The Commuter by Patrick Oster

Author:Patrick Oster
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780786755974
Publisher: Argo-Navis

Chapter 12

The next day, Zoot noticed Rooney’s train-station photos in the morning routings Foster had sent around. He looked at the snapshots of Barnaby with Dora, who was identified as the daughter of a convicted Ukrainian computer fraudster. They confused Zoot more than ever. What the heck was Barnaby? Zoot didn’t buy that Barnaby was some NSA operative, despite what the guy in the snakeskin cowboy boots had said. He was probably something between a stone crook and a moron way over his head. Whatever Barnaby was, Zoot had decided Barnaby could be useful to get the bureau inside some criminal operations. He’d find a way to put Barnaby to work as a confidential informant, willing or unwilling.

His preference was that Barnaby was a crook because that would make him more intelligent than he seemed, and threat of prosecution and an offer of immunity would give him the incentive to cooperate. Zoot knew he didn’t have a lot of proof that Barnaby had broken any laws, but conspiracy charges were easy to make, and he’d use that dodge if Barnaby resisted.

Whether Barnaby played the fool or actually was one, Zoot really didn’t care. If a fool, he’d make him a Junior G Man, and if things went sour, hey, it happens. Collateral damage. Zoot needed a break to get his career back on track. Means to an end, he told himself, battling to concentrate on his cases as pesky images of Dora flitted across his mind’s eye. And fuck that guy at the NSA. Maybe they knew about his nasty little habit, maybe they didn’t. He’d be careful connecting with Barnaby. A conversation away from listening ears was what he had in mind. Nothing on the phone or indoors.

* * *

Barnaby was working at home that morning and heard the doorbell ring about 11. Zoot was alone and showed Barnaby his FBI credentials. He said he had a matter of grave importance to discuss and wondered if Barnaby could take a little ride. Barnaby had the feeling he’d seen Zoot somewhere in the previous few days but couldn’t quite place him. On the train maybe? He got his jacket and rode with Zoot north. They made small talk about the weather and sports, till Barnaby spotted the turnoff for the point.

“That’s a good spot for a conversation — unless you want to stay in the car,” Barnaby said, trying to be helpful. “Not many people around this time of day. The birders are gone, so just down to some late dog walkers. Retirees mostly.”

“You seem to know it pretty well.”

“I’m a birder. Come here all the time.”

Zoot flashed a thin smile.

“When you're not in the Garment District or Hunts Point.”

Barnaby’s eyes blinked at Zoot’s knowledge of his recent whereabouts.

“That’s right,” Barnaby finally said, deciding not to ask too many questions. “It’s one of the best spots in the county.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve filled up my life book considerably just from what I spotted or heard right in this park. It’s the garbage dump, if you ask me.

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