6. The Plot Thickens

"Chinese food?", Richman retorted.
"Hey, don't worry lady", Rupert explained. "We know exactly what we're doing. We've dealt with that sick feculent reprobate nefarious instane stinky-ass damn son-of-a-bitch degenrate clod of disgusting green sloth mucus before." To make his point unmistakably clear, he snorted a raunchy snort and coughed his dirtiest cough. "You see, the last time we dealt with that corrupted filthy foul moronic games-playing persnickety fortune cookie jerkoff prick bastard from Hell, he just barely slipped his slimy buttocks through our fingers."

"You don't have to use that kind of language", Richman said, appalled. "Oh, that's all right", Rupert answered. "I don't mind."
And neither did Frank. As a matter of fact, he greatly appreciated Rupert making an utter arse of himself in front of that sexy lady: anything that would make him, Frank, look better. "You know what, Rupert? Why don't you go figure out which restaurants the first part of this message could point to?"
And so Rupert turned his attention to the killer's note.

"What my maladroit affiliate is trying to explain, Miss Richman, is that this particular culprit, the Fortune Cookie Killer, has a signature method of playing Cat and Mouse with his persecutors... or shall I say Chinese Guy and Peking Duck, heh heh heh." Since no roaring laughter arose, Frank went right on explaining. "He must have known you would call us, because this time around, he didn't leave any instructions. So here's the deal: this note here will contain hints to Chinese restaurants all over Nova Pera and the surroundings, and if we find the right restaurant, there will be a fortune cookie hidden somewhere inside it, dyed blood red, that contains a message about where to go next. In the meantime, we have to expect the culprit to strike again. He has a pattern to whom he kills, yet we haven't been able to figure out how he picks his victims. There might be a connection to how he expected your poor victim here last night."

Rupert didn't even need five minutes to find the restaurant they were looking for. "It's called 'Dawn', and it's on 4136 Despereaux Street. Fire up the engine, mate. Who's going with the police clowns?"

"You are, Rupert. Tag along with the force and get that damn devilish cookie, and get it good. I'll pay a nice visit to our little informant Squeaky and kick some info out of him." No need for hot policewomen when there were thugs to kick. "I'll catch up with you in no time."

"All right!", Rupert answered, and they knocked their fists together.
"Knuck it!"