preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第53节

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　Horse's　Tail
　
　ONE
　　
　WITH　A　HUGE　sigh；　William　Smithback　Jr。　settled　into　the　worn　wooden　booth　in　the　rear　of　the　Blarney　Stone　Tavern。　Situated　directly　across　the　street　from　the　New　York　Museum's　southern　entrance；　the　tavern　was　a　perennial　haunt　of　Museum　staffers。　They　had　nicknamed　the　place　the　Bones　because　of　the　owner's　penchant　for　hammering　bones　of　all　sizes；　shapes；　and　species　into　every　available　surface。　Museum　wags　liked　to　speculate　that；　were　the　police　to　remove　the　bones　for　examination；　half　of　the　city's　missing　persons　cases　still　on　the　books　would　be　solved　immediately。
　Smithback　had　spent　many　long　evenings　here　in　years　past；　notebooks　and　beer…spattered　laptop　in　attendance；　working　on　various　books：　his　book　about　the　Museum　murders；　his　follow…up　book　about　the　Subway　Massacre。　It　had　always　seemed　like　a　home　away　from　home　to　him；　a　refuge　against　the　troubles　of　the　world。　And　yet　tonight；　even　the　Bones　held　no　consolation　for　him。　He　recalled　a　line　he'd　read　somewhere…Brendan　Behan；　perhaps…about　having　a　thirst　so　mighty　it　cast　a　shadow。　That's　how　he　felt。
　It　had　been　the　worst　week　of　his　life…from　this　terrible　business　with　Nora　to　his　useless　interview　with　Fairhaven。　And　to　top　it　all；　he'd　just　been　scooped　by　the　frigging　Post…by　his　old　nemesis　Bryce　Harriman；　no　less…twice。　First　on　the　tourist　murder　in　Central　Park；　and　then　on　the　bones　discovered　down　on　Doyers　Street。　By　rights；　that　was　his　story。　How　had　that　weenie　Harriman　gotten　an　exclusive？　He　couldn't　get　an　exclusive　from　his　own　girlfriend；　for　chrissakes。　Who　did　he　know？　To　think　he；　Smithback；　had　been　kept　outside　with　the　milling　hacks　while　Harriman　got　the　royal　treatment；　the　inside　story　。　。　。　Christ；　he　needed　a　drink。
　The　droopy…eared　waiter　came　over；　hangdog　features　almost　as　familiar　to　Smithback　as　his　own。
　〃The　usual；　Mr。　Smithback？〃
　〃No。　You　got　any　of　the　fifty…year…old　Glen　Grant？〃
　〃At　thirty…six　dollars；〃　the　waiter　said　dolefully。
　〃Bring　it。　I　want　to　drink　something　as　old　as　I　feel。〃
　The　waiter　faded　back　into　the　dark；　smoky　atmosphere。　Smithback　checked　his　watch　and　looked　around　irritably。　He　was　ten　minutes　late；　but　it　looked　like　O'Shaughnessy　was　even　later。　He　hated　people　who　were　even　later　than　he　was；　almost　as　much　as　he　hated　people　who　were　on　time。
　The　waiter　rematerialized；　carrying　a　brandy　snifter　with　an　inch　of　amber…colored　liquid　in　the　bottom。　He　placed　it　reverently　before　Smithback。
　Smithback　raised　it　to　his　nose；　swirled　the　liquid　about；　inhaled　the　heady　aroma　of　Highland　malt；　smoke；　and　fresh　water　that；　as　the　Scots　said；　had　flowed　through　peat　and　over　granite。　He　felt　better　already。　As　he　lowered　the　glass；　he　could　see　Boylan；　the　proprietor；　in　the　front；　handing　a　black…and…tan　over　the　bar　with　an　arm　that　looked　like　it　had　been　carved　from　a　twist　of　chewing　tobacco。　And　past　Boylan　was　O'Shaughnessy；　just　e　in　and　looking　about。　Smithback　waved；　averting　his　eyes　from　the　cheap　polyester　suit　that　practically　sparkled；　despite　the　dim　light　and　cigar　fumes。　How　could　a　self…respecting　man　wear　a　suit　like　that？
　〃　'Tis　himself；〃　said　Smithback　in　a　disgraceful　travesty　of　an　Irish　accent　as　O'Shaughnessy　approached。
　〃Ach；　aye；〃　O'Shaughnessy　replied；　easing　into　the　far　side　of　the　booth。
　The　waiter　appeared　again　as　if　by　magic；　ducking　deferentially。
　〃The　same　for　him；〃　said　Smithback；　and　then　added；　〃you　know；　the　twelve…year…old。〃
　〃Of　course；〃　said　the　waiter。
　〃What　is　it？〃　O'Shaughnessy　asked。
　〃Glen　Grant。　Single　malt　scotch。　The　best　in　the　world。　On　me。〃
　O'Shaughnessy　grinned。　〃What；　you　forcing　a　bluidy　Presbyterian　drink　down　me　throat？　That's　like　listening　to　Verdi　in　translation。　I'd　prefer　Powers。〃
　Smithback　shuddered。　〃That　stuff？　Trust　me；　Irish　whisky　is　better　suited　to　de…greasing　engines　than　to　drinking。　The　Irish　produce　better　writers；　the　Scots　better　whisky。〃
　The　waiter　went　off；　returning　with　a　second　snifter。　Smithback　waited　as　O'Shaughnessy　sniffed；　winced；　took　a　swig。
　〃Drinkable；〃　he　said　after　a　moment。
　As　they　sipped　in　silence；　Smithback　shot　a　covert　glance　at　the　policeman　across　the　table。　So　far　he'd　gotten　precious　little　out　of　their　arrangement；　although　he'd　given　him　a　pile　on　Fairhaven。　And　yet　he　found　he　had　e　to　like　the　guy：　O'Shaughnessy　had　a　laconic；　cynical；　even　fatalistic　outlook　on　life　that　Smithback　understood　pletely。
　Smithback　sighed　and　sat　back。　〃So　what's　new？〃
　O'Shaughnessy's　face　instantly　clouded。　〃They　fired　me。〃
　Smithback　sat　up　again　abruptly。　〃What？　When？〃
　〃Yesterday。　Not　fired；　exactly。　Not　yet。　Put　on　administrative　leave。　They're　opening　an　investigation。〃　He　glanced　up　suddenly。　〃This　is　just　between　you　and　me。〃
　Smithback　sat　back。　〃Of　course。〃
　〃I've　got　a　hearing　next　week　before　the　union　board；　but　it　looks　like　I'm　done　for。〃
　〃Why？　Because　you　did　a　little　moonlighting？〃
　〃Custer's　pissed。　He'll　bring　up　some　old　history。　A　bribe　I　took；　five　years　ago。　That；　along　with　insubordination　and　disobeying　orders；　will　be　enough　to　drag　me　down。〃
　〃That　fat…assed　bastard。〃
　There　was　another　silence。　There's　one　potential　source　shot　to　hell；　Smithback　thought。　Too　bad。　He's　a　decent　guy。
　〃I'm　working　for　Pendergast　now；〃　O'Shaughnessy　added　in　a　very　low　voice；　cradling　his　drink。
　This　was　even　more　of　a　shock。　〃Pendergast？　How　so？〃　Perhaps　all　was　not　lost。
　〃He　needed　a　Man　Friday。　Someone　to　pound　the　pavement　for　him；　help　track　things　down。　At　least；　that's　what　he　said。　Tomorrow；　I'm　supposed　to　head　down　to　the　East　Village；　snoop　around　a　shop　where　Pendergast　thinks　Leng　might　have　bought　his　chemicals。〃
　〃Jesus。〃　Now；　this　was　an　interesting　development　indeed：　O'Shaughnessy　working　for　Pendergast；　no　longer　shackled　by　the　NYPD　rules　about　talking　to　journalists。　Maybe　this　was　even　better　than　before。
　〃If　you　find　something；　you'll　let　me　know？〃　Smithback　asked。
　〃That　depends。〃
　〃On　what？〃
　〃On　what　you　can　do　for　us　with　that　something。〃
　〃I'm　not　sure　I　understand。〃
　〃You're　a　reporter；　right？　You　do　research？〃
　〃It's　my　middle　name。　Why；　you　guys　need　my　help　with　something？〃　Smithback　suddenly　glanced　away。　〃I　don't　think　Nora　would　like　that。〃
　〃She　doesn't　know。　Neither　does　Pendergast。〃
　Smithback　looked　back；　surprised。　But　O'Shaughnessy　didn't　look　like　he　planned　to　say　anything　else　about　it。　No　use　trying　to　force　anything　out　of　this　guy；　Smithback　thought。　I'll　wait　till　he's　good　and　ready。
　He　took　a　different　tack。　〃So；　how'd　you　like　my　file　on　Fairhaven？〃
　〃Fat。　Very　fat。　Thanks。〃
　〃Just　a　lot　of　bullshit；　I'm　afraid。〃
　〃Pendergast　seemed　pleased。　He　told　me　to　congratulate　you。〃
　〃Pendergast's　a　good　man；〃　Smithback　said　cautiously。
　O'Shaughnessy　nodded；　sipped。　〃But　you　always　get　the　sense　he　knows　more　than　he　lets　on。　All　this　talk　about　how　we　have　to　be　careful；　how　our　lives　are　in　danger。　But　he　refuses　to　spell　it　all　out。　And　then；　out　of　nowhere；　he　drops　a　bomb　on　you。〃　His　eyes　narrowed。　〃And　that's　where　you　may　e　in。〃
　Here　we　go。　〃Me？〃
　〃I　want　you　to　do　a　little　digging。　Find　something　out　for　me。〃　There　was　a　slight　hesitation。　〃See；　I　worry　the　injury　may　have　hit　Pendergast　harder　than　we　realized。　He's　got　this　crazy　theory。　So　crazy；　when　I　heard　it；　I　almost　walked　out　right　then。〃
　〃Yeah？〃　Smithback　took　a　casual　sip；　carefully　concealing　his　interest。　He　knew　very　well　what　a　〃crazy　theory〃　of　Pendergast's　could　turn　out　to　mean。
　〃Yeah。　I　mean；　I　like　this　case。　I'd　hate　to　turn　away　from　it。　But　I　can't　work　on　something　that's　nuts。〃
　〃I　hear　that。　So　what's　Pendergast's　crazy　theory？〃
　O'Shaughnessy　hesitated；　longer　this　time。　He　was　clearly　struggling　with　himself　over　this。
　Smithback　gritted　his　teeth。　Get　the　man　another　drink。
　He　waved　the　waiter　over。　〃We'll　have　another　round；〃　he　said。
　〃Make　mine　Powers。〃
　〃Have　it　your　way。　Still　on　me。〃
　They　waited　for　the　next　round　to　arrive。
　〃How's　the　newspaper　business？〃　O'Shaughnessy　asked。
　〃Lousy。　Got　scooped　by　the　Post。　Twice。〃
　〃I　noticed　that。〃
　〃I　could've　used　some　help　there；　Patrick。　The　phone　call　about　Doyers　Street　was　nice；　but　it　didn't　get　me　inside。〃
　〃Hey；　I　gave　you　the　tip；　it's　up　to　you　to　get　your　ass　inside。〃
　〃How'd　Harriman　get　the　exclusive？〃
　〃I　don't　know。　All　I　know　is；　they　hate　you。　They　blame　you　for　triggering　the　copycat　killings。〃
　Smithback　shook　his　head。　〃Probably　going　to　can　me　now。〃
　〃Not　for　a　scoop。〃
　〃Two　scoops。　And　Patrick；　don't　be　so　naive。　This　is　a　bloodsucking　business；　and　you　either　suck　or　get　sucked。〃　The　metaphor　didn't　have　quite　the　ring　Smithback　intended；　but　it　conveyed　the　message。
　O'Shaughnessy　laughed　mirthlessly。　〃That　about　sums　it　up　in　my　business；　too。〃　His　face　grew　graver。　〃But　I　know　what　it's　like　to　be　canned。〃
　Smithback　leaned　forward　conspiratorially。　Time　to　push　a　little。　〃So　what's　Pendergast's　theory？〃
　O'Shaughnessy　took　a　sip　of　his　drink。　He　seemed　to　arrive　at　some　private　decision。　〃If　I　tell　you；　you'll　use　your　resources；　see　if　there's　any　chance　it's　true？〃
　〃Of　course。　I'll　do　wh