Page 95 of Twice
Around the same time, the roulette croupier, whose name was Solomon Augustin, was arrested returning to his apartment two blocks off Bay Street.
Both men, and Toussaint, the Haitian casino dealer, were questioned in separate rooms by Vince LaPorta.
The croupier again denied knowing Alfie. But he reacted differently when asked about Mike Kurtz. With a prior misdemeanor on his record, he was worried about a second offense. He agreed to confess in exchange for leniency.
“Talk,” LaPorta said.
The croupier said that Kurtz and two cohorts had approached him with a proposition. They’d managed to get a magnet under a roulette wheel in the casino and wanted him to slip a special ball in it during a moment when the security cameras were blocked. In exchange, they offered the croupier a large cut of their winnings.
“How did this ball work?” LaPorta asked.
“A computer chip inside. And magnets, one in the ball, one outside.”
“Where was the outside magnet?”
“Mike wore it.”
“Where?”
The croupier tapped his hip. “Under his pants. If he stands close enough, and the man with the computer programs it right, the magnet pulls the ball to the number they bet.”
LaPorta rubbed his forehead. He had heard of magnet use, but computer chips were a new frontier. This was high-level cheating. He wondered how he was going to stay ahead of it.
“So where does Alfie Logan fit in this?”
“Who?”
LaPorta banged his finger on the iPad photo.
“The guy who placed the bets! The guy who won the money! Him!”
“I told you, I don’t know that man! He comes from nowhere, sits down, and plays the numbers that this Mike guy programmed.”
“But the footage never shows Mike Kurtz betting.”
“He wasn’t supposed to. His partner was. But when this man—what’s his name?”
“Alfie—”
“When this Alfie put so many chips on that number, Mike’s man got scared. When he did it again, Mike got scared, too. He called it off. They left.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. You see? Nothing happened. I am innocent.”
“You put a loaded ball into a rigged roulette wheel. That’s not innocent.”
But LaPorta’s mind wasn’t on charging the croupier. He still had no answer for Alfie’s actions.
“What about the third time? When Alfie won the two million?”
“I told you! I don’t know nothing about this Alfie!”
LaPorta rose, yanked open the door, and marched down the hall. He pushed into another interrogation room, where Mike Kurtz was seated, rapping his knuckles on a table. He was tall, muscular, and unshaven, with dark, thinning hair and an earring. His shirt was one of those flower print things tourists buy in overpriced hotel shops.
“Alfie Logan!” LaPorta barked. “What’s your connection with him?”
Kurtz scowled. “Don’t ask me about that prick.”
