“I reckon. Emmie has a way with dumb animals.”
Riley squelched a grimace. She hoped she didn’t fall into that category.
Emerson and Wayan Bagus looked up from their breakfast when Riley and Vernon stepped into the clearing. Mr. Manfrengensen was on a nearby bench, eating a slice of dragon fruit.
Vernon pointed two fingers toward his own eyes and then one finger at the monkey. Mr. Manfrengensen kept eating.
“I’m watching you,” Vernon said.
Nothing from Manfrengensen.
Vernon turned his attention to the food on the table. Lentils. Whole grain, seeded bread. Fruit from the greenhouse garden, and honey.
“Where’s breakfast?” Vernon asked.
“This is my friend Wayan Bagus,” Emerson said. “He’s a Buddhist monk, so it’s a vegetarian breakfast.”
Wayan Bagus stood up and bowed to Vernon, who just kept staring incredulously at the lentils. “But where’s the bacon?”
“Bacon’s not a part of a vegetarian diet,” Emerson said.
Vernon scratched his chest. “What about sausages and fried ham?”
“Those are all meats.”
“Are you telling me he doesn’t eat any of them? That’s just all wrong. That’s practically not even American.”
“Wayan Bagus is Balinese,” Emerson said.
“No shit?” Vernon said. “How cool is that!” He looked down at Wayan Bagus. “Well, Little Buddy, any friend of Emmie’s is a friend of mine, even if you don’t know how to eat breakfast.”
Vernon grabbed the monk and gave him a big bear hug.
Emerson had his hand up, trying to get Vernon’s attention. “Buddhist monks don’t like to be touched,” Emerson said.
“You’re making that up,” Vernon said to Emerson. “Everyone likes a hug.” He lifted Wayan a couple inches off the ground and swung him side to side. “You’re just a cute li’l ol’ oompa loompa, aren’t you?” he said to Wayan.
“Apologies,” Wayan Bagus said in his quiet monk voice.
Next thing, Vernon was on his back, and Wayan Bagus was in his seat at the table carefully spreading a bit of honey on his bread.
Vernon pulled himself to his feet and grinned at the monk.
“I can see you like to wrassle,” Vernon said to Wayan Bagus. “I’m a big wrassler myself. We’re going to be good friends, Little Buddy.”
Wayan Bagus nodded politely. Noncommittal. “All living things have Buddha nature,” he said.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Vernon said, reaching up to adjust his hat. “Hey, what the heck. Where’s my hat?” He whipped his head around. No hat. No Manfrengensen.
“Sonofabitch! Damn monkey!” Vernon said. “That’s my lucky hat. You’ll have to excuse me from this here breakfast party while I kill that monkey.”
Everyone watched Vernon stomp off and disappear into the vegetation.
“Right,” Emerson said. “Now back to business. As soon as we’re done with breakfast we’ll head off to the Department of Commerce to meet with the NOAA administrator.”
“Count me out,” Riley said. “I slept in these clothes. I need to go home to freshen up.”
“You can’t go home,” Emerson said. “You have to drive. You always drive.”
Riley narrowed her eyes. “No.”
“I’ll let you pick out the car,” Emerson said.
Riley blew out a sigh. Emerson knew how to tempt her. She’d grown up in a family that revered the flag, apple pie, and NASCAR. She’d spent weekends with her dad and her brothers restoring junker muscle cars. She’d driven in a couple local stock car races. Giving Riley access to the Knight garage was like giving a five-year-old the keys to a candy store. Emerson’s father had amassed a mind-boggling collection of classic and luxury cars. Shelby Mustangs, Rolls-Royce Phantoms, Dodge Chargers, Pontiac Firebirds. The collection seemed endless to Riley.
Emerson had inherited the collection from his father, along with a menagerie of animals that ran loose on the Mysterioso Manor property, a bunch of charitable trusts, and a boatload of money. Emerson accepted the responsibility of maintaining the property and the trusts, and he found the money to be useful. At best, he was uninterested in the cars. He used them for transportation and the occasional bribe.
“I’ll drive,” Riley said, “but we’ll have to stop at my apartment on the way to the Commerce Department.”
“Deal,” Emerson said.
Riley tapped the security code into the garage door opener, the doors rolled up, and she took stock of the cars that were lined up neatly in rows on the shiny white epoxy floor. Her personal choice would be something small and sporty, but she had to accommodate two more people, and Emerson was over six feet tall. There weren’t any midsized cars in the collection so she went with the newest luxury car, the silver Mercedes-Maybach.
“Is the Maybach okay?” she asked Emerson.
“Good choice,” Emerson said.
They got in and Riley drove the car out of the garage, past Vernon’s RV, and followed the driveway to the front of the house.
“Have you spent much time with Wayan?” Riley asked.
“Seven years, off and on.”
“What was that like?”
“It was like living with a combination of Yoda and Jiminy Cricket on a fifty-foot boat.”
“He speaks excellent English, and he seems very worldly. Has he traveled a lot?”
“So far as I know, not at all. My understanding is that he’s spent most of his life in a monastery in Bali, studying Buddhism and the martial arts. He seems worldly because he doesn’t engage in unnecessary conversation. He keeps his own counsel.”
“It was impressive the way he flipped Vernon onto his back. Does he have Jedi powers? Did he share them with you?”
“I was his student, but I doubt I’ll ever achieve his level of power and control.”
Wayan was waiting at the porch steps. He slipped into the Maybach’s big back seat and shook his head.
“All this excess,” he said. “It’s not good. Not good at all. Down the path of dukkha it will lead you.”
“Dukkha is suffering,” Emerson explained to Riley. “It’s caused by the three poisons, which are raga or greed, moha or delusions, and dvesha or ill will.”
Wayan ran his hand over the ebony wood finish and plush leather seat. “Sitting on dead animals. Not good. Not good at all.”
Riley turned to look at him. “What about the sandals you’re wearing?”
Wayan looked down at his feet. “Faux leather. Very uncomfortable.” His attention caught on the screen built into the back of Riley’s seat. “What is this?” he asked.
“That’s the entertainment center,” Riley said.
She pushed a button and The Little Mermaid appeared on the TV screen. Sebastian was belting out “Under the Sea.”
Wayan Bagus leaned forward. “It’s a singing crab. Have you seen this, Emerson?”
“Yes,” Emerson said. “He’s excellent.”
THREE
THIRTY MINUTES AND FOUR DISNEY SONGS later, they reached Riley’s apartment. She left everyone in the car, ran into her building, and reappeared in ten minutes wearing clean clothes, her hair still damp from the shower.
She jumped back behind the wheel and drove them to the Department of Commerce, circled a couple blocks, and finally found a parking space close to the NOAA administrator’s office, near the White House. They entered the building and paused in the lobby.
A short monk in a saffron robe, a tall eccentric rich guy, and a woman with wet hair, Riley thought. They looked like contestants from a bad reality show.
“Exactly how do you expect to get in to see the head of NOAA without an appointment?” Riley asked Emerson.
“I have a plan,” Emerson said.
He pulled a pair of thick black-rimmed spectacles from his pocket and put them on Wayan.
“Showtime,” Emerson said, opening the large glass door in front of them and making a sweeping gesture indicating they should all troop up to the desk beyond the door.
The receptionist glanced at them as they approached. She had a round face, short black hair shot with gray, deep red lipstick, and ears like Dumbo. She looked like she was counting the hours and minutes before qualifying for her government pension.