Fortune Cookie

By Daniel Cotton

Everyone goes through difficult changes in life, Sam Wong is no exception. It’s hard for an adopted Caucasian kid to grow up in Chinatown, trying to fit in. He’s about to discover he is more connected to China than he ever thought possible, and learn about the jiangshi, zombie-like Chinese vampires also known as ‘hopping vampires’. The name literally translates to ‘stiff corpse’, due to post mortem rigidity the oldest jiangshi have to hop to catch their prey. One hopping ghoul shouldn’t be too problematic for the boy to battle, but when faced with many… or even worse the thing that creates them, he may just find himself in the fight of his life.
   Read about Sam as he learns more about his past, figures out his present, and
determines his own future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Cotton
• Release date: Aug 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536520408

Book preview

1

It takes a third knock upon the graffiti ladened door before any sign of life is heard on the other side, frustrated curses muttered in Spanish. The scrawny youth disturbing those who dwell within scans the artwork. A Latin influence covers old Chinese tags, not a typical sight in Chinatown. The threshold parts only to be barred by the form of a very large man. The much smaller boy who has come calling smiles. I’m here to pick up Min.

Que?

Awesome, the kid says, quickly slipping in under the big guy’s arm. The dank apartment is musty and uncomfortably warm. The visitor unzips his blue hooded sweatshirt and pulls back the hood to make himself more at home. He rubs the stubble of his close cropped hair to remove any errant lint that may be stuck to his head.

Strolling through the unkempt living room, being tailed by the bewildered behemoth he had met at the door, the kid is trying to count the stereotypes he’s witnessing and unable to keep up; Latin soap operas play on an old console television subtitled in Chinese, the coffee table is littered with Corona bottles, a table in the corner is full of stacks of money and guns. Watching the melodrama is a man in a white tank top, his arm is draped over the back of a well-worn couch. He speaks without looking behind him, Who was it, Diego?

My name is Sam, the intruder speaks causing the black-haired man to jump.

Pointing into the youth’s face the man challenges him, How did you get through Diego?

I asked, and he said ‘kay’.

He said ‘que’, it means ‘what’.

Ooh. I see the confusion now, Sam nods without apologizing. I’m just here to pick up my sister Min.

A look of amusement is shared by the men along with a quick exchange in Spanish before the smaller of the two laughs at Sam, I think you’re confused, white boy.

No. I’m here to grab my sister, Sam assures the man calmly. I don’t know if her shift is over or not, but our mom wants her home.

He don’t look Chinese, Manuel, Diego reiterates the obvious.

I’m adopted, the kid responds sharply. Thanks for opening that wound.

Ooh sorry.

Don’t apologize to him, homes! Get him the fuck outta here! Manuel slaps his associate’s chest.

Before the wall of muscle can move, Sam senses his sister is close. The small apartment doesn’t leave many options for where she may be. Rushing to the only closed door he finds her in the kitchen with two other girls. The three Asian ladies are sitting at a filthy island countertop wearing nothing but their bras and panties, each mixing a pile of white powder.

Sam has trouble telling his sister from the other two since their mouths and noses are shrouded by surgical masks. It isn’t until one set of almond eyes looks up from their task and set into a vicious glare that he identifies her, Sam! What the fuck you doing here?

Come on, her brother waves her to follow him. We’re going home.

She ain’t going nowhere ‘til she mixes my shit, Manuel says with conviction. The one named Diego towers over the puny white boy, neither of the men know why he is smiling.

You guys are really living up to the labels, aren’t you? The shit hole apartment, the table of guns and money, you have the Telemundo going, and now I find a room of Asian chicks cutting cocaine. You know you can’t really call yourselves equal opportunity employers if you only hire one ethnic group, right? Why are they always Asian?

It’s Chinatown, Diego says.

Diego, show him the door, Manuel instructs, fed up with Sam. Teach him a lesson first.

A meaty hand closes painfully around Sam’s shoulder, and the boy doesn’t stop smiling. He still intends on leaving with his sister, he just needs to rile the giant. Sam knows he’ll be all right if he can just get the beast to hit him. So, what exactly is a chulupa anyway?

All Sam remembers before blacking out is the sight of Diego’s fist eclipsing a ceiling light. Now as the world fades back into focus, he finds himself standing over the enforcer, his hands are sore and his face stings from where he had been struck. A welt rises from his temple down to his chin, ruptured vessels blacken and bruise. The contusion fades as the swelling subsides, leaving the boy’s skin unmarred.

Manuel backs away mortified, he crosses himself for protection with trembling hands. What are you?

Wish I knew, Sam answers softly. He looks down at his opponent, unconscious on the matted and stained carpet. He isn’t sure how he did it, it shouldn’t be possible for a kid his size to be victorious, yet there he stands. From the broken man his eyes lock onto the man of the house. Unless you have any further objections, I’ll be taking my sister home.

Take ‘em all! Manuel insists, offering no protest. I don’t want to see another Asian chick for the rest of my life.

Well, you may want to consider relocating away from Chinatown. Min, get dressed. The boy crosses the room, Manuel leaps as far away from him as possible. From the table in the corner Sam takes several stacks of bills. Being that this is their last day; I feel it only right to offer the ladies some severance, don’t you?

Absolutely! the street hardened man just wants the abomination to leave his place. Manuel has never seen a more vicious attack than what has just befallen his friend, the boy less than half Diego’s size managed to systematically break him down, overpowering the giant, and he did it with the most disturbing look of joy on his face.

The three girls are still half dressed as Sam delivers to them their parting gifts. The ladies are speaking to one another in rapid fire Chinese, his sister’s ex-coworkers steel glances at their hero and giggle as they retrieve their garments.

What are they saying? Sam asks Min.

Fuck, Sam! she snaps. You’ve lived in Chinatown your whole life, when are you going to learn the language, vato?

You better get chinky real fast before we get home and mom slaps that ghetto out of your mouth, Sam retaliates. I thought she gave you fifty bucks for work clothes, where’d that go?

Victoria Secret is very expensive, she retorts as she is ushered from the dwelling and down the building’s staircase, the other two girls follow giggling secrets Sam can’t understand.

I’m telling mom you got me fired, Min angrily threatens.

First, you’d have to tell her the truth about this second job of yours. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear how you’ve been spending your time away from the restaurant.

There’s nothing wrong with it! the slightly older sibling states. Dad sells drugs.

Our father runs a small, respectable opium den that caters to old Chinese businessmen, the distinction is made. He doesn’t deal to kids in schools and playgrounds. He doesn’t shoot people.

Oh, and you’re so perfect, psycho. The bickering continues down the street. What the hell did you do to that man?

I have no idea... I can’t remember, Sam says and for the first time actually tries to recall his most recent episode. He has always had a problem with anger that goes far beyond that of the typical angsty sixteen year old going through changes, when threatened with violence or hurt by malice he just shuts down and reacts.

Heading towards the heart of Chinatown, Sam and Min take a right, the other girls take a left and hop on a bus. Sam asks, Where are they going? Chinatown’s this way.

Not all Chinese people live in Chinatown, racist, Min counters.

The sun is already setting across town, they should have been back two hours ago. When their mother had sent the boy to fetch his sister he neglected to tell her exactly where it was, she has no clue what her daughter’s new job actually entails; as far as Mrs. Wong knows it is an animal shelter.

The red and gold pagodas of the business district are a welcome sight as they near Wong’s Dynasty, the restaurant their parents own and operate, home to the Wong family.

What are you going to tell mom? Sam asks.

’Bout what?

Why you’re fired.

Who cares? the girl sneers.

She’s gonna be pissed, Sam holds the door open for his sister. This is time wasted that you could have been working here.

She’s always pissed. I’m not scared of...

Min! their mother’s shrill voice exclaims before the girl can take three steps into the establishment. Where you been?

Sorry, Momma, Min apologizes in a soft voice, her head bowed in subjection.

The dutiful daughter rushes into the back of the house, out of the line of fire. Mrs. Wong sets her sights on Sam. I tell you have her here before dinner rush!

Rolling his eyes and holding his tongue, the boy casually walks to the back. The woman follows on his heels barking orders in broken English through the establishment that’s painted in cheery hues of red and gold, colors of joy and good fortune. Sam is feeling neither at the moment. Get in kitchen! Dishes to be done. Ping Pong been doing both you jobs.

Belittled and embarrassed in front of many tourists, the boy quickens his pace. His mother continues to follow. Take out garbage before it attract flies.

In an anomaly of linguistics that always makes Sam smile, his mother’s accent changes between the front and the back of the house. Out front among the patrons her ‘L’s become ‘R’s and she loses words like; ‘the’ and ‘a’. In the back of the house her English is so perfect she could give elocution lessons to a queen.

Sam mutters with his back turned to his mother, I didn’t think we served fries.

What that you say? she asks from the doorway, still in earshot of the tourists.

Nothing, Mom... Sam commits a fatal faux pas.

A scornful finger is pointed at the boy. I tell you that bad for business.

His mother backs out of the kitchen, returning to the area of the place Sam isn’t allowed to call her mom, at least not during business hours. To narrow minded folks and the tourists who come the Wong’s Dynasty for authentic American Chinese cuisine, such a thing would ruin the atmosphere. They’d take their money elsewhere.

The boy snaps on a pair of grey rubber gloves, taking his time to stretch the cuffs all the way to his elbows. He hasn’t many dishes to do thanks to Ping Pong. As if on cue, the man in question backs into the kitchen with two heavy tubs of dinning ware he has just bussed.

The harried worker smiles broadly at his co-worker, he isn’t that much older than Sam. Sam, I am glad to see you. Table six has just received their check, they will be leaving soon.

Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Ping, he responds while pulling the gloves off since patrons would not wish to see a kitchen worker in such disgusting things. Sam shuffles to the door then turns. I should get the trash first.

Sam! Mrs. Wong yells from the front. Get table six!

I’m getting the trash first, Mrs. Wong, he counters from the door.

His disobedience draws the small woman from the hostess station on the warpath. Oh shit, Sam retreats from the door. I say: table six! Ping Pong, you get trash!

No,