Nocturne in Black and Gold

Chapter 25: War Games

The news about Rolf's unmasking buoyed Neal throughout the rest of the day and well into Friday. His morning session with Jacob went exceptionally well. Even Billy noticed an improvement. He wasn't letting Neal do any leaps yet, but he inserted a lightning-fast arm sequence in the middle of an achingly slow balancing act that gave Neal hope.

When Neal returned home from therapy, he found Jones, Mozzie, and Henry were already closeted in the war room, aka June's dining room. The others had yet to arrive. Neal's attempts to extract hints went nowhere. Henry shoved him out and closed the leaded-glass doors into the dining room. Adding insult to injury, Mozzie taped a Do Not Disturb sign on the glass.

Not all of the glass in the doors was etched and Neal was still able to peer through. But the schemers were wise to him and sat facing the doors so he couldn't see their laptops.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" June said, approaching from the kitchen.

"I'll say. What I don't understand is that Mozzie doesn't have Monopoly out. Moreover, there's no chessboard."

"No wonder you're confused. Mozzie's gone modern. They were all playing Silent Hunter earlier. How about helping me and Chef Emil with lunch? That's much more fun and we can be tasters."

Neal agreed readily. June had invited everyone for lunch with only one stipulation—that she be included in the war room meeting. He expected Peter would object, but he didn't. Henry called the con a game of high-stakes poker. They were playing to her strength.

Not only would Peter have the best crew, but they'd also be the best fed. Lately, June had been encouraging Emil to include Creole dishes in his repertoire. It was an inside joke that June hated to cook. Like her character in Arkham Files, June was from New Orleans, but she claimed that she was a disaster at making any of the dishes. Emil's restaurant and catering business were prospering but he always made time in his schedule for June who had jump-started his business three years ago.

For lunch, Emil had made Emeril Lagasse's muffulettas—Italian cold cuts and cheeses layered with olive spread on crusty French bread.

Neal smeared some of the spread on a cracker and tasted it. "Are you sure your name's not Emeril?"

Emil, a Haitian-born native, crinkled his face with pleasure. "Creole cuisine is a Haitian invention. Emeril and I are soul brothers."

"New Orleanians may dispute your claim," June said with a chuckle, "but having multiple creators is appropriate. Creole food is the original fusion cuisine."

Emil handed him a knife. "You're an expert with blades. To you goes the honor of slicing the muffulettas."

Emil had also made Creole tomatoes and potato salad. For Travis, he'd made a vegetarian version of the sandwich.

Henry the Muncher wandered in as they debated New Orleans versus Haitian beignets. "I hope Neal's left some for the rest of us," he said. He made a beeline to the plate of pecan tassies and promptly helped himself to one.

"Hands off the dessert, young man!" June scolded, shaking her finger at him. "You have the willpower of a three-year-old."

"I've been saying the same thing for years," Neal told her. "Nothing gets through that hard head."

"Where have these been all my life?" Henry exclaimed, ignoring their comments. "Miniature puffs of pecan goodness." He turned to Emil. "I hope you made a second plate for the others. These are all mine."

"Not if I have any say on the matter," retorted Peter, arriving just in time to rescue dessert.

With the arrival of the White Collar contingent, they moved on to lunch. Neal and Henry helped Emil carry the food out and supply beverages for everyone.