“Oh, you’re definitely getting a restraining order,” Emerson said.
“Seek not to contend. Where there is no contention there is neither victory nor defeat,” Wayan Bagus offered.
“All this not contending is making me hungry,” Vernon said. “Being as this is Little Buddy’s first time in our nation’s capital, let’s show him the sights. Little Buddy, you ever touch a genuine moon rock?”
Emerson turned to Riley. “Every time Vernon visits Washington, D.C., he makes a pilgrimage to the National Air and Space Museum to get an ice cream sandwich at the cafeteria, touch a moon rock, and take a nap at the planetarium.”
“Yup,” Vernon said. “Planetarium naps are just about the best kind of naps there are.”
They walked along the National Mall, past the Washington Monument to the National Air and Space Museum. As soon as they were inside, Vernon made his way to the cafeteria, and Emerson, Riley, and Wayan Bagus headed for the second-floor exhibit halls.
It was late in the day, and the museum was emptying out. Some school groups and clumps of tourists were still wandering around, but the earlier crowds had disappeared.
Riley was drawn to the special World War II Aviation traveling exhibit. Emerson and Wayan Bagus’s interests took them elsewhere.
This was nice, Riley thought, browsing through a collection of photographs and documents. She lived in Washington, D.C., but she didn’t take advantage of the culture. She didn’t visit the museums. She worked during the week, and on weekends she did laundry and food shopping.
She walked to the railing to look at the large prop bomber. The plane was suspended from the ceiling and hung just below the second-level balcony. She was looking down at the plane, imagining what it must have been like to be part of the war effort, when she was grabbed from behind, lifted off her feet, and pitched forward. Her knees hit the top of the railing, someone cursed behind her, and shoved her over the edge. She went into a free fall with arms flailing and eyes wide open, looking at the cement floor thirty feet below. There were no thoughts in her head. Just raw terror.
The plane was directly beneath her. She hit it square on the fuselage, couldn’t get a grip, and tumbled down onto a wing. Her momentum carried her off the edge of the wing, but she was able to grab on to one of the large propellers.
She dangled precariously, holding tight to the propeller. She felt the blade slowly rotate from horizontal to near vertical, and her grip started to slip. She looked down at the floor, felt panic sweep over her, and shouted for Emerson.
She looked from the floor to the balcony and saw Emerson launch himself over the guardrail and drop onto the wing. He stabilized for a moment and then grabbed her wrist from above and held tight.
“If you want to avoid situations like this in the future, we’re really going to have to work on your unagi,” Emerson said.
“S-s-sure,” Riley said. “Whatever. Just don’t drop m-m-me.”
Emerson pulled her onto the wing and held her tight against him.
“Don’t move,” he said. “We aren’t entirely secure.”
Riley had no intention of moving. Her heart was pounding, and she could barely breathe. She had her eyes squinched closed and her fingers curled into Emerson’s shirt. She thought she might have wet her pants a little. She hoped he couldn’t tell.
“My unagi tells me you’d like to be kissed,” Emerson said.
Riley opened her eyes and looked at him while he kissed her softly on the lips.
“How was that?” he asked.
“It was nice. You’re a good kisser.”
“I enjoyed it,” he said. “We should do it more.”
“And it helped to take my mind off our problem.”
“What problem is that?”
“The plane,” Riley said. “We could slip off and die.”
“That would be unpleasant,” Emerson said.
People were scrambling below them. Museum guards, Park Police, curious tourists. Sirens from first responders could be heard in the distance. EMT trucks, fire trucks, police cars.
“This is a nightmare,” Riley said.
“Perhaps, but a brush with death is always interesting. And the kiss added a certain something.”
Riley didn’t want to be ungrateful, because, after all, Emerson had risked his life for hers, but criminy, explaining their kiss in terms of “a certain something” was just about the most unromantic thing she’d ever heard.
“A certain something?” she asked Emerson.
“Je ne sais quoi,” Emerson said.
Okay, Riley thought, it sounded better in French, but it wasn’t going to get him another kiss anytime soon.
There was a loud SPLAT, and someone shrieked in another part of the hall. A school group was rushed out of the area, running underneath Riley and Emerson.
“What’s going on?” Riley yelled down.
“Someone fell,” a guard said. “Not as lucky as you, I’m afraid.”
Riley locked eyes with Emerson. “Where’s Wayan Bagus?”
“I don’t know,” Emerson said. “He went off on his own. I believe he was interested in the planet exhibit.”
First responders arrived. Half ran to the area by the front entrance, and half stopped under the prop plane and looked up at Riley and Emerson.
“Hang on,” a museum employee called from the floor. “We’re going to lower the plane.”
Riley heard gears turning overhead. The cables holding the plane jerked, and the plane slowly inched down. Riley strained to see what was happening on the first floor. A lot of people were clustered around something lying on the ground. It was difficult to see from her vantage point, but she supposed it was a body. Not Wayan Bagus at least. No orange robe. And not Vernon. No white T-shirt.
Hands reached out to her, easing her off the wing. She set foot on terra firma and stood on shaky legs. She took a couple deep breaths. Emerson climbed down next without assistance.
A paramedic offered aid, but Riley dismissed him. She had a skinned knee and some leftover fright, but no other damage had been done. A museum PR person and a guard had questions. The information Riley could provide was brief. She was pushed from behind. She heard a man swear. She didn’t see him.
Emerson didn’t see the man either. He’d been in an adjoining room that had been set up to resemble the quarterdeck of an aircraft carrier. He’d run to the railing when he heard Riley call his name.
Riley and Emerson shared a moment of relief as they spotted Wayan Bagus standing quietly off to one side next to a uniformed police officer.
A few feet away from Wayan Bagus an overweight middle-aged man wearing a shirt he’d obviously just purchased from a gift shop was talking with a homicide detective.
“Never saw anything like it,” he said. “That big goon, who’s splattered all over the floor, bum-rushed the little monk in the orange dress and, poof, the little monk just sort of disappeared for a second.” He gestured a second time at the dead body. “His momentum kind of carried him right over the balcony on the second floor.”
Riley looked at Emerson. “Nobody can disappear.”
Emerson shrugged. “Taoists believe the greatest one to walk the earth is nobody.”
“So you’re saying he can disappear because he’s nobody?”
“I’m saying if he was nobody he could disappear.”
Riley shook her head. “That almost makes sense.”
The detective finished with the tourist, walked over to Riley, and handed her his business card. “I’ve already talked with museum security, and I’m guessing you’re Riley Moon. You were attacked first. Are you okay?”
Riley looked at her skinned knee. “Just a couple bumps and bruises. Who was he?”
“We were hoping you’d know. He didn’t have an ID. Hopefully we’ll be able to identify him once CSI has had a chance to examine the body. Is there anybody who would want to kill you? Any enemies?”
“So you’re thinking this man who tried to attack the monk is the same man who pushed me off the balcony?”
“We don’t know at this point, but it’s possible.”