he had this job to do, that it was absolutely safe. „Not to worry,? he told me, „I?ll be back for Sunday
brunch.? I haven?t heard from him since.”
“He didn?t say what the job was?”
She shook her head. “Things have been rough for him this past year. I offered to help, but he turned
me down. I think he was desperate.”
“Did he say anything about narcotics?”
“All he said was „After this, we?ll be as good as the rest of them.? He wouldn?t say any more.”
“Did he drive when he left?”
She nodded. “A white Mustang. I think it?s a „79. But it looks brand-new.”
“How about the license?”
“I?ll get it for you.”
She got up and rooted through a large mahogany desk, leafing through papers until she found a
duplicate of the car registration. She handed it to me, along with a photograph from her wallet. It was
a colour Polaroid of a tallish, dark man, handsome, but a bit too intense, who looked to be in his early
thirties and was built like a lifeguard. He was sitting on the edge of a swimming pool with his legs in
the water.
“I remember him now,” I said.
“I thought perhaps you might check a round. Maybe somebody knows or has heard something,” she
said. “I don?t want to do anything official. Do you understand?” It was more of a plea than a request.
I nodded. “Sure, I can do that. Is that all?”
“I?d just like to know he isn?t.
She didn?t finish the sentence. She began to tremble. I moved over beside her and put an arm around
her. The more she tried to stop trembling, the worse it got.
“I?ll check around first thing,” I said, trying to comfort her. “Don?t worry, I?m sure he?s all right. It?s
been five days. If anything had happened to him, you?d know it by now.”
I wasn?t sure that was true, but it sounded good and she bought
it. She was suffering a delayed reaction to both her brother?s disappearance and the action in the alley.
I gently massaged her neck with two fingers, stroking the tight muscles that ran from the base of her
skull to her shoulders. After a while she loosened up. She shifted, turning toward me, and curled up.
I massaged her neck until my fingers got stiff, and she talked about a time that linked us to the past,
but in different ways.
“It?s funny, the things I remember about Doe from our school days,” she said, and giggled. “Did you
know,” she went on, as if sharing a secret, “that the maids used to iron Doe?s underwear? I know that
