preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第45部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　〃Same　as　you；　probably；〃　said　O'Shaughnessy。　Then　he　stopped　abruptly；　remembering　he　was　speaking　to　a　reporter。　It　wouldn't　be　good　for　this　to　get　back　to　Custer。
　Smithback　mopped　his　brow　with　a　soiled　handkerchief。　〃You　scared　the　piss　out　of　me。〃
　〃Sorry。　You　looked　suspicious。〃
　Smithback　shook　his　head。　〃I　imagine　I　did。〃　He　glanced　around。　〃Find　anything？〃
　〃No。〃
　There　was　a　brief　silence。
　〃Who　do　you　think　did　it？　Think　it　was　just　some　mugger？〃
　Although　Smithback　was　echoing　the　same　question　he'd　asked　himself　moments　before；　O'Shaughnessy　merely　shrugged。　The　best　thing　to　do　was　to　keep　his　mouth　shut。
　〃Surely　the　police　have　some　kind　of　theory。〃
　O'Shaughnessy　shrugged　again。
　Smithback　stepped　closer；　lowering　his　voice。　〃Look；　I　understand　if　it's　confidential。　I　can　quote　you　'not　for　attribution。'　〃
　O'Shaughnessy　wasn't　going　to　fall　into　that　trap。
　Smithback　sighed；　looking　up　at　the　buildings　with　an　air　of　finality。　〃Well；　there's　nothing　much　else　to　be　seen　around　here。　And　if　you're　going　to　clam　up；　I　might　as　well　go　get　a　drink。　Try　to　recover　from　that　fright　you　gave　me。〃　He　snugged　the　handkerchief　back　into　his　pocket。　〃Night；　Officer。〃
　He　began　to　walk　away。　Then　he　stopped；　as　if　struck　by　an　idea。
　〃Want　to　e　along？〃
　〃No；　thanks。〃
　〃e　on；〃　the　reporter　said。　〃You　don't　look　like　you're　on　duty。〃
　〃I　said　no。〃
　Smithback　took　a　step　closer。　〃You　know；　now　that　I　think　about　it；　maybe　we　could　help　each　other　out　here。　Know　what　I　mean？　I　need　to　keep　in　touch　with　this　investigation　into　the　Surgeon。〃
　〃The　Surgeon？〃
　〃Haven't　you　heard？　That's　what　the　Post　is　calling　this　serial　killer。　Cheesy；　huh？　Anyway；　I　need　information；　and　I'll　bet　you　need　information。　Am　I　right？〃
　O'Shaughnessy　said　nothing。　He　did　need　information。　But　he　wondered　if　Smithback　really　had　something；　or　was　just　bullshitting。
　〃I'll　level　with　you；　Sergeant。　I　got　scooped　on　that　tourist　killing　in　Central　Park。　And　now；　I　have　to　scramble　to　get　new　developments；　or　my　editor　will　have　my　ass　for　brunch。　A　little　advance　notice　here　and　there；　nothing　too　specific；　just　a　nod　from　a　friend…you；　for　instance。　That's　all。〃
　〃What　kind　of　information　do　you　have？〃　O'Shaughnessy　asked　guardedly。　He　thought　back　a　minute　to　what　Pendergast　had　said。　〃Do　you　have　anything　on；　say；　Fairhaven？〃
　Smithback　rolled　his　eyes。　〃Are　you　kidding？　I've　got　a　sackful　on　him。　Not　that　it'll　do　you　much　good；　but　I'm　willing　to　share。　Let's　talk　about　it　over　a　drink。〃
　O'Shaughnessy　glanced　up　and　down　the　street。　Despite　his　better　judgment；　he　found　himself　tempted。　Smithback　might　be　a　hustler；　but　he　seemed　a　decent　sort　of　hustler。　And　he'd　even　worked　with　Pendergast　in　the　past；　though　the　reporter　didn't　seem　too　eager　to　reminisce　about　it。　And　finally；　Pendergast　had　asked　him　to　put　together　a　file　on　Fairhaven。
　〃Where？〃
　Smithback　smiled。　〃Are　you　kidding？　The　best　bars　in　New　York　City　are　just　one　block　west；　on　Columbus。　I　know　a　great　place；　where　all　the　Museum　types　go。　It's　called　the　Bones。　e　on；　the　first　round's　on　me。〃
　
　THIRTEEN
　　
　THE　FOG　GREW　thicker　for　a　moment。　Pendergast　waited；　maintaining　his　concentration。　Then　through　the　fog　came　flickerings　of　orange　and　yellow。　Pendergast　felt　heat　upon　his　face。　The　fog　began　to　clear。
　He　was　standing　outside　J。　C。　Shottum's　Cabinet　of　Natural　Productions　and　Curiosities。　It　was　night。　The　cabinet　was　burning。　Angry　flames　leapt　from　the　first…　and　second…story　windows；　punching　through　billowing　clouds　of　black；　acrid　smoke。　Several　firemen　and　a　bevy　of　police　were　frantically　roping　off　the　street　around　the　building　and　pushing　curious　onlookers　back　from　the　conflagration。　Inside　the　rope；　several　knots　of　firefighters　arced　hopeless　streams　of　water　into　the　blaze；　while　others　scurried　to　douse　the　gaslights　along　the　sidewalk。
　The　heat　was　a　physical　force；　a　wall。　Standing　on　the　street　corner；　Pendergast's　gaze　lingered　appreciatively　on　the　fire　engine：　a　big　black　boiler　on　carriage　wheels；　belching　steam；　Amoskeag　Manufacturing　pany　in　gold　letters　on　its　sweating　sides。　Then　he　turned　toward　the　onlookers。　Would　Leng　be　among　them；　admiring　his　handiwork？　No；　he　would　have　been　long　gone。　Leng　was　no　pyromaniac。　He　would　be　safely　ensconced　in　his　uptown　house；　location　unknown。
　The　location　of　the　house　was　a　great　question。　But　another；　perhaps　more　pressing；　question　remained：　where　had　Leng　moved　his　laboratory？
　There　was　a　tremendous；　searing　crack；　roof　timbers　collapsed　inward　with　a　roiling　shower　of　sparks；　an　appreciative　murmur　rose　from　the　crowd。　With　a　final　look　at　the　doomed　structure；　Pendergast　began　threading　his　way　through　the　crowd。
　A　little　girl　rushed　up；　no　older　than　six；　threadbare　and　frighteningly　gaunt。　She　had　a　battered　straw　broom　in　her　hand；　and　she　swept　the　street　corner　ahead　of　him　industriously；　clearing　away　the　dung　and　pestilential　garbage；　hoping　pathetically　for　a　coin。　〃Thank　you；〃　Pendergast　said；　tossing　her　several　broad　copper　pennies。　She　looked　at　the　coins；　eyes　wide　at　her　good　fortune；　then　curtsied　awkwardly。
　〃What's　your　name；　child？〃　Pendergast　asked　gently。
　The　girl　looked　up　at　him；　as　if　surprised　to　hear　an　adult　speak　to　her　in　a　solicitous　tone。　〃Constance　Greene；　sir；〃　she　said。
　〃Greene？〃　Pendergast　frowned。　〃Of　Water　Street？〃
　〃No；　sir。　Not…not　anymore。〃　Something　seemed　to　have　frightened　the　girl；　and；　with　another　curtsy；　she　turned　and　melted　away　down　a　crowded　side　street。
　Pendergast　stared　down　the　foul　street　and　its　seething　crowds　for　some　time。　Then；　with　a　troubled　expression　on　his　face；　he　turned　and　slowly　retraced　his　steps。　A　barker　stood　in　the　doorway　of　Brown's　Restaurant；　delivering　the　bill　of　fare　in　a　loud；　breathless；　ceaseless　litany：
　　
　Biledlamancapersors。
　Rosebeefrosegoorosemuttonan？taters…
　Biledamancabbage；　vegetaybles…
　Walkinsirtakaseatsir。
　　
　Pendergast　moved　on　thoughtfully；　listening　to　the　City　Hall　bell　toll　the　urgent　fire　alarm。　Making　his　way　to　Park　Street；　he　passed　a　chemist's　shop；　closed　and　shuttered；　an　array　of　bottles　in　diverse　sizes　and　colors　decorating　the　window：　Paine's　Celery　pound；　Swamp　Root；　D。　&　A。　Younce's　Indian　Cure　Oil　（Good　for　Man　and　Beast）。
　Two　blocks　down　Park；　he　stopped　abruptly。　He　was　fully　attentive　now；　eyes　open　to　every　detail。　He　had　painstakingly　researched　this　region　of　old　New　York；　and　the　fog　of　his　memory　construct　retreated　well　into　the　distance。　Here；　Baxter　and　Worth　Streets　angled　in　sharply；　creating　a　crazy…quilt　of　intersections　known　as　the　Five　Points。　In　the　bleak　landscape　of　urban　decay　that　stretched　before　him；　there　was　none　of　the　carefree　revelry　Pendergast　had　found　earlier；　along　Bowery。
　Thirty　years　before；　in　the　1850s；　the　〃Points〃　had　been　the　worst　slum　in　all　New　York；　in　all　America；　worse　even　than　London's　Seven　Dials。　It　remained　a　miserable；　squalid；　dangerous　place：　home　to　fifty　thousand　criminals；　drug　addicts；　prostitutes；　orphans；　confidence　men；　villains　of　all　shape　and　description。　The　uneven　streets　were　broken　and　scored　into　dangerous　ruts；　brimming　with　garbage　and　offal。　Hogs　wandered　about；　rooting　and　wallowing　in　the　fouled　gutters。　The　houses　seemed　prematurely　aged；　their　windows　broken；　tarpaper　roofs　hanging　free；　timbers　sagging。　A　single　gas　lamp　threw　light　into　the　intersection。　On　all　sides；　narrow　streets　marched　off　into　endless　darkness。　The　doors　of　the　first…floor　taverns　were　flung　wide　against　the　summer　heat。　The　smells　of　liquor　and　cigar　smoke　issued　forth。　Women；　bare…breasted；　lolled　in　the　doorways；　exchanging　obscene　jeers　with　whores　in　the　neighboring　saloons　or　soliciting　passersby　in　lurid　tones。　Across　the　way；　nickel…a…night　flophouses；　riddled　with　vermin　and　pestilence；　sat　between　the　shabby　cow…sheds　of　fencers　of　stolen　goods。
　Pendergast　gazed　carefully　around　at　the　scene；　scrutinizing　the　topography；　the　architecture；　for　any　clue；　any　hidden　link　that　a　mere　study　of　historical　records　could　not　provide。　At　last　he　turned　eastward；　where　a　vast；　five…story　structure　sat；　decayed　and　listing；　da