Lucky Bastard by S G Browne

him.”
    I just nod.
    “Anyway,” he says, “this Tommy Wong is apparently some sort of Chinese gangsta badass, and he’s been buyin’ up as much luck as he can get hold of. Hiring poachers from out of town and puttin’ ’em on his payroll. No one knows who they are, but rumor has it a bunch of ’em have moved into town.”
    Which pretty much confirms my suspicions about Scooter Girl. Apparently, Tommy’s not only contractingluck poachers but bringing them into my territory. I wonder how many more of them there are. And how the hell I’m going to get rid of them.
    Just add it to my list of Things to Do.
    “You ever seen a luck poacher, Holmes?”
    I shake my head and do my best impersonation of someone who’s telling the truth. “Not that I know of.”
    “I seen one.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Word. Saw this dude cruisin’ past the Orpheum the other night, checking out the scene. He was a tall, white dude. And when I say white, I don’t mean Conan O’Brien white. We’re talking creepy-dude white. Like he’s allergic to the sun.”
    “You mean an albino?”
    “Yeah, that’s it. Dude was freaky.”
    “How did you know he was a poacher?”
    “I just knew, Holmes. I just knew.”
    I don’t know who this guy was, but no respectable poacher would be caught hanging out by the Orpheum. You don’t tend to find a lot of good luck in the Tenderloin. More likely you’re going to find a lot of drug addiction and failure. And I’m not putting any stock in Doug’s ability to identify poachers, considering he has one standing right in front of him. Still, if Tommy’s hiring poachers and bringing them into the city, I suppose anything’s possible.
    “You know what, Holmes?” Doug leans in even closer.“I hear that if a poacher takes your luck, it’s like he’s taking your soul.”
    So much for Doug’s powers of perception.
    “I had no idea,” I say.
    Doug gives a single nod, slow and solemn. Like a little kid silently admitting to something he’s done. “I also heard that if you carry a rabbit’s foot or some sort of lucky charm, it keeps poachers away.”
    “Kind of like garlic and vampires?”
    “Word. You ever seen a vampire, Holmes?”
    “No.”
    “Me neither,” he says, sounding disappointed. “But I always carry this, just in case.”
    Doug reaches inside his shirt and pulls out something on a cord that’s hanging around his neck. I think it’s going to be a bulb of garlic or a silver cross or a vial of holy water, but when he opens his hand, there’s a brass ring the size of a rolled-up condom in his palm.
    “Had this since my dad gave it to me when I was ten,” he says. “Just before he died. Got it from the carousel at the boardwalk in Santa Cruz. Told me I should always reach for the brass ring.”
    My father always told me I needed to develop brass balls.
    “Anyway,” he says, “I always keep it on me. Not for vampires, but just, you know, for good luck.”
    In the United States, people kiss crosses and carry around a rabbit’s foot for good luck, which obviously wasn’t very lucky for the rabbit, while in other countries,people attempt to control and enhance their good fortune through all sorts of ridiculous behaviors.
    In Russia, carrying a fish scale in your purse or wallet is considered good luck.
    In Germany, the spotting of a chimney sweep in traditional garb is regarded as fortuitous.
    In Scandinavia, trolls are thought to be lucky.
    Which I find kind of confusing. I always thought trolls lived in caves or mounds or under bridges and ate billy goats or little children. Not really sure what’s so lucky about that. Unless you’re a troll.
    Others believe luck can be created by looking for opportunities, listening to their intuition, using the power of positive thinking, and adopting a resilient attitude. Which is more ridiculous than carrying around a fish scale in your wallet.
    “You carry any good-luck charms?” asks Doug, putting the brass ring back inside his