The Cabinet of Curiosities (Pendergast #3)(22)

“That’s exactly right,” Custer said. “You know what we’re saying, Patrick?”

“Sure.” They were saying he was about to get some shit-stink assignment involving the FBI: that’s what he knew.

“Good. For some reason, we’ve got an FBI agent poking around the site. He won’t say why he’s interested. He’s not even local, from New Orleans, believe it or not. But the guy’s got pull. I’m still looking into it. The boys in the New York office don’t like him any more than we do. They told me some stories about him, and I didn’t like what I heard. Wherever this guy goes, trouble follows. You with me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This guy’s been calling all over the place. Wants to see the bones. Wants to see the pathologist’s report. Wants everything under the sun. He doesn’t seem to get that the crime’s ancient history. So now, Mr. Fairhaven is concerned. He doesn’t want this getting blown out of proportion, you know? He’s gonna have to rent those apartments. You get my drift? And when Mr. Fairhaven gets concerned, he calls the mayor. The mayor calls Commissioner Rocker. The commissioner calls the commander. And the commander calls me. Which means that now I’m concerned.”

O’Shaughnessy nodded. Which means now I’m supposed to be concerned, which I’m not.

“Very concerned,” said Noyes.

O’Shaughnessy allowed his face to relax into the most unconcerned of looks.

“So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to assign you to be this guy’s NYPD liaison. You stick to him like a fly to, er, honey. I want to know what he’s doing, where he goes, and especially what he’s up to. But don’t get too friendly with the guy.”

“No, sir.”

“His name is Pendergast. Special Agent Pendergast.” Custer turned over a piece of paper. “Christ, they didn’t even give me his first name here. No matter. I’ve set up a meeting with you and him tomorrow, two P. M. After that, you stay with him. You’re there to help him, that’s the official line. But don’t be too helpful. This guy’s ticked off a lot of people. Here, read for yourself.”

O’Shaughnessy took the proffered file. “Do you want me to remain in uniform, sir?”

“Hell, that’s just the point! Having a uniformed cop sticking to him like a limpet is going to cramp his style. You get me?”

“Yes, sir.”

The captain sat back in his chair, looking at him skeptically. “Think you can do this, Patrick?”

O’Shaughnessy stood up. “Sure.”

“Because I’ve been noticing your attitude recently.” Custer put a finger to the side of his nose. “A friendly word of advice. Save it for Agent Pendergast. Last thing you, of all people, need is more attitude.”

“No attitude, sir. I’m just here to protect and serve.” He pronounced sairve in his best Irish brogue. “Top of the mornin’ to you, Captain.”

As O’Shaughnessy turned and left the office, he heard Custer mutter “wise ass” to Noyes.





THREE




“A PERFECT AFTERNOON TO TAKE IN A MUSEUM,” SAID PENDERGAST, looking up at a lowering sky.

Patrick Murphy O’Shaughnessy wondered if it was some kind of joke. He stood on the steps of the Elizabeth Street precinct house, staring off into nowhere. The whole thing was a joke. The FBI agent looked more like an undertaker than a cop, with his black suit, blond-white hair, and movie-cliché accent. He wondered how such a piece of work ever got his ass through Quantico.

“The Metropolitan Museum of Art is a cultural paradigm, Sergeant. One of the great art museums of the world. But of course you knew that. Shall we go?”

O’Shaughnessy shrugged. Museums, whatever, he was supposed to stay with this guy. What a crappy assignment.

As they descended the steps, a long gray car came gliding up from where it had been idling at the corner. For a second O’Shaughnessy could hardly believe it. A Rolls. Pendergast opened the door.

“Drug seizure?” O’Shaughnessy asked.

“No. Personal vehicle.”

Figures. New Orleans. They were all on the take down there. Now he had the guy pegged. Probably up here on some kind of drug business. Maybe Custer wanted in. That’s why he put him, of all the cops in the precinct, on this guy’s ass. This was looking worse by the minute.

Pendergast continued holding the door. “After you.”

O’Shaughnessy slid in the back, sinking immediately into creamy white leather.

Pendergast ducked in beside him. “To the Metropolitan Museum,” he told the driver. As the Rolls pulled away from the curb, O’Shaughnessy caught a glimpse of Captain Custer standing on the steps, staring after them. He resisted the impulse to flip him the bird.

O’Shaughnessy turned to Pendergast and gave him a good look. “Here’s to success, Mister FBI Agent.”

He turned away to look out the window. There was a silence on the other side.

“The name is Pendergast,” came the soft voice, finally.

“Whatever.”

O’Shaughnessy continued to look out the window. He allowed a minute to pass, and then he said: “So what’s at the museum? Some dead mummies?”

“I have yet to meet a live mummy, Sergeant. However, it is not the Egyptian Department we are going to.”