Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 152, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 924 & 925, September/October 2018

Chin Yong-Yun Helps a Fool by S. J. Rozan

S. J. Rozan is the author of the eleven- to oh Bill Smith anti Lydia Chin P.I. series, two standalone novels under her own name, and two thrillers cowritten with Carlos Dews under the pseudonym Sam Cabot. Her many awards and honors include a 2018 Edgar Allan Poe Award nomination for her story “Chin Yong-Yun Stays at Home” (AHMM, 2017). Here is a new case for Chin Yong-Yun, mother of Lydia Chin.

Lan Li should have known better, of course.

Sitting opposite her in my living room, I sipped some tea in order to prevent myself from pointing that out. I am not the sort of person who likes to draw attention to the obvious. Besides, scolding Lan Li would have done no good. I had no doubt she would be on guard against this same trick — I believe the word my daughter, the detective, uses in English is “scam” — should it present itself again in the future. But Lan Li is on the whole a fool. To try to make her wise would be to hurl eggs against a rock. The eggs would be wasted, the rock unchanged.

“I’m sorry, Daije,” she said as she ended her sad tale. Lan Li is older than I am. We are in no way related. Yet it was right that she should call me “Big Sister.” She had come to ask for help. A supplicant must show the proper respect. “I know I’m a fool.” I was surprised she was aware of this — most fools aren’t — but as it was not new information to me, I didn’t respond. She went on, however, as though I had. “But it was my son! My unmarried son! How could I not do everything in my power to save him?”

“I have five children myself. Four of them are sons,” I replied, in case Lan Li had forgotten my detective daughter was not my only child. I did not mention that two of my sons are unmarried, as Lan Li also has an unmarried daughter. I did not want her to have any sudden thoughts. Although Lan Li’s daughter seems to be a sensible young woman, she is the only person in her family of whom I could say that. Better for both of my sons to remain bachelors than for either of them to marry into a family of fools. “I understand a mother’s desire to help her son,” I continued. “But a curse you never knew about until you were told by a stranger on the street? Truly, Lan Li, did you not have a moment’s pause?”

She hung her head. “My daughter is quite angry with me.”

“I do not need to be told that. I heard it in her voice over the telephone.” It was Lan Li’s daughter who had called for this appointment, Lan Li herself being too embarrassed by her actions to admit them.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. I was pleased to see that at least she was penitent. Then she sighed. “That such a thing should happen on Mulberry Street.” Looking up, she added, “After I left the fortuneteller, the first woman approached me on the corner where Plum Garden used to be.”

Plum Garden was the restaurant owned by my late husband. I suppose by mentioning it Lan Li hoped to soften my heart. Because I considered that a devious ploy, I didn’t respond. Lan Li continued, “That corner, of course, is in the center of Old Jun’s domain. But Old Jun has grown so... old.” Really, I was starting to lose patience with her. It is true that many years ago, when the people in that area of Chinatown began referring to Jun Da as “Old Jun,” the title was a sign of respect, not an indicator of actual age. However, it is incorrect to attribute Old Jun’s current decline to age alone. Many older persons are quite capable.

“Or,” Lan Li said forlornly, “if, instead of daughters, Old Jun had had sons.”

That was enough. “You are blaming others for your mistake,” I said to her. “Others — the sons of Old Jun — who do not even exist. You may be correct that a certain slackness has lately crept into Old Jun’s formerly firm control over those blocks.” In fact, fool or not, I was sure she was correct. “That does not excuse your poor judgment. But stop, do not argue with me, because none of that matters. We will take your case.”

Lan Li had taken on the look of someone about to make more excuses for herself, something I would not have been able to bear. At what I said, her face lit up.

The help Lan Li had come seeking, at her daughter’s insistence, was not mine. It was my daughter’s. Many people think of my daughter as the only detective in our family. This is a mistaken assumption for which even a fool such as Lan Li can’t be faulted. From time to time I investigate cases myself. But unlike my daughter I do not advertise, have no office, give out no business cards. All that would be unseemly. However, when a case involves people so unsavory I would prefer my daughter not get involved with them, or is so obviously simple it would be a waste of her time, or has factors about it that intrigue me, I will take it upon myself to solve it.

As to what had happened to Lan Li, it was clear to me the same thing must also have happened to other Chinatown elders, or, if not stopped, soon would. For many reasons, not the least being the location of the crime right in the center of Old Jun’s realm, that fact aggravated me.

“Very well,” I said, putting aside my teacup. “Now we will go out for a walk. We will walk for half an hour.” That was as long a time as I was prepared to spend in the morose company of Lan Li. “If we do not see the people who took your money, we will walk again tomorrow. We will go out every day, two aunties strolling in the sun, until you see them or until we can be satisfied they have left Chinatown.”

“But if they’ve left Chinatown, how will I get my money back?”

“You won’t,” I said, rising. “If that’s the case, then that will be the price you pay for foolishness. But I think it will not come to that.”

As she stood, Lan Li wore a worried frown. I, however, was confident we would find the bandits still nearby. Lan Li might be an elderly fool, but she was not the only elderly fool in Chinatown.

Our promenade that day had no result. We continued on each of the next three days, always in the early afternoon. This was the hour Lan Li said she had met the three miscreants, all women, who had tricked her out of her money. Finally, on the fifth day, she spotted one of them on Mulberry Street, near Columbus Park. Though I had been prepared to continue our walks as long as necessary — patience is an important element of detective work — I was glad this phase of the investigation was now at an end, because Lan Li’s sighing company was indeed dreary.

“Go home,” I instructed her. “Everything will be ruined now if they see us together.”

“But you’ll show her to your daughter?”

“Go home.” Let Lan Li think my daughter would be investigating this case. It made no difference.

I walked away from her to seat myself near the Cantonese folk ensemble just inside the park. It was a good vantage point from which to observe the young woman she’d pointed out. Also, I enjoy the music.

Fortunately, the weather was lovely, with a warm spring sun beginning to bring out the blooms on the trees. I must admit these white flowers are quite attractive, although the trees are a type of pear tree that doesn’t yield pears. Considering the cost of pears at the fruit seller’s sidewalk stands, the Parks Department’s deliberate cultivation of barren trees has always seemed wasteful to me.

Without appearing to do so — although I have never minded the sunshine, I was wearing dark glasses, disguises being valuable when you are detecting — I observed the young woman Lan Li had shown me. The young woman, I could tell, was doing the same: observing. Her gaze wandered from elder to elder to elder, even resting, at one point, on me. Most of the people she seemed interested in were women. This did not surprise me, women being, in general, more trusting, more willing than men to help, or accept help from, a stranger.

I had been sitting in that spot, listening to the musicians (paying particular attention to the erhu player, who was quite good), when the young woman bandit made what I believe my daughter would call “her move.” She had been watching a worried-looking woman who had taken a seat on the customer’s stool of one of the fortunetellers who ring the park. I wondered briefly if the fortuneteller were a member of the bandit gang, but the majority of these women have been telling fortunes here for many years. I recognized most of them, including, once I’d casually strolled to a spot from which I could see her face, this one. Park fortunetelling is trickery of its own, but as I returned to my bench I concluded it was unlikely the bandit gang would risk enlisting a local resident. One of the things that irritated me about this scheme, of course, was that here on Mulberry Street, for them to operate at all should have involved far more risk than, apparently, it did.

The bandit waited until the fortuneteller was through. The worried woman paid her, then stood, appearing only slightly less upset. As she walked away, the young bandit approached her, asking a question. The worried woman, no doubt from an instinct of kindness, interrupted her own anxious fretting to gesture along the street. I could see she was giving directions. Then the bandit, wearing a concerned look, put a hand on the worried woman’s arm. She spoke. The woman responded. The young bandit spoke again. The worried woman wrung her hands, listened, shook her head, spoke, nodded her head, wrung her hands, listened some more. I was beginning to tire of her clumsy worry dance when the young bandit spotted another woman, a chubby, middle-aged one, on the sidewalk. She waved to her, calling. The chubby woman joined the two. The bandit spoke urgently to the chubby woman — also, of course, a bandit — who frowned in alarm. The three conferred, with most of the talking being done by the new arrival. The worried one asked a question. The chubby bandit woman shook her head apologetically, then seemed to relent after an outpouring of words from the worried one. Taking her cell phone from the breast pocket of her jacket, she made a call. Or rather, she pretended to. The phone, I was quite sure, had been on for some time, with the line open. As, most likely, the young woman bandit’s had also been.

After lowering the phone, the chubby woman, now wearing a reassuring smile, spoke to the other two. The three waited, the worried woman doing some more hand-wringing, the others making gestures of reassurance, until the chubby one pointed to another woman at the corner, leaving a taxi. She waved to the new one, who strode without haste up the street. Also middle-aged, this woman was thin, with a look as imperious as that of the rice merchant’s wife in the village where I grew up. She wore discreetly elegant, well-made clothes. I was impressed; this team was clearly willing to spend money to make money. The necessity of this is a lesson I have tried to impress upon my children. Although my sons have learned it, to this point my daughter, at least in the area of her wardrobe, has not.

The new, well-dressed arrival spoke to the chubby woman who had made the call, then turned to the worried one. Expressions of amazement bloomed on the face of the worried one as the well-dressed one spoke. The same expressions must have passed over Lan Li’s face at this point in the trick. I blew out a breath of disgust.

Finally, after more urgent discussion, the elegant woman looked at the sun, squinting her eyes. She nodded, as though satisfied. She drew from her large, costly purse a folded cloth bag with colorful embroidery, though anyone with eyes as sharp as mine could see the work had been done by a machine. She spoke, indicating the bag. The worried one asked a question. After receiving the reply, she looked from the elegant bandit to the chubby one, to the young one, then nodded. Taking a deep breath, she turned to hurry away. She looked back once, to see the young bandit smile encouragingly. The middle-aged one pointed to the street corner they stood on, as if to say they’d be waiting right there. Then she pointed overhead, to the sun. Scuttling along Mulberry Street, the worried woman picked up her pace.

I stood from my bench. As I am able to walk more rapidly than most people my age, or even many younger people, I caught up with the worried woman before she reached Canal Street.

“Excuse me,” I said. “My name is Chin Yong-Yun. Please do not bring those women your money or your jewelry.”

The worried woman jumped as if I had slapped her. “Who are you?”

“I have just told you my name. They, however, have not. Whatever names they gave you are false. Furthermore, their promise to lift whatever curse they’ve told you is on your loved one is also false. As is the curse itself.” I peered at her. Her face had gone white. “I don’t know what is causing you such distress. Or whether it is a problem that can be solved. I have no doubt, however, that putting all your valuables in a bag so that they can be blessed by a sorceress before the sun hits its afternoon midpoint, or whatever nonsense they have told you, will result only in additional problems for you. They will steal your valuables. They have done it before.”

“What are you—”

“Go home. Seek help. Chinatown has many resources that can aid people with their problems. Those women are not among them.”

“My son—”

I lifted my hand. “Please do not tell me the problems of your unmarried son.” I was taking a chance assuming the worried woman’s son was unmarried, but really it was not a big chance. A woman frets most about her children when they are single. After marriage they have wives or husbands to share the burden.

In any case, I seemed to be correct. Eyes wide, the woman put her hand to her mouth. “Are you also a sorceress?”

“I am not. The haughty woman in the lovely jacket waiting on the street corner to rob you isn’t either. All those woman are bandits. They chose you because you were upset, something anyone, such as myself, with an ability to understand others, could see. The first bandit gained your trust by being kind, asking you what was wrong. Then she spotted the second, who I promise you did not just happen to be on the sidewalk. She told you, as she waved the other over, that seeing her was very good luck — that that chubby one’s son had once had a similar problem, which had somehow been solved. Perhaps she could tell you how. The second, when she arrived, listened to your recitation. She agreed that indeed her son had had the same problem as your son, whatever you told them it was. She had consulted a sorceress, who told her this problem was the result of a curse. The sorceress was able, she said, to lift the curse, which solved the problem.” I was relating to her the story as Lan Li had told it to me. It fit perfectly with what I had just observed. “She first told you she doubted the sorceress would come to Chinatown this afternoon, but you begged, so she called. Imagine, the sorceress was willing to come help! Of course, she did not actually call. Both women had cell phones, with the ‘sorceress’ listening on the other end. By the time she arrived she had heard the details of your problem twice. This was why, when she joined your group after being ‘summoned’ by the chubby one, she amazed you by knowing, as if by sorcery, all the details of your son’s difficulty. Which, as I say, I do not want to learn.”

If the worried woman’s eyes grew any larger, I thought, her nose would be forced to relocate to give them room.

“The haughty woman told you to collect all your valuables — cash, jewelry, whatever you have — in a bag,” I went on. “You are to bring them back to where the women wait on the corner. You will place your bag of things in that colorful bag she showed you, which she says has mystical powers. At some perfect moment, which is rapidly approaching so as to not give you time to think about what you are doing, she will bless them. After blessing them she will return them to you in the colorful bag, which will now be your lucky bag, to keep. You are to take it home with your valuables in it. You must put it on the family altar, where you will light incense. In the dark of night, precisely twelve hours from the moment of the blessing, you must remove your valuables from the bag, at which moment the curse will also be removed from your son.”

The woman, clearly as much of a fool as Lan Li — but luckier, because she had me to prevent her from offering all her valuable possessions to thieves — now lifted her hands to cover her mouth.

“This,” I said to her, “is utter nonsense. Can you really have believed it? Lucky bags, midnight moments? If you go through with this, when you open the bag you will find your valuables gone, replaced by jingly trinkets or bars of soap. Go home,” I told her again. “Do not return here today. You have escaped serious danger. Please, seek genuine help. Not the counterfeit help of counterfeit sorcerers.”

I shooed her along. She appeared totally befuddled, but she took a few steps backwards, staring at me. Then, turning, she sped away.

Heading back along Mulberry Street, I returned to my bench in the park. While I listened to the music, the three bandit women stood on the street comer amiably chatting. After half an hour they began checking their watches. When forty-five minutes had passed they started to exchange worried looks. At the end of an hour they conferred, peered around, then hurried away in three different directions.

I would not be needed on Mulberry Street again until the following day. I rose to go home, where I would complete my arrangements, but before I entered the building where I live I stopped at the six-for-a-dollar dumpling stand across the street. I rarely spend money on dumplings, as I make such good ones myself. Considering what I had accomplished this afternoon, though, I thought I deserved a treat. Once home, I made a phone call to set an appointment for the following morning. Then I ate the dumplings. They were delicious, almost as good as mine.

The next morning I arrived early at Dragon’s Well Tea Parlor, where my appointment was to take place. Two old men sat near the back, while a young man read the newspaper at a table at the front. I chose a booth by the wall, as I suspected my guest would feel most comfortable there.

I had just ordered a pot of Iron Buddha tea when my guest arrived. She was a tall young woman, who wore her crisply ironed white shirt with the sleeves rolled up above the elbows. Perhaps I should mention this handsome look to my daughter. I lifted my hand. My guest crossed between the tables to my booth.

“Good morning, Jun Zhi-Wu,” I said. “Please be seated. Thank you for coming. I am Chin Yong-Yun. Perhaps you remember my late husband? He was the owner of Plum Garden restaurant on Mulberry Street.”

The tall young woman smiled as she slid opposite me. “Plum Garden,” she said. “I do remember. The children all called him Baba Chin. He gave us sweets. He didn’t treat me differently from any of the other children. I liked him very much.”

The tea arrived, along with a bowl of preserved plums. “May I pour you tea?” I asked. “This is Iron Buddha. Or I’d be glad to order whatever you prefer.”

“No, this is perfect.” She smiled again as I poured for her. “I enjoy Iron Buddha tea, but not many women drink it.”

“That is true, though I always have.”

Jun Zhi-Wu tapped her finger on the table, an ancient “thank you” to the person who pours your tea. I was glad to see her observe the old custom. It boded well for our conversation.

“If you are the widow of Baba Chin,” she said, “then I also was friends at school with your second son.”

“Both my older sons are married now.” Here, again, I did not mention the two who are still single. Jun Zhi-Wu, unmarried herself, also has a younger unmarried sister. Though Old Jun’s family are not fools, I would prefer my children to keep some distance from them. “Your father sent red envelopes to their weddings.”

“Well, I did.”

“You?”

“There are certain things my father has never taken care of directly.”

“Ah. I see. Jun Zhi-Wu, if I may speak freely?” When the young woman nodded, I continued. “There are those who say your father — forgive me — is not, right now, taking care of many things as he should.”

Jun Zhi-Wu stiffened.

“I apologize, but it must be said. There is danger in the current state of affairs. My husband, in his time, paid his association dues confident that all would run smoothly on the blocks under Old Jun’s administration. Now no merchant can have that confidence. If trouble begins, it can quickly spread. The situation must be taken in hand.”

“Chin Yong-Yun, take care in what you say.”

“I do understand. I know who I am speaking to. But Jun Zhi-Wu, trouble has begun already. Permit me to offer one illustration. A woman I know was tricked out of her money by a gang of female bandits on Mulberry Street. The same gang tried again to trick a different woman a few days later, though I was able to spoil their plan.” I said that modestly, as I am not a person who likes to try to impress others with my achievements. I could see, however, that Jun Zhi-Wu was carefully considering my words. I continued, “The reason I was present to upset the gang’s attempt at tricking the second woman is that the first woman had come to me for help.” I paused to look at her. “I am sure you understand the import of my words, so forgive me if I am stating the obvious. First, these bandits never should have been operating on Mulberry Street. Formerly, they would not have dared. Second, a person wronged on Mulberry Street should not have come to an elderly widow such as myself for help.”

Jun Zhi-Wu kept her gaze on me. “This woman — she did not consult my father?”

“No.”

“Her reason?”

“We did not discuss it. Perhaps she had believed no crime could happen to her on Mulberry Street. Once it did, the very fact that it had led her to believe that Old Jun could not offer her the help she needed.”

“But she thought you could?”

“She is a trusting old woman.” I did not want to call attention to Lan Li’s actual request for the help of my daughter, which, considering my daughter’s skills, was not an unreasonable approach to Lan Li’s difficulty. My daughter’s involvement, however, would have done nothing to solve the larger problem. “But this is exactly my point. Please note, Jun Zhi-Wu, that she also did not go to the police.”

I said no more on that subject, as the import of this was obvious. Although what had happened to Lan Li constituted a crime, many people in Chinatown do not feel comfortable consulting the authorities. This is a situation unlikely to change. As long as immigrants continue to arrive, distrusting those who enforce the law, there will be a necessity for people in positions like Old Jun’s.

I drank more tea to give my guest time to consider what I’d said. “So, Jun Zhi-Wu, you see the situation. Trouble has already come to Mulberry Street. At least this one victim found nowhere to turn but to me. I have been able to stop the crime from occurring a second time, but I cannot spend my life on Mulberry Street, fending off bandits. Also, I am not able to retrieve the money the first woman has lost.”

Jun Zhi-Wu sat sipping tea for some time. I poured out more (she tapped her finger again), then I sent for another pot.

“I do understand what you are saying,” she finally told me.

I nodded. “Jun Zhi-Wu, I admire the filial spirit with which you defer to your father. He has been an invaluable man in this community for many years. As his eldest child you have naturally assumed some duties, such as sending out the red envelopes. No doubt you are useful to your father in other ways also. I believe it is now time for you to take a greater role. Your father has been respected, in fact greatly esteemed. You do not want that respect to diminish. You do not want people to begin to whisper behind his back that he has become a fool.”

I ate a salted plum as Jun Zhi-Wu sat in silence.

“If sometime in the next few days,” I went on, “an elder, such as... well, such as myself, were to be accosted by the same gang of thieves, it would be useful to all if the gang were to learn they are not welcome on Mulberry Street.”

Jun Zhi-Wu sat silent again for so long that I found myself eating another salted plum.

“Chin Yong-Yun,” Jun Zhi-Wu finally said, “I thank you for your hospitality. Also, your advice. Now I must go.” She stood to leave.

“If I may offer one last suggestion?”

Jun Zhi-Wu nodded.

“The young man with the newspaper at the front of the room clearly has your best interests at heart.”

With a surprised smile, but without a glance at the man, she said, “Yes, he does.” The young man studiously ignored us.

“No doubt there are other such young men you could call upon should you be in need. However, I think perhaps there are young women, also, who could be valuable to you in such situations. Their presence might deliver a clear message. It is just something to consider.”

She nodded. “Thank you again, Chin Yong-Yun.” With that, Jun Zhi-Wu left Dragon’s Well Tea Parlor. The young man left immediately after. I stayed to finish the preserved plums, as I am not a wasteful person.

It was three more days before I spotted the young woman bandit again on Mulberry Street. As soon as I did I put on a worried look, then hurried to take a seat on the customer stool of the fortuneteller Gu Min, a woman I have known for years.

“Chin Yong-Yun,” she said in surprise. “You have never consulted me before. I didn’t know you had any faith in the assistance of the spirits.”

“I have great faith in the spirits. I have none, however, in you. What you do here is nonsense, but never mind that right now. Please pretend I am telling you a sad tale. After I shake out the kau chim sticks, pretend the spirits are saying I am in a bad situation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your understanding is not required. I am planning to pay you. Please give me the sticks. Say anything you like as long as you look worried. Now begin.”

Gu Min stared for a few moments, which I thought was not a bad thing. It might look, if anyone was watching, as though I had told her a problem so serious even she was shocked. I tried to make myself look even more worried than formerly. Then she handed me the bamboo cup, which I shook until the kau chim sticks were well mixed. I gave it a final hard shake. One stick jumped out. I picked it up. Gu Man looked at it. She ran her finger down a page of her well-thumbed book. “Three simple shoemakers,” she read, “equal one brilliant general.”

“Lovely,” I said, wringing my hands. “Interpret this for me, Gu Min.”

“I don’t know the problem you are concerned with.”

“Tell me more.” I covered my mouth with my hand, as if in horror.

“I can’t—”

“Thank you, that’s quite enough.” I jumped from the stool, thrusting a ten-dollar bill at her. Really, it is quite outrageous what these women charge for their babble.

Before I had gone ten feet on Mulberry Street I was approached by the young bandit. As I expected, she asked me for directions, to, as it turned out, the post office. I explained to her how to get there. Then, with a concerned look, she asked me if anything was wrong. I poured out a nonsense tale, but not about my unmarried son. That would be to court bad luck. I told her of the woes of my late husband’s unmarried brother, who does not exist. She sympathized, then, looking up, said, “Oh! How lucky!” She waved over the chubby bandit, who was walking up the street. The chubby one, hearing my story, said she had a cousin who had had the same difficulty as my husband’s brother (though this cousin’s main difficulty, I suspected, was that he also did not exist). It was their family’s great good luck that a sorceress had lifted the curse from him. I asked to meet the sorceress. She said she doubted the sorceress would come to Chinatown. I pleaded. Expressing doubt, she called. Oh, such happy fortune! The sorceress was nearby.

When the elegant third bandit arrived, she repeated my story back to me. I displayed appropriate astonishment. She looked at the sky, then at her costly watch. She withdrew a colorful bag from her large purse. Handing the bag to me, she began instructing me on its use. I was to go home, gather all my valuables— At that point a quartet of athletic-looking young women surrounded us.

“Go home!” one snarled to me. “Now!”

I scurried away, but only as far as the park, so that I could watch the unfolding events.

There wasn’t much more to watch. Three of the four muscular young women clamped hands on the three protesting bandits. The fourth opened the door to a waiting car, where I could see the newspaper-reading man from Dragon’s Well Tea Parlor at the wheel. The bandits were encouraged to enter. The athletes climbed into a second car, which followed the first. When they turned the corner I lost sight of them.

Three days later I sat with Lan Li in my living room, again drinking tea. I had just returned to her the money the bandits had stolen.

“Thank you, thank you!” she kept saying. “Thank you!” Really, it was embarrassing. “My daughter was correct to insist that I consult your daughter. Chin Yong-Yun, I don’t know how your daughter accomplished this. She is quite wonderful.”

“Please do not speak of this to my daughter when you see her,” I instructed Lan Li. “The methods used to bring about this outcome are not her usual ones. She does not care to discuss it. In any case, these bandits will not return. Mulberry Street is again safe.” Contentedly, I drank my tea.

Lan Li sipped at hers too. The tea I was serving was Iron Buddha. Lan Li did not appear to enjoy it greatly, probably due to its strength. She was, however, polite enough to drink it. She sighed happily also. “We are fortunate, Daije, in our children,” she said.

“Yes, we are,” I replied. ‘“One brilliant general equals three simple shoemakers.’”

Lan Li gave me a puzzled frowned. “What does it mean?”

“It means,” I said, “that though having sons is a delightful thing, one must never fail to appreciate the value of a daughter.”