Pocket of Fortune - The present of being present: Pocket of Fortune, #1

By Emery Brooks

One could perhaps describe David as mattressed, as in,
a person having a mattress or mattresses.
But then again, David Ariti could be described as many things.

For starters, he is the city's best fortune teller, with a 100% accurate guarantee, all for just a modest fee of a Chinese takeout dinner! At very least, his services will put a smile on your face!

His unconventional method of fortune telling captures the attention of a skeptical detective desperate for any new lead on how to find a missing person that she believes to be her father, even if it's coming from someone kind of, unusual...

Together they'll encounter interesting characters, some of whom may or may not be raccoons disguised as humans so they could experience the joy of opposable thumbs, or you know... actual deities, while on their quest to find the missing dock worker which will prove to be a lot more revealing than either of them could have imagined, or wanted!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emery Brooks
• Release date: Jul 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223085690

Book preview

YOU ARE EASY-GOING & DOWN TO EARTH

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One could perhaps describe David as mattressed, as in, a person having a mattress or mattresses. But then again, David Ariti could be described as many things. Most obviously, he was a Caucasian male approaching his 40’s who could be mistaken for someone between 30-50, depending how much effort he put into taking care of himself that day that you saw him. Crow’s feet were becoming more apparent in the mirror every day while his brow remained smooth and care-free. Pronounced cheeks were permanently cut with smile lines and were for the most part, regularly shaved clean. The casual breeze traveling up the street was tossing his long, slightly-dark curls that naturally parted down the middle of his scalp. With his attire acting as a sail, he let the wind carry him wherever it pleased.

A specific thought in regards to the wind had difficulty finding the correct words to describe their interaction before something else captured his attention. He studied it, that thing for which there were many, self-fulfilling some sort of prophecy he wasn’t aware of. For some reason, people seemed to lose a disproportionate amount of hair ties in this city. It wasn’t uncommon for him to find five or six of them on any given walk - once there were eight! It was good business for the hair tie companies though, he figured.

Other traits that could be used to describe David include: Frugal, kind hearted, a good listener; and perhaps, just a little bit odd. A quick first impression as you passed him on the street would handle the first and last descriptors. Frugal and odd, then you got to know him to be a swell guy - but still pretty odd. His uncoordinated attire looked like it was randomly picked out of a thrift store’s discarded pile - some of it in fact was!

Many of David’s t-shirts had cheaply printed logos for companies he’d never worked for; although a couple shirts were higher quality and had the logos embroidered on them. They were the kind of shirts people donated when they quit or got fired that the thrift stores could not sell because, why would any normal person buy them? It’s actually a fact that David had never worked a real job at all. More on that later.

Loose, lightweight, cotton pants as blue as the deep oceans firmly tied to his waist with a drawstring were chosen specifically for their comfort and breathability. When one walked as much as David - which was a lot - weight and comfort were important factors to consider when choosing the right pair of leg coverings. This particular pair being his favorite color was just a bonus.

Good walks required good shoes, and while most people would opt for something obvious like sneakers, David preferred a well-worn pair of brown chelsea leather boots. They struck a nice balance between being lighter than most boots, durability, and providing ankle support for unexpected drops from curbs.

It should be noted, the most important article of clothing he wore was his coat. He could always be seen wearing his favorite - and only, old, wool sport coat. Dark dull-blue with a black plaid pattern, it was his work uniform so to speak. Some people choose to carry their business in briefcases or laptop bags. David had pockets. Today he also had a satchel over his shoulder, but that’s not always the case.

The city, the city in which he’d always lived in, was like any other typical sprawl of expensive concrete structures rising up out of the working class and denizen’s that lived with their feet on the ground. You had your nice areas, you also had your poor areas; you even had a few places where you could rent a cat for an afternoon while you ate fancy desserts - unless you had allergies. David does not. The city that was still overspreading into neighboring towns was cut in half by a turbid river that met with the equally turbid ocean at its end. It had a name, but that doesn’t matter, not really. Most people just call it ‘the city’.

Patiently, David waited for a green light to cross the street. A man from over his shoulder walked straight into the busy road - forcing cars to stop for him. His clothing was almost as assorted as David’s. Black jeans tucked into heavy, brown combat boots, camouflage jacket, and a black down sleeveless vest that had a large patch glued on the back. It read, SUICIDAL TENDENCIES. The light turned green before he got to the other side of the crosswalk. David checked both ways then happily stepped into the street; his destination was in sight!

Kaffeina’s Kafe was specifically designated as his favorite coffee shop of choice for three reasons:

One, the distance from his apartment was far enough away to enjoy a nice mindful walk through the city and a wooded green space.

Two, there was usually enough seating where one could sit and enjoy the eclectic nature of its decor while reading or simply passing the time by people watching.

Lastly, they genuinely had the best cup of straight black coffee in the city. David was something of an expert on this subject. It was run by a husband and wife who used to operate a much smaller cafe in Chinatown before upgrading to this location for more space. David had come to know Miles and Mai fairly well, having come here just about every day since discovering it.

Despite having lived near their old location most of his life, he’d never known there to be a cafe located there. To the best of David’s recollection of growing up there, that spot used to be an old Chinese medicine clinic. Miles had once told him they were inspired to make this new place after visiting an out of the way shack down a random alley in Kyoto when they were visiting Mai’s family in Japan.

Yeah man, you should really go some time, he would say to David.

They often joked about the first time they visited Kyoto, her family could not get over the shock of him only having one arm. He never really explained the reason for the other arm’s disappearance, David never pressed for an answer either.

The cafe was an eclectic, mish-mash, collection of clash that consisted of random furniture pieces, old dishes belonging to hundreds of grandmothers, as well as random decorations such as musical instruments, old radios, and bits of photography equipment. Behind the counter was a dedicated space for a couple of old wooden milk crates of vinyl records, mostly old jazz and modern releases of chill music. The sort of stuff that focused more on the beats rather than the lyrics to convey an emotion in the listener. Miles used to run a small record shop in the old location, so his choices of music were always excellent and well-experienced.

Above the counter was a sizable backlit logo of Kaffeina. Described as the patroness of energy, stamina, and determination, the real spelling of her name was actually Caffeina, after the magical molecule that gives coffee its pep. In popular culture she is often depicted as being a beautiful woman in steam-form rising out of a hot cup of black coffee while reaching to the heavens with her own cup of coffee in her hand. His kind of goddess. David once asked Miles why they spelt the name of their place with a K, he just shrugged and said, Style, man.

David’s ritual upon entering the cafe always involved closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath of the rich smell from freshly roasted coffee beans. His kinda-hairy nostrils flared as he tried to capture as much of it as possible; the first breath was always the best one!

He exhaled, opened his eyes and smiled broadly, further increasing the depths of the lines in his cheeks. Today was a little busy so he casually strolled over to the lineup in front of the counter. To pass the time he reached into one of the side pockets of his coat and pulled out a bright, semi-transparent, green yo-yo. He closed his eyes and timed his breaths to the drop and rise of the old toy; it was his preferred method of getting a brief moment of meditation in. As he breathed, David imagined he was breathing through his ear holes instead of his nose holes as a way to center his mental focus inwards. It was the little practices in his daily life that kept him even-balanced and relaxed in a busy and chaotic city where everybody was always in a rush to be stressed about something.

I’ve got your coffee over here, David! A woman’s voice from behind the counter brought him back. He quickly snapped up the string of the yo-yo and put it back in his pocket. Walking past the register, he reached into his pants pocket and threw whatever assortment of change he had in the mason glass tip jar next to the waving Maneki-neko plastic figurine. More commonly known as a Beckoning Cat, its right paw swung up and down as a good luck charm to get money.

Thanks Mai, he said, as he put the cup to his nose and breathed it in.

Any big plans for today? she asked, while emptying the pour over stand into the coffee grounds bin to be used later in community gardens for nutrients.

Oh, yes. Let’s see. I’ve got to do some work, then after that, well, I’m open to whatever surprises come calling. He grabbed one of the free newspapers that nobody else ever took while blowing on his hot coffee.

So, another Wednesday then, huh? Mai chuckled as she prepared to make the next drink.

I’ll reserve judgment until the end of the day. Until then, he raised his coffee cup to her, thank you. See you tomorrow!

Taking a seat at an empty table for two in the middle of the cafe, he put his coffee down to let it continue cooling off for a bit while he opened the paper. There might’ve been a lot of weird stares from other customers about this strangely dressed man reading an actual newspaper in this day and age, but they were currently too engaged in their phones to notice.

Before one describes David with the label of hipster, even though his attire choices might suggest he was, it should be said he didn’t prefer the newspaper to other mediums. It was simply that he didn’t really feel the need to have a mobile phone when he had a perfectly good phone at home. Besides, why would he want to be potentially bothered at every moment in the day? Not to mention they were needlessly expensive. He did the math once. Monthly plan, phone repayment plan, taxes, extra service fees that used to be included for free… that was like a month’s worth of coffee! Sure, he could probably work more to pay for it, or get a proper job, but why would he ever want to do that? He was quite content to live in his comfortable little mobile phone-free world.

Starting a couple pages in, he skipped past a notice for a missing person, skipped past an announcement for a store opening.

Let’s see…

TV show picking up popularity… Import business is booming… Something about scientists think other planes of existence may be real… Might come back to that one.

He picked up his coffee, blew on it again, then sipped slowly while continuing to scan the headlines. Movie review for a rom-com love triangle kind of story… Social media platform Spread, is now the most valued company in the world… Astronomer’s say watch the skies - meteor shower next week.

Once he hit the sports section he backtracked to read the articles that caught his attention. Today ended up being a bit of a light reading day, he refolded the paper, put it back, then left with his still hot coffee tingling the nerves of his finger tips.

Today’s job site wasn’t too far away, a nice simple park with plenty of shade provided by lush trees. As an added bonus: it didn’t seem to smell too much like a long night out of drinking.

He reached into his satchel, pulled out a homemade sign, and carefully leaned it against the edge of his bag on top of the concrete table that was conveniently located near the entrance. He took his seat behind it and optimistically waited.

A few people stopped to read his sign, most snickered and continued about their day. A young man seemed potentially interested, but when asked if he would like his fortune he simply waved the palm of his hand in front of him and walked away without so much as the sound of a rock caught in his shoe.

Oh well, another time then, David thought.

Two-thirds of a coffee had elapsed before someone finally inquired about his services. A slightly out of shape man in a police uniform was reading his sign with a cocked eye. Sooo, uh, you’re a fortune teller?

Do I not look like one? David asked, with a curious smile that looked like it might have belonged on a sociopath before David borrowed it.

The cop wasn’t expecting that kind of response. Well, no actually.

Oh, that’s weird. I am quite good though. Another curious smile.

The cop studied his attire for a moment before continuing. What’s the charge?

Oh, about the cost of a modestly priced Chinese take out combo, David said, with all seriousness.

Ah, it all made sense now, he was homeless, thought the cop. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled bill that he happened to find a few minutes ago, and handed it to the homeless man. David reached in his jacket pocket and exchanged it for a small paper fortune, formerly from a fortune cookie that had since been eaten.

The officer looked bemused and laughed at the thin piece of paper in his large hand. Is this a joke?

If it is a joke, did it make you smile? David’s face beamed, his eyes shining in the sunlight. Isn’t a smile worth something? Without waiting for a response, David handed him a business card from his bag. Please use this as a referral when it comes true.

Still in awe at this new tactic that he’d never seen from a homeless person, the cop chuckled and went about his day. Looking at the little fortune in his hand, he turned it over a few times before putting it in his pocket.

David’s fortunes were as special as they were unconventional. For reasons unknown, even to him, the fortunes he pulled out at random from his jacket pocket either led the recipients to what they wanted most, or told them what they needed to hear. All backed with a 100% accuracy guarantee. At least… he was pretty sure it was 100% accurate.

He carefully put the sign back in the satchel.

Nobody ever came back to him to say otherwise... Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he stood on the tips of his toes and stretched with his arms out to provide some relief after sitting on the uncomfortable concrete bench for a while. Another day’s work was done, it was time to go get some dinner! Unless of course he wandered off to somewhere completely different first…

* * *

David stood at the counter of the (soon to be closing) Good Food restaurant located just at the border of the Chinatown district, across the street from the smelly, cramped bodega that sold questionable male enhancement products on the counter. Hopefully, you don’t know the one.

There was no seating set up for people to sit and enjoy their food as this was strictly a small dine-out service. There was just enough space for about three people to come inside and order in front of the decrepit, off-white Formica countertop that had a worn-down ovular patch by the register which exposed the plywood and old wood glue underneath. Much like the foot-sized holes in stone at the ancient Shaolin Monk temples where years of practice wore them down, this counter also told its own long history of repetitive movements.

There was very little for decor in the small space. By the far wall, a small potted bamboo made of plastic and resin was home to a few old cob webs that waved in the air current of the noisy exhaust fans in the kitchen. And, well that was it actually.

Mr. Fu ran this little hole in the wall with his wife; she was seldom seen, but always heard as a mercurial voice shouting from the kitchen. She would yell something angrily, usually in Cantonese, then follow it with something kinder and a laugh. Mr. Fu’s ears turned to be more front-facing over the years - a result of all her yelling. Gray, wispy, spring roll-length hair waved in the air current as his wide, fish-like mouth remained tightly closed to prevent the skin on his face from sinking any further. His stoic expression listened intently to David telling him about whatever was on his mind tonight.

Once in a while, he would nod without saying a word. Mrs. Fu would yell something over the exhaust fans. They loved David, for many years now he’d been like the son they never had. For the three of them this was sort of like getting together at the family table for dinner every night.

David leaned forward with an elbow on the counter as he pulled chow mein out of the folded takeout box with chopsticks. Mrs. Fu always snuck something special in there for him to make sure he was eating enough. Today it was an extra large deep fried shrimp, the kind you almost wished the fishermen threw back into the ocean to preserve its rare existence. David wiped his mouth with a napkin and thanked her through the small cut out hole in the wall to the kitchen. He nodded to Mr. Fu who slowly nodded back without moving much, keeping his arms politely folded in front of his waist on his apron.

Because there was no waste bin in the front of the restaurant, David always took his garbage home with him. It was a pretty far walk, but he didn’t mind it. Exiting the door of Good Food he took a step, pivoted to his left, then proceeded to unlock the door next to it. He hurried up the old well-worn wood stairs to the second floor to his apartment just above the restaurant. Before going inside, he opened the pull down door to the trash chute across the way and threw his container down the hole to the trash bins that lived on the first floor behind the restaurant.

David opened the old creaky door to his two bedroom apartment. He didn’t need to worry much about turning on a light, the blinking GOOD F neon sign outside his window provided plenty of yellow, then red, then yellow again light. It didn’t bother him none, David actually liked neon signs - even if they were terribly inefficient and needed constant maintenance.

He strode past the two closed bedroom doors where he stored his two mattresses, past the wide open door to the small bathroom where the toilet seat was almost always up, and into his living room slash kitchen.

Standing at the entrance of the room, there was a small cathode ray tube television on a short shelf to the left. To the right was a shin-busting coffee table, and an old - but very comfortable, couch that was almost as old as him. Towards the kitchen at the end, next to the blinking neon sign, was a small table with a single chair that was used as a desk because the kitchen was never actually used for cooking.

David turned the tv on with a heavy click of the dial, it exploded brightly to life as he took his jacket off and threw it on the back of the chair. A quick pull of his drawstring and the pants were on the floor. He laid down on the couch, sat back up, fluffed his pillow, and laid back down while pulling his blanket over himself.

How was your day, Desmond? he asked, over the armrest of the couch.

The potted croton sitting on a small stand beneath the window didn’t respond to his question. Next to it was a large dust-covered duffel bag and about fifteen years of archived printed material such as newspapers and magazines precariously stacked on top of it.

Another time then.

He repositioned himself to settle into the deep cushions and focused on the tv show already in progress. It was Wednesday night, which meant one of his favorite public access call in shows was being broadcast live. Unfortunately, he missed the call in topic so he had to focus on what was going on to figure it out. The funny looking host with large black glasses was currently trying to defend himself from being beaten up with plastic baseball bats from other cast members as the show’s band sang a theme song created specifically for this bit.

David laughed out loud for nobody but himself. You could never tell where this show was going to go each week!

Ooookay, I think that’s enough of that! said the host, as he caught his breath and put his glasses back on. The closing theme song started to play. Is that the end of the episode? Okay, next week is our first annual talent show! If you live in the area, we want you to stop by the studio and show the world your strange, and or messed up talent! It’s going to be a lot of fun-

David yawned and closed his eyes while the show’s credits raced up the screen. He could hear more cries from the host as others continued to beat him with bats while the studio audience cheered until the show’s logo filled the screen. He opened his eyes again, in the moment of darkness between the next programming on the tv and the blinking sign, he just now noticed the red pulsing light of his answering machine. Yes, David still had an answering machine.

Unceremoniously, he kicked the covers off and sauntered over to the antique on the table. He scratched the back of his blue and white striped boxers as he pressed play.

You-have… one!-new message. It beeped after the disjointed robotic voice. Uh, Hi! This is Cassandra Nguyen. Detective...

There was a pause followed by a small sigh.

This is strange, but…

USE YOUR CHARM & GOOD LOOKS TO YOUR ADVANTAGE

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