Better Than A Fortune Cookie

The succulent aromas of garlic, ginger, and other spices as they cooked in hot oil wafted in from the kitchen of Wang Ho’s to assail his nostrils—which strangely enough had a direct connection to his stomach—said which immediately began objecting loud enough that the patrons the next table over could detect the rumbling with mild amusement. They cast sideways glances in his direction, whispering about poor social graces.

Eat shit, you old geezers!

Limber fingers tapped atop the worn Formica tabletop as the thirty-something man awaited his order of vegetable chow mien and spring roll. It sucked when he fasted, intentionally or not, but last night’s latest ‘excursion’ had extended longer than projected. Damn hyperthyroidism. The medications administered for treatment had zero effect on him. Tapping sensitive digits rhythmically helped diminish the tremors; another wonderful side-effect of the disease.

“Finally,” he muttered, as his server appeared next to his table with a plate of sizzling aromatic food, and a chromed teapot from which she poured steaming liquid into his ceramic mug. Chopsticks positioned adeptly, he attacked the seasoned caramelized vegetables and rice, deftly scooping up a sampling of each—balancing the mixture between the tapered utensils—then blowing on the blend before popping it into his mouth. Within minutes his body’s chemical imbalance began to adjust, and by the time half the serving was consumed he felt reasonably healthier. A tea break followed, blowing softly then sipping cautiously at the heated beverage. The spring roll followed—plucked from the plate—dipped in duck sauce—its end bitten off with vigor. He froze suddenly, pre-chew, because climbing atop his table were two tiny house spiders. The bite of spring roll held between lips threatened escape as he stared at the arachnids—paralyzed—unable to make a sound. The only downside to his ‘chosen profession’. Arachnophobia.

“Eight-eyed loathsome creatures!” he internally raged, unable to do little more than quiver, his abdomen spasming. The worst was he knew deep inside, even after they disappeared...they would be back.

Their disgusting presence had ruined a few lucrative jobs for him. All the more reason to despise them. Finally, both scurried across the laminated tabletop to the sidewall, disappearing behind the window jamb. The thief blinked, sucking air in his nostrils raggedly while forcing himself to inhale/exhale deeply. Ten times he silently repeated his mantra to restore inner balance. Just a bug just a bug just a bug…

Lips slowly curled in a sardonic smile once his heart rate returned to semi-normal levels. He resumed his partaking of the succulent Oriental fare, starting with the crusty morsal still clinging to his lip. Two chews were all it took to realize there was something in the rolled end that wasn’t a vegetable. Finger and thumb, still trembling slightly, plucked out what at first appeared to be a pale stubby firecracker—sans fuse, which begin to unravel as he rolled it between fingers trying to clean it off—curiosity overriding caution.

“Hmmm…new way to present a fortune?” he quipped, then completely unrolled the tiny scroll, spread it atop the semi-glossed tabletop and began to read:

“Thief, your life is in danger. Say nothing to anyone.Leave the city immediately and never return. Beware the green-eyed lady. She is not who she seems."

His flesh paled, dark eyes narrowing in confusion. He furtively glanced about the restaurant while portraying a calm indifference, forcing himself to remain relaxed. Mentally he began to organize his thoughts, forcing anxiety from his body; utilizing reasoning to focus/assess his situation as he casually inspected the scroll, then the remnants of spring roll on his plate.

He sniggered ironically. “Okay… that is some trick right there.”

Leaning forward he peeked into the kitchen; perhaps one of the cooks would appear suspicious? No such luck. Hmmm. Spring rolls were pre-made then cooked per order. Then how…? Murmuring to himself as the weirdness of the situation sunk in: “Obviously somebody knows I heisted that jewelry. How could they know? No cameras... I wore gloves. No DNA. Nothing personal left behind. The job was perfect!” He shook his head, his expression one of utter confusion.

“Why would I be in any danger?? It was just a common burglary for Christ’s sake! And…and…why haven’t I been arrested yet if they made me? Why weren’t the cops called in?” He re-read the scroll and scowled in irritation. “And who the hell is this green-eyed lady I’m supposed to be worried about??”

He consumed enough to sate him temporarily, then eager to depart the surreal situation he exited into the street, moving towards the nearest subway entrance. Descending to the train platform he checked the schedule for the Number One train that would take him to Penn Station.

The burglar mused as he waited amidst the mass of swaying bodies, ignoring the odors of stale cigarettes and sweaty bodies, “That spring roll gives good advice…better than a fortune cookie! Time to go! Grab my bags stashed at Penn, chow on a couple of dogs, hop an Amtrak westbound, lay low for a bit in some hick town then pawn what I can somewhere far away from here. Yeah…good plan.”

He scoffed internally about the mysterious ‘green-eyed lady’ warning as the subway screeched to a stop alongside the platform, momentarily drowning out the typical hubbub of Manhattan commuters whose proclivity was relentlessly talking over each other, as the sudden exodus through opened train doors added to the incoherent din.

“I’m not about to run from every woman with green eyes!” sneering to no one while maneuvering himself to be one of the first into the car, knowing Penn was the final stop. Without any chivalry he forced his way inside—filled a corner seat—ignoring the glares from other commuters. He idly prepared for what should have been an uneventful trip to the main ground-travel hub of the Big Apple.

The long-legged spider that unexpectedly descended from the overhead rack to hang suspended in front of his face induced a full-blown panic attack. Dangling on a gossamer strand it swayed back and forth as the train rocked over uneven rails. Its proximity resulted in a strangled whimper as he stared petrified at the insect, his pulse racing—mouth too dry to speak—his constricted throat affecting his breathing. Sweaty hands completed the symptoms of classic anxiety. His savior came in the form of a small brown hand that reached up, captured the arachnid in a tight grasp and drew it from his line of sight. He slowly glanced down into the beaming face of a pre-adolescent African American girl, who offered a gap-toothed smile.

“I used ta’ be scared of spiders too, Mistah. It’s okay. My grandma-ma said just give’em a good squeeze an’ ain’t nothin’ to be scared of no more…”

Grinning, the child wiped spider remains on already soiled jeans and moved across the car to sit next to a large woman who was engrossed in texting on her phone, oblivious to her immediate surroundings. He cursed under his breath, reasoning; How foolish am I, when even a child is unaffected, but I am. He had barely composed himself when the train exited the subway tunnel and eased into bustling One Penn Plaza. Still a bit unsteady as he exited the tunnel, the thief guardedly made his way from the subway towards the storage locker section on the main level of the sprawling train station. Departing train schedules blared over crackling loudspeakers, intermittently overpowering the crowd noise. Pausing en route at Nathan’s Famous, he ordered two foot-long New York wieners topped with sauerkraut, onion sauce, and Guldens spicy brown mustard.

“Deliciousness on a bun!” he thought, stationing himself at a shallow standing counter, setting one dog down while wolfing down half of the other steaming frank in two bites. Unable to escape the feeling of eyes on him as he chewed—pausing mid-third bite—he surveyed the flow of the crowd moving past. Reconnoitering in both directions before slowly turning, he peered inside the Nathan’s store. At the opposite end of the long bar counter he currently leaned against was an extremely attractive auburn-haired woman in a paisley dress, wearing open sandals, staring at him intently. With brilliant emerald almond-shaped eyes, no less. Swallowing hard he decided to present a New York persona because her intense green-eyed stare in his direction was …unnerving. The sudden knot in the pit of his stomach threatened to expel the partially chewed food just consumed.

Green eyes…shit…

“Whadda you lookin’ at, huh?? You gots-a problem or what??”

She smiled briefly, unfazed by his New York bravado and responded. “You have to give it back. Today.”

“I have to give what back?”

“The box. You need to return Larchand’s box.”

He glared at her. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about, lady. You a crazy from Bellevue?”

She frowned, sliding closer, her urgency evident in her tone “You can keep everything else, but you have to return the box! Your life depends on it!”

He frowned at the second warning concerning his longevity was raised in less than 2 hours. Mentally going over last night’s stolen inventory, he considered each item taken during the heist. There was in fact an ornate wooden puzzle box, with markings in some unknown language on all four sides he acquired with the other valuables. He had to ruin its integrity to discover its contents, but all it held was a polished silver band with tiny etchings on the interior. Not especially valuable, compared to the remainder of his nights take.

He eyed her, inquiring cautiously. “Say I did have what you’re saying I do. Who… would I have to give it to?”

She frowned prettily. “Well you certainly don’t want Burndive to get ahold of it, so…” she held out her hand. “You should give it to me.”

The thief gave her the finger in classic N.Y. fashion. “Pack sand, lady! I dunno what you’re talkin’ about! Get lost!” He angrily resumed eating his hot dog after turning his back to her dismissively.

Despite his snub, she continued to implore. “Look, there is little time to explain. Just trust when I say if Burndive opens that box, with his skills it would be unbelievably bad. For all things. If anyone else not possessing sufficient skills opens that box, they will know their worst nightmares as reality!”

He twisted his head to eye her at that, sneering in spite of her increasing allure and his growing uncertainty. “And who is this Burndive joker? An ex-boyfriend?”

“Hardly” she scoffed. “We are on opposing sides. Burndive is the mage who owns that loft you burglarized last night. Burndive and the box will kill you. You stole from him, so you die. Even if you return everything to him? You still die. You open the box, and release what protects the contents without the skills to subdue it? You’ll wish he killed you. It uses one’s own darkest fears to destroy them.”

She held her hands out in placation. “I promise that my only desire is to avoid harm to the innocent, Sir.”

“What if…what if the box was…umm… opened by mistake?”

Her hand went to her mouth, her brilliant eyes wide as his expression revealed nervous concern. “Noo...you did…Goddess…now your worst fears will be your demise!” She cocked a brow and tilted her head slightly, pursing her lips before probing. “Then, you… possess what was within? You have the…ring?”

He nodded, suddenly feeling nauseous. “Not… with me, no. But it’s close.”

She shook her head sadly. “There might still be time if you give me the ring now. What is your darkest fear, sir?”

His face reddened, thinking about the little girl on the train. “Spiders. Hate’em!” Damn it was getting easy to get lost in her gaze. Shaking his head to clear his mind he queried, “You gonna be able to do something if you have the ring?”

She nodded, offering a smile that hinted of seduction. “I know the magic of the Earth. I know how to deal with all creatures.” She stepped next to him. “Come. Take me to the ring, and all will be as it should, Gods willing.”

Nodding woodenly he turned, leading a weaving path across the central plaza to his locker, consciously shortening his stride so she could keep pace. He was anxious now, and his hands began to tremor uncontrollably as he comprehended what evil he might have unwittingly released, if her story rang true. He struggled to maintain steady hands in order to insert/twist his locker key, fumbling with it awkwardly. Finally, the public locker clicked open, and he removed a black satchel, slinging it over his shoulder and closing the door on the remaining contents.

He turned to her and said, “I’m not opening this right here, lady. We need to go somewhere where I can dig the ring out without advertising everything else inside it.”

She lightly rested a hand on his forearm, acquiescing. “Lead the way, Sir.”

The burglar scanned the area with a trained gaze, then gestured towards the stairs leading down to the subways. “The A-train’s offline till the morning. Platform should be empty.”

With that he strode to and down the double-leveled stairway without concern for her slower pace, to the stained concrete slab below that was devoid of anything but some refuse and a few rats that scurried away upon his approach. Time was of essence. He set the satchel down on the platform below and opened it, sifting through it methodically as she descended the stairs and approached him, quietly observing. He smiled with relief as fingers closed on the cold cylinder—removing his hand from the opened case he held it up for her view.

“This what you’re looking for?”

She nodded, gingerly removing the burnished silver ring from his grasp, slipping it over her middle digit while gradually withdrawing towards the stairs. Turning the ring counterclockwise she began softly chanting in an unrecognizable tongue, bowing her head as she slowly retreated backwards. Oblivious to her actions—anxious to feel safe—the thief bent to close his leather satchel and secure the straps, suddenly jumping and gasping in horror as a large spider crawled out from beneath the thick leather lid towards his clutching hand.

Followed by another. And another. He violently shoved the haversack away, scurrying backwards on hands and feet across the grimy concrete as spiders poured from his bag; his features twisted into a horrific visage of sheer terror as her soft guttural chanting diminished into silence. From her vantage on the stairs, she observed as he sat frozen in panic in the middle of the empty platform, his features crimson, both eyes bulging from their sockets; unable to speak or swallow. A shifting mass of arachnids of all sizes suddenly began filtering onto the platform from all directions as frantic eyes darted back and forth, bile rising in his throat. The burglar’s mouth opened in a silent scream as they begin to swarm over feebly kicking feet and up inside his trousered legs, tiny fangs sinking maddeningly into trembling flesh as they worked their way higher. The witch slowly ascended the stairs; her glittering emerald pupils transformed from round to slitted as she watched the shuddering thief tortuously succumb in terrified agony to the thousands of arachnids, assorted venom's paralyzing all motor function while compromising his respiratory system, until it completely ceased functioning.

Silent until the thief stopped moving, she finally spoke as the spiders vacated his lifeless form en masse and retreated into the darkness of the subway tunnels, leaving the platform empty except for a swollen mass of putrefying flesh that oozed interstitial fluid. “I promised to not harm the innocents. You were far from innocent, thief.” Mists swirled and coalesced around her, transforming her summer dress into ornate, layered full-length robes of cerulean. Ageless flesh gleaming alabaster, green slitted pupils glittering maliciously. “There was no threat of opening the box…I lied! You stole from me you gullible fool, not Burndive! The doddering old buffoon tried to warn you! You did not listen! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”