That had to be her vessel. His pulse quickened as he realized that soon he would be in the company of the fascinating Vicky Sanderson.

When he met her two years ago, Vicky was a sharp, funny woman trying to finish her masters in marine biology at Howard Phillips University. But their dating took a toll on them both. Twice, she had caught him cheating and spiraled down into a dark place, saying things that made Trevor wonder if she might hurt herself. In those episodes, he would sometimes catch her looking at him through half-closed eyes like he was some kind of bug. It gave him shivers.

They broke off their relationship for a while. But Trevor missed her smoldering, moody passion…it was more addictive than vaping. So last month he sweet-talked Vicky please-please-please into giving him another chance. He still had the magic! And now he was super-careful, using hacks he’d picked up on TikTok to cover his tracks with his other girlfriends. No need to cause Vicky unnecessary heartache.

As he approached the boat, a woman emerged from the cabin, rangy in jeans and a fleece pullover. She wore her hair in a ponytail under a baseball cap.

“Hi, Trevvy,” said Vicky in a low voice. “C’mon aboard.”

She held out a hand and Trevor hopped over the gangway onto the boat.

“Get down on the deck and pull up your hood until we’re out on the water,” Vicky said. “I told my professor that I’m borrowing the boat to do routine testing on our hydrophones offshore. If they find out I brought you onboard, they’ll kick me out of the program for sure.”

Trevor crouched on the deck.

“Vicky, what—”

“Shush,” she said. “Just be patient.”

Vicky moved with ease about the boat, unfastening the mooring ropes. Then she disappeared into the cabin and shut the door tight.

The motor started with a low growl. Water swirled at the stern of the boat and The Seeker nosed away from the quay. Soon, the boat had passed the mouth of the harbor and headed out into open ocean. Its motor revved up, lifting the prow, and The Seeker bounded over a tranquil sea.

Trevor leaned against the gunwale and watched the water rush by. He thought of how intrigued he had been when, out of the blue, Vicky texted him yesterday, asking that he join her for a night cruise on the research boat. She gave no details, saying it would ruin the surprise. Vicky warned him to tell no one about the voyage, as she could get into oodles of trouble.

After about twenty minutes, Trevor cautiously got to his feet and staggered over to the cabin door. He tried the handle. It was locked. He pounded on the door.

“Just a little longer, Trevvy,” Vicky yelled through the door.

He returned to the rear of the boat and sat back down on the deck. He stuck his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and discovered the fortune cookie he had picked up from the restaurant. He tossed it into the ocean.

In another ten minutes or so, the boat slowed. Vicky came out of the cabin and stood next to Trevor.

“I’ve got the boat set to autopilot using the GPS,” she said. “We’re doing about fifteen knots.”

Trevor stood, swaying on the shifting deck. “So, Vicky, whatcha got planned for me, baby?”

He opened his arms to wrap her in a hug, but Vicky took a step back, smiling, and gestured at the slow swell of waves barely visible in the darkness. Trevor turned to face the sea.

“The ocean’s a wonder, Trevvy. Just think of it…there’s ten thousand feet of water under this boat. At the bottom, it’s black and cold as outer space Fall overboard and your body would tumble like a ragdoll for a couple miles before it hit the sea floor. The hagfish and sharks always show up first. They strip the body clean. Bacteria and snails gobble up any leftover bits. Then worms digest your bones. Life down there could feed off your carcass for months.”

“Jesus, Vicky, why you telling me this?”

She lightly rubbed his shoulders.

“You asked what I have in mind for you,” Vicky purred.

She gave Trevor a sudden shove and he plunged headfirst over the side of the boat.

“You’ve cheated on me for the last time, you bastard,” she screamed after him. “You’re fish food!”

As he struggled and thrashed in the water, Trevor saw the boat pulling away.

“Vicky!”, he yelled. “Hey, what are you doing? This isn’t funny!”

Vicky cupped her hands to her mouth and called: “You know what’s funny, Trevor? Jeanette!”

“Jeanette? No, no, she doesn’t mean anything to me, baby,” Trevor called. He inhaled water and began to cough.

“Here’s another punchline, Trevor—Angie!”

Trevor watched the grim gap of water widen between him and the boat.

“Mary Anne!” shouted Vicky, “Esmeralda! Claudia!”

The boat faded into the dusk, and Vicky’s voice was lost in the receding mutter of its engine. She was gone.

“Vicky!”, Trevor pleaded. “Vicky! Don’t leave me…”

He flailed blindly at the water, churning streaks of foam that glowed pale in the near-darkness. His words stuttered into guttural, choking cries.

Soon the ocean returned to its cadence of soft, swelling waves—and there was silence.

***

The man strolled down the beach on a sultry afternoon. He was barefoot and deeply tanned, in loose-fitting swimming trunks, a loud red Hawaiian shirt, and aviator sunglasses. He walked with the swagger of an athlete. Sucking in his gut and lightly stroking his moussed hair, he imagined himself looking younger than his forty-two years.

He was engaged in his favorite hobby, hitting on women. It was a harmless scam. In a pocket, he carried a stash of miniature, exotic Polynesian conch shells. Whenever he spotted an attractive woman lying on the sand, he would come near, pretend to stumble across a remarkable shell that he had planted in the surf, call out in amazement, and strike up a conversation with the woman. Easy-peasy.

Out of the corner of his eye, the man spied a lovely target in an orange bikini applying sunscreen. He turned toward the water, ready to run his shell scam. But then a little object skittered in on a wave and caught his attention. He peered at it lying on the draining sand.

It was a fortune cookie, still pristine in its cellophane wrapper. A message spit out from the vast ocean and dropped right at his feet!

He picked up the cookie and turned it over in his hand. Of course, he had to read the fortune. He ripped open the wrapper, snapped the cookie in half, and squinted at the message on the slip of paper:

He who lies to a heart pure & free/Will come to his end in the deep blue sea.

The man stood unmoving, holding the message inches from his nose. He flushed.

After a time, he pulled a phone from his shirt pocket and punched in a number. His hand was shaking.

“Hi, Celine,” he said.

“No, no, there’s no trouble. I was just calling, um, to say, you know…I love you.”

“Unh-huh. Hey, baby, I know things haven’t always been—you know—anyway, we should talk. I just got some stuff I want to get off my chest.”

“No, not now. In person would be better…How about dinner tonight? OK, yeah, see you then. Kisses. Bye.”

The man pocketed his phone and trudged down the beach toward the parking lot.

The fleck of paper with the fortune slipped from his hand and fluttered onto the wet sand. It was plucked up by a wave and reclaimed by the restless sea.

---

Bio: Jim Wright lives in central New York State, USA. He writes short stories when he can and works as a school psychologist when he must. He is a member of the Downtown Writer’s Center in Syracuse, NY.

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