Douglas Preston - The Cabinet of Curiosities

“Oh, God,” Smithback breathed. “What a stunner.”

“I hope the guy keeps a pair of cardiac paddles on his bedside table,” O’Shaughnessy muttered.

“I think I’ll go over and give him my number. Offer to spell him one of these nights, in case the old geezer gets winded.”

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, began Collopy. His voice was low, gravelly, without inflection. When I was a young man, I undertook the reclassification of the Pongidae, the Great Apes…

The level of conversation in the room dropped but did not cease altogether. People seemed far more interested in food and drink than in hearing this man talk about monkeys, O’Shaughnessy thought.

… And I was faced with a problem: Where to put mankind? Are we in the Pongidae, or are we not? Are we a Great Ape, or are we something special? This was the question I faced…

“Here comes Dr. Kelly,” said Pendergast.

Smithback turned, an eager, expectant, nervous look on his face. But the tall, copper-haired woman swept past him without so much as a glance, arrowing straight for the food table.

“Hey Nora! I’ve been trying to reach you all day!” O’Shaughnessy watched the writer hustle after her, then returned his attention to his ham-and-cheese sandwiches. He was glad he didn’t have to do this sort of thing for a living. How could they bear it? Standing around, chatting aimlessly with people you’d never seen before and would never see again, trying to cough up a vestige of interest in their vapid opinions, all to a background obbligato of speechifying. It seemed inconceivable to him that there were people who actually liked going to parties like this.

… our closest living relatives…

Smithback was returning already. His tuxedo front was splattered with fish eggs and crème fraîche. He looked stricken.

“Have an accident?” asked Pendergast dryly.

“You might call it that.”

O’Shaughnessy glanced over and saw Nora heading straight for the retreating Smithback. She did not look happy.

“Nora—” Smithback began again.

She rounded on him, her face furious. “How could you? I gave you that information in confidence. ”

“But Nora, I did it for you. Don’t you see? Now they can’t touch—”

“You moron. My long-term career here is ruined. After what happened in Utah, and with the Lloyd Museum closing, this job was my last chance. And you ruined it! ”

“Nora, if you could only look at it my way, you’d—”

“You promised me. And I trusted you! God, I can’t believe it, I’m totally screwed.” She looked away, then whirled back with redoubled ferocity. “Was this some kind of revenge because I wouldn’t rent that apartment with you?”

“No, no, Nora, just the opposite, it was to help you. I swear, in the end you’ll thank me—”

The poor man looked so helpless, O’Shaughnessy felt sorry for him. He was obviously in love with the woman — and he had just as obviously blown it completely.

Suddenly she turned on Pendergast. “And you!”

Pendergast raised his eyebrows, then carefully placed a blini back on his plate.

“Sneaking around the Museum, picking locks, fomenting suspicion. You started all this.”

Pendergast bowed. “If I have caused you any distress, Dr. Kelly, I regret it deeply.”

“Distress? They’re going to crucify me. And there it all was, in today’s paper. I could kill you! All of you!”

Her voice had risen, and now people were looking at her instead of at the man at the podium, still droning on about classifying his great apes.

Then Pendergast said, “Smile. Our friend Brisbane is watching.”

Nora glanced over her shoulder. O’Shaughnessy followed the glance toward the podium and saw a well-groomed man — tall, glossy, with slicked-back dark hair — staring at them. He did not look happy.

Nora shook her head and lowered her voice. “Jesus, I’m not even supposed to be talking to you. I can’t believe the position you’ve put me in.”

“However, Dr. Kelly, you and I do need to talk,” Pendergast said softly. “Meet me tomorrow evening at Ten Ren’s Tea and Ginseng Company, 75 Mott Street, at seven o’clock. If you please.”

Nora glared at him angrily, then stalked off.

Immediately, Brisbane glided over on long legs, planting himself in front of them. “What a pleasant surprise,” he said in a chill undertone. “The FBI agent, the policeman, and the reporter. An unholy trinity if ever I saw one.”

Pendergast inclined his head. “And how are you, Mr. Brisbane?”

“Oh, top form.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I don’t recall any of you being on the guest list. Especially you, Mr. Smithback. How did you slither past security?”

Pendergast smiled and spoke gently. “Sergeant O’Shaughnessy and I are here on law enforcement business. As for Mr. Smithback — well, I’m sure he would like nothing more than to be tossed out on his ear. What a marvelous follow-up that would make to his piece in today’s edition of the Times. ”

Smithback nodded. “Thank you. It would.”

Brisbane stood still, the smile frozen on his face. He looked first at Pendergast, then at Smithback. His eyes raked Smithback’s soiled tux. “Didn’t your mother teach you that caviar goes in the mouth, not on the shirt?” He walked off.

“Imbecile,” Smithback murmured.

“Don’t underestimate him,” replied Pendergast. “He has Moegen-Fairhaven, the Museum, and the mayor behind him. And he is no imbecile.”

“Yeah. Except that I’m a reporter for the New York Times. ”

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking even that lofty position will protect you.”

… and now, without more ado, let us unveil the Museum’s latest creation, the Hall of Primates…

O’Shaughnessy watched as a ribbon beside the podium was cut with an oversized pair of scissors. There was a smattering of applause and a general drift toward the open doors of the new hall beyond. Pendergast glanced at him. “Shall we?”

“Why not?” Anything was better than standing around here.

“Count me out,” said Smithback. “I’ve seen enough exhibitions in this joint to last me a lifetime.”

Pendergast turned and grasped the reporter’s hand. “I am sure we shall meet again. Soon.”

It seemed to O’Shaughnessy that Smithback fairly flinched.

Soon they were through the doors. People drifted along the spacious hall, which was lined with dioramas of stuffed chimpanzees, gorillas, orangutans, and various monkeys and lemurs, displayed in their native habitats. With some surprise, O’Shaughnessy realized the dioramas were fascinating, beautiful in their own way. They were like magic casements opening onto distant worlds. How had these morons done it? But of course, they hadn’t done it — it was the curators and artists who had. People like Brisbane were the deadwood at the top of the pile. He really needed to come here more often.

He saw a knot of people gathering around one case, which displayed a hooting chimpanzee swinging on a tree limb. There was whispered conversation, muffled laughter. It didn’t look any different from the other cases, and yet it seemed to have attracted half the people in the hall. O’Shaughnessy wondered what was so interesting about that chimpanzee. He looked about. Pendergast was in a far corner, examining some strange little monkey with intense interest. Funny man. A little scary, actually, when you got right down to it.

He strolled over to check out the case, standing at the fringe of the crowd. There were more murmurs, some stifled laughter, some disapproving clucks. A bejeweled lady was gesturing for a guard. When people noticed O’Shaughnessy was a cop, they automatically shuffled aside.