that point. Everyone has their moments.
“I scared some kids,” he admitted guiltily. “That was unintentional, but their granny got mad. She hit me and called me bad names. I think she was speaking Fujianese, so I didn’t know what she was saying. But I could tell from the kids’ faces, they were
bad
words.”
“You had a hard day.”
“Yeah. Still I guess Ted Yee and John Chen both had a worse day than I did.”
“What are you doing to your phones, anyhow, that they keep dying on you?”
“I’m not doing
anything
to them. They’re just dying! Shoddy manufacturing or something.”
I could tell from his tone that I was the umpteenth person to ask him that, so I dropped the subject. “Look, the reason I called you . . .”
When I didn’t continue, he prodded, “Yes?”
“Well, we didn’t finish talking about what happened the other night, did we?”
“The other night?”
“What I did the other night,” I specified.
“What you did . . . Hmm. Remind me what you did the other night?”
“All right, I know you’ve had a bad week, but that’s no reason to be mean,” I admonished.
“Okay. You’re right.” There was a pause. “Well, do you want to start, or should I?”
“I’ll go.” I took a breath and forged ahead. “I panicked when I saw the cookie in your car, because those things are deadly. If you had cracked it open—if
anyone
had cracked it open—it would have killed you instantly.”
There was a brief silence.
Then he said, “Killed me instantly?”
“Yes.”
“How? Would death rays have burst out of it and turned me into ashes?”
“Don’t be facetious. I’m trying to—”
“You’re telling me that a cookie crumbling would have killed me, and you think
I’m
being facetious?”
“These deadly cookies are what killed Joe Ning and Benny Yee.” Benny, an underworld figure of lower status than Ning, was Ted’s uncle, and he had been the film’s previous backer—until Susan killed him with a misfortune cookie. His death had been attributed to natural causes.
“I see. Benny Yee and Joe Ning were killed by cookies.” Lopez’s voice was deadpan. “That’s your theory?”
“They were killed by mystical curses concealed in the cookies,” I clarified.
“Did Max give you this idea?” he asked wearily.
“That’s not important. I’m trying to tell you—”
“How many times do I have to ask you to stay away from him?”
I tried to keep my voice level and reasonable as I said, “He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known. You have no idea how many people he has helped.”
I could tell Lopez was trying to sound reasonable, too, when he said, “Look, I know you’re very fond of him. And I know he’s devoted to you. But, all things considered, I still don’t think this is a good friendship for you.”
“I’m not letting you pick my friends for me,” I said firmly.
“Esther, he keeps putting these crazy ideas into your—”
“Will you stop blaming Max?” I said irritably. “Lucky is the one who—who . . . uh . . .”
“Lucky?” His voice was tense now. “Oh, that’s great.”
Well, the cat was out of the bag, so I might as well continue. “The death curses were originally Lucky’s theory, not Max’s,” I said. “And he was right.”
“Just
great,
” Lopez said. “While I’ve got some fast-talking TV lawyer breathing down my neck and claiming I’m a corrupt cop just because Joe Ning fell off a slippery balcony, my girlfriend is chasing magical cookies with a famous Gambello killer. My week just can’t
get
any better, can it?”
I sifted through that outburst, trying to decide which item to address first. I picked the part that was unfamiliar to me.
“What TV lawyer? Who’s calling you corrupt? I don’t . . .” Then I remembered what Nathan had said he’d seen on the news. “Oh,
wait
. That attorney who’s claiming the cops drove Uncle Six to suicide—he’s blaming
you?
”
“Yep,” was the
“I scared some kids,” he admitted guiltily. “That was unintentional, but their granny got mad. She hit me and called me bad names. I think she was speaking Fujianese, so I didn’t know what she was saying. But I could tell from the kids’ faces, they were
bad
words.”
“You had a hard day.”
“Yeah. Still I guess Ted Yee and John Chen both had a worse day than I did.”
“What are you doing to your phones, anyhow, that they keep dying on you?”
“I’m not doing
anything
to them. They’re just dying! Shoddy manufacturing or something.”
I could tell from his tone that I was the umpteenth person to ask him that, so I dropped the subject. “Look, the reason I called you . . .”
When I didn’t continue, he prodded, “Yes?”
“Well, we didn’t finish talking about what happened the other night, did we?”
“The other night?”
“What I did the other night,” I specified.
“What you did . . . Hmm. Remind me what you did the other night?”
“All right, I know you’ve had a bad week, but that’s no reason to be mean,” I admonished.
“Okay. You’re right.” There was a pause. “Well, do you want to start, or should I?”
“I’ll go.” I took a breath and forged ahead. “I panicked when I saw the cookie in your car, because those things are deadly. If you had cracked it open—if
anyone
had cracked it open—it would have killed you instantly.”
There was a brief silence.
Then he said, “Killed me instantly?”
“Yes.”
“How? Would death rays have burst out of it and turned me into ashes?”
“Don’t be facetious. I’m trying to—”
“You’re telling me that a cookie crumbling would have killed me, and you think
I’m
being facetious?”
“These deadly cookies are what killed Joe Ning and Benny Yee.” Benny, an underworld figure of lower status than Ning, was Ted’s uncle, and he had been the film’s previous backer—until Susan killed him with a misfortune cookie. His death had been attributed to natural causes.
“I see. Benny Yee and Joe Ning were killed by cookies.” Lopez’s voice was deadpan. “That’s your theory?”
“They were killed by mystical curses concealed in the cookies,” I clarified.
“Did Max give you this idea?” he asked wearily.
“That’s not important. I’m trying to tell you—”
“How many times do I have to ask you to stay away from him?”
I tried to keep my voice level and reasonable as I said, “He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known. You have no idea how many people he has helped.”
I could tell Lopez was trying to sound reasonable, too, when he said, “Look, I know you’re very fond of him. And I know he’s devoted to you. But, all things considered, I still don’t think this is a good friendship for you.”
“I’m not letting you pick my friends for me,” I said firmly.
“Esther, he keeps putting these crazy ideas into your—”
“Will you stop blaming Max?” I said irritably. “Lucky is the one who—who . . . uh . . .”
“Lucky?” His voice was tense now. “Oh, that’s great.”
Well, the cat was out of the bag, so I might as well continue. “The death curses were originally Lucky’s theory, not Max’s,” I said. “And he was right.”
“Just
great,
” Lopez said. “While I’ve got some fast-talking TV lawyer breathing down my neck and claiming I’m a corrupt cop just because Joe Ning fell off a slippery balcony, my girlfriend is chasing magical cookies with a famous Gambello killer. My week just can’t
get
any better, can it?”
I sifted through that outburst, trying to decide which item to address first. I picked the part that was unfamiliar to me.
“What TV lawyer? Who’s calling you corrupt? I don’t . . .” Then I remembered what Nathan had said he’d seen on the news. “Oh,
wait
. That attorney who’s claiming the cops drove Uncle Six to suicide—he’s blaming
you?
”
“Yep,” was the
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