the Third Twin

29

IT WAS A HOT NIGHT IN PHILADELPHIA. IN THE TENEMENT building, all the doors and windows were open: none of the rooms had air-conditioning. The sounds of the street floated up to apartment 5A on the top floor: car horns, laughter, snatches of music. On a cheap pine desk, scratched and marked with old cigarette burns, a phone was ringing.

He picked it up.

A voice like a bark said: “This is Jim.”

“Hey, Uncle Jim, how are you?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“How so?”

“I know what happened on Sunday night.”

He hesitated, not sure how to reply. “They’ve arrested someone for that.”

“But his girlfriend thinks he’s innocent.”

“So?”

“She’s coming to Philadelphia tomorrow.”

“What for?”

“I’m not sure. But I think she’s a danger.” “Shit.”

“You may want to do something about her.”

“Such as?”

“It’s up to you.”

“How would I find her?”

“Do you know the Aventine Clinic? It’s in your neighborhood.”

“Sure, it’s on Chestnut, I pass it every day.”

“She’ll be there at two P.M..”

“How will I know her?”

“Tall, dark hair, pierced nostril, about thirty.”

“That could be a lot of women.”

“She’ll probably be driving an old red Mercedes.”

“That narrows it down.”

“Now, bear in mind, the other guy is out on bail.” He frowned. “So what?”

“So, if she should meet with an accident, after she’s been seen with you …”

“I get it. They’ll assume it was him.”

“You always were quick thinking, my boy.”

He laughed. “And you always were mean thinking, Uncle.”

“One more thing.”

“I’m listening.”

“She’s beautiful. So enjoy.”

“Bye, Uncle Jim. And thanks.”