Squid Ink Fortune

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.

“Weird fortune,” I told myself and took a bite of the sugar crisp treat. I wouldn’t usually eat something dropped at my feet by some hungry street hound, a story for another day, but this particular cookie was solid black.

To my knowledge, limited as it may be, your average fortune cookie is baked around 400 degrees for five minutes until it is pale in the center and golden on the outer. As I said, this one was black. I didn’t ponder long because the cookie was tightly sealed in a labeled wrapper giving me all the details I needed.

“Squid Ink Fortunes,” said the label in dripping black ink. Below that, in sparkly little letters that were blowing out of the mouth of a green dragon declared “at Lucky’s Café.”

“I could use a little luck,” I thought to myself. Cases had run dry for private detectives like me. Plus there was something about this fortune that just ate at me. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I just couldn’t grasp it.

I finished the cookie; it was delicious.

“The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished,” the only other thing on the fortune was a string of numbers: “1-3-7-17-37-41-11.”

I buttoned my topcoat, popped on my pork pie, and unlatched my umbrella. It was raining and I needed to take a walk. “Start with what you know,” my momma always said and what I know right now is that if I need to find a Queen then I needed to get to the queer folk of Fairytown.

Don’t get me wrong, some of my best friends are queer. We have a bookclub.

I may not be official law, my credentials being revoked when I shot that guy in broad daylight at the Cherry Pit Diner, a story for another day. But the law is still the law and my having gone vigilante doesn’t change that. When the law can’t trust the law then no one should trust law.

Getting to Fairyland meant a walk through the Mortuary District. The current blood law debates were causing a three-way rift between the Mortician community, the local government, and the dead. The Pteetneet River Bridge was the fastest route.

I get ahead of myself; that’s a story for another day.

I made it through the Mortuary District with little incident, only seeing one mortician in the dark streets. Slender thing, on the pretty side with long blonde hair. He flashed his canines and I flashed my Colt1-911. This little peashooter of mine used the original, pure, ammonia bullets. None of the silver bullshit they try to peddle on QVC.

I stopped at the first place I saw in Fairyland: Cheesus Crust. The place was a bit rundown, but a meal was a meal and I was starving. I opened a heavy steel door to find myself going from day to night. Night club, to be specific. The scent of parmesan cheese and oil doing a lap dance in my olfactory.

“Table for one, sweetheart?”

She was the most beautiful dame I had ever seen. She wore a tight green dress, the kind that emphasized a pair of melons on her chest and tightened her ample peach behind. Her pickle-green lips puckered under a five o’clock-shadow. She blinked cotton-candy eyelashes and tapped comically long spiked nails against the server table. I was hungry and she was a feast.

“Mesa para uno, imbecil?” She repeated at me, snapping a green bubble with her gum.

“Solo, sweetheart,” I took off my hat and held it across my beating heart.

“The 3pm show is about to start. It’s a sandwich night.”

“I thought you were a pizza place.”

“BLT is the show, honey,” she sat me down and I saw the table marker listed a marquee featuring “BLT & A, all your favorite Queens in one night!”

She grabbed a menu and walked away. I followed, “might I inquire your name, miss.”

She giggled with false courtesy. I handed her my card and she took it between two nail tips like it might grow fangs and snap at her.

“Detective Axel Kerodon: Mystery Solver,” she hummed amusement and tucked it behind her fake breast.

“I’ll take whatever’s special,” I called out as she turned her back and elegantly strode away. She lifted her hand to show me how long her middle finger was.

I found myself front and center of the stage; the only customer of the day. I picked up the table marker and kept reading where it listed the queens of the night: Buttah Bread, Lettussia, Tom Mato, and Ava Kadoo. Keep your eyes out for special guest appearances by: Maya Naisse and Pickles! Don’t forget to tip your waitresses.

My girl’s picture was posted above the name Pickles.

The lights began to dim and the metallic pops paralleled spotlights bursting to life on the stage. Pickles dropped off a tray of food, “One special; A slice of Yukonian, a side of poutine, and a Pepsi.”

I caught her attention before she could shimmy those beautiful hips away, “I think there’s blood on my pizza.”

“We get a lot of morticians in here, it’s the special of the night,” she shrugged her shoulders, “you got a problem with that?”

“No, that’s fine, but do you have anything other than Pepsi?”

“I know, gross, right?” She took the Pepsi and walked away with the first genuine smile I’d seen on her face. It melted my cold heart.

A small king trailed behind two towering queens as they entered the stage, took their places, and posed in spotlights. Freddie Mercury’s Don’t Stop Me Now began to play on dusty speakers hung loosely above gaudy purple curtains.

A large figure, backlit in black behind a white curtain, appeared on the stage and began lip syncing into a microphone. Freddie begins to belt out the word “Aliiiiiiiive” and the curtain falls; an ivory and avocado giantess emerged. She caught my eye and dropped the microphone.

“Who are you?” She barreled toward the front of the stage while Freddie continued. I could barely hear my own thoughts under the music, but her baritone easily penetrated the volume.

“Cut the music Maya. What’s your ass doing in here?”

The music dropped to something just under ear-shattering.

“I’m looking for the missing queen. Figured I’d start with some queens that aren’t missing.”

“The prophecy,” she whispered and clutched at her chest.

“Kadoo, I presume, but how do you know me?”

“You’re the only one here.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

She put her meaty hands on her beefy thighs and cocked her head, “I wasn’t done talking. Just because you an oracle don’t mean I can’t slap the stupid off your handsome face.”

Fair enough. I nodded my consent for her to carry on.

“1 customer will arrive at 3 pm on July 17th and he’ll order the number 37, the special,” she spoke these words highlighted under a spotlight like it was the most dramatic version of Hamlet ever performed. She added some unnecessary emphasis to the word special.

I looked at a pizza shaped clock on the wall. It was just a couple minutes past three pm.

“Coincidence,” I leaned back in my chair.

“The Queen-mother spoke of you before she disappeared.”

I remembered the fortune in my pocket. I had forgotten about the string of numbers: “1-3-7-17-37-41-11,” I read aloud.

“You’re the prophecy,” Ava nodded. The tall queens joined in head shaking and pearl clutching while the king, Tom, wrapped his tiny frame around Ava. Ava leaned down to plant a sloppy kiss on Tom’s face.

“Sorry, ladies, and gentleman” I put my hat back on my head, “you’re still two numbers short. Close to a lottery win is not a lottery win.”

“That will be $41.11,” Pickles showed up at just the right time holding a hand-written bill, “cash or card?”

Ava Smiled down at me. I took my hat off.

The girls turned out to be good-humored folk. The Tom fellow was someone I could find myself grabbing a beer or watching a game with. He was a drag king and Ava’s lover, they had never missed a show without the other. There were also other members of the sandwich brigade I had yet to meet, but that’s a story for another day.

The girls explained that the Crowning Glory of the show had been lost, which at first gave me hope thinking that it was an actual crown. Finding objects is much less complicated than finding people.

But I had gotten it wrong. The Crowning Glory was a crown, but it disappeared along with their Queen-mother, Sandy Weetch. “The bitch,” they explained, “up and disappeared while attempting to bowl in 9-inch heels.”

My next stop would be where Weetch had last been seen: Dragon’s Castle Lanes. The place lived up to its name; a large animatronic dragon clutching a tower of bowling pins topped the building. The dragon would open its mouth and blow out orange and yellow streamers.

The jester working the counter wouldn’t let me in without paying for a pair of bowling shoes. I gave the guy his two bucks and he asked for my shoes. He traded them for size twelve clown shoes that smelled like day old spaghetti.

“Do you take everyone’s shoes?”

“Without the right shoes, you could slip, you could lose.”

“What about the Queen-mother? I understand she was playing in 9-inch heels,” I held up a photo of the Queen-mother the sandwich crew had provided me. A busty babe with a bleached blonde bouffant stared back at the jester.

“Of our rules we’re very proud, 9-inch heels are not allowed.”

“Put me on the same lane she was on that night,” I slipped him a ten spot.

“For your request there is no wait, you’ll be bowling on lane eight.”

I didn’t see much out of the ordinary. Regular bowling alley, regular lane, regular balls. A lot of serious regularity. Everything was on the up and up. I threw a ball and collected my score for a seven-ten split, but my ball stuck on return.

I reached under the equipment for the ball return and pulled back a wad of gum.

Green gum.

My girl Pickles had some talking to do.

“Yeah, I met Sandy at the bowling alley, but I had a shift at Cheesus. I stopped in to discuss the daily specials. She wanted to switch them up,” Pickles talked as she refilled salt shakers.

“Did Ms. Weetch always create the specials?”

“Everyone trades off, this was her week.”

“The special I had today, the Yukonian, she chose that?”

“Yes.”

I took the photo of Ms. Weetch out of my pocket and covered the bouffant with my thumb. Before I could stop myself I grabbed Pickles and planted a kiss on her green lips.

“I’ll call you,” I heard her say as I bolted from Cheesus.

I followed my own trail back through the Mortuary district keeping one hand on my Colt1-911. As the daylight began to fade the streetlamps flickered to life.

I found the Queen-mother in the last place you’d look for a dame: out of drag and dressed as a young Mortician. He stood bathed in the fluorescent light of Lucky’s Café and stared into the cold waters of the Pteetneet River.

“How long did it take you to find me?” The Queen-mother did not look up.

“I found you right away, but you weren’t looking to be found.”

“The river ran backwards the day I left.”

“Backward. I expect a Queen-mother should have better grammar,” I asserted.

“I’m not the Queen-mother anymore,” he spun on his heels and bore his sharp shiny teeth.

I stood my ground. He backed down.

“The blood debates are headed into a blood war. A river of blood was about to flow, but my return has reversed the flow. I’m Yukonian royalty.”

“You can’t be both?”

“I don’t want to be both. My time as Queen-mother has come to an end,” the handsome boy smiled.

“And the crown?”

I saw the sadness in his eyes as he opened his coat jacket and took out a gold and diamond crown, “I hoped I could keep it. Nostalgia and all.”

He handed me the Crowning Glory.

“I’ll be back to watch the shows now and again. They won’t recognize me. They can’t know where I’ve gone.”

“They’ll know you’re around,” I nodded and turned to leave.

“Take care of Pickles,” I heard him whisper.

I told the sandwich crew Sandy Weetch won the lottery and whisked off to a tropical paradise in Antarctica’s outer regions.

I returned the Crowning Glory to the sandwich crew and they coronated Ava Kadoo as the new Queen-mother before the week was out. I attended the ceremony with Pickles at my side. The joint was packed.

“I’ll have the Yukonian special,” I heard a gentle voice say from the table behind me. I turned to look, but it was just a bachelorette party.

When I turned back to the show I found a black fortune cookie in the middle of my empty plate. I gave Pickles a kiss and a wink.

But, that’s a story for another day.