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Back The Third Brother Save as PDF
Chapters (116)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by the Author
  3. The Third Brother
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. PART I
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. PART II
  67. 60
  68. 61
  69. 62
  70. 63
  71. 64
  72. 65
  73. 66
  74. 67
  75. 68
  76. 69
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. 80
  88. 81
  89. 82
  90. 83
  91. 84
  92. 85
  93. 86
  94. 87
  95. 88
  96. PART III
  97. 89
  98. 90
  99. 91
  100. 92
  101. 93
  102. 94
  103. 95
  104. 96
  105. 97
  106. 98
  107. 99
  108. 100
  109. 101
  110. 102
  111. 103
  112. 104
  113. 105
  114. 106
  115. 107
  116. 108

Analect was in Europe working for the Herald Tribune when he found out. He had gone to Vietnam, too, but then went to Europe instead of business school. So he came back for the wedding and was the best man. Thereafter he kept in touch with Mike’s mother and father as his career accelerated through various editing slots. He also kept in touch with Dorr, who had already made a name for himself, first in Vietnam and then in the Middle East, where he had won a Pulitzer during Black September. Shortly after the wedding, he sent Analect a cruel postcard from Beirut that read, “I got the Pulitzer. I hear he got the girl. How are you, Elliot?”

Analect’s occasional visits to Mike’s parents always had an edge. No one ever discussed Dorr. Years later, when Analect took over the bureau in Asia, he didn’t tell Mike’s parents that he was now Dorr’s boss. Even when Mike’s father called to ask about an internship for Mike. Analect said to send the kid over. And then he sent Mike to find Dorr.

55

Mike walks up the wooden stairs, carefully stepping over rotted planks. Three cats that were sunning scatter up to the porch ahead of him. The porch is small and crowded. There’s a rusted motorbike half-hidden under a mildewed yellow tarp and a baby carriage with no wheels. Garbage cans askew. Flies. The cats dodge in and out of the garbage.

From Dorr’s porch, Mike has a view of the neighborhood, an expanse of rusted, corrugated roofs glancing sunlight. Between them he can see children and dogs and clotheslines. Across the street, three men in beaten lawn chairs watch his progress up the stairs. They look at him looking at their neighborhood.

Mike turns to the door, kicking over a dog’s water dish. The dish is yellow plastic with the name Carrie painted on it by hand. Mike steps over the dish and knocks on the door. There is no answer. He’ll be home, Harrison said, just keep knocking. Mike knocks again. He feels the eyes of the men across the street as he keeps knocking.

Silence.

Mike wants to leave. His instinct is to get away from this place. His heart pounds. He focuses. He raps three times. Silence. He waits and listens and finds himself holding his breath. He raps three more times, makes himself breathe. Finally, through the silence, he hears shuffling. A bolt slides but the door remains closed.

“Mr. Dorr? My name is Mike. I think Elliot Analect might have written to you from the magazine.”

Mike thinks he can feel anger on the other side of the door as he hears another bolt sliding. Suddenly, the door opens and Mike is facing enormous black sunglasses wrapped around a gaunt, triangular head.

“Mr. Dorr?” When Mike extends his hand the man salutes him ironically and smiles.