Page 102 of Twice
They departed—and so did Mike—having committed no crime but the phony ball. Given that, I am hoping you can be lenient, Vincent. After all, you have been spared years of pain and rehabilitation, even if you are unaware of it. One favor merits another, I hope.
Now, to the final bet. I told you that I did not cheat to win the two million dollars. And I did not. I wanted no part of the chips I had amassed in stopping Mike, nearly $58,000. So I impulsively pushed them all onto28 black. I chose that number because Gianna’s birthday is the second of August. I figured, why not? It’s as good a way to lose as any other.
Except the number won.
I know. It’s crazy. The first thing in decades that I left to total chance, and it came up a jackpot.
There’s a lesson there, I think.
So I sent the money to Gianna. My final act of loyal assistance. I will be dead soon, and unable to help her anymore. If you contact my attorney, you will find that I left everything to her in my will anyhow.
With the exception of the two hundred thousand I sent to Africa.
And you’re probably not going to love this last part.
I found out Juma had sold Lallu for a high price to a recreation outfit in Zimbabwe. They were chaining her in a pen and making her give rides to tourists. It hurt my soul. That’s not a life.
So I bought her freedom. I arranged for her to be taken home to Kenya. Because I won’t be able to do this myself, I put your name on the paperwork.
Technically, Vincent, you now own an elephant.
At the bottom of this page is a confirmation number for two tickets to Zimbabwe. First class. And full instructions. I know it’s asking a lot, but after all the time we spent together today (and I repeated many parts of our interrogation so I could get to know you better) I sense that deep down you are a good man, if a flawedone, like me. And that you will help. Let Lallu die in freedom, as I wish to die myself.
I believe you’ll find a way.
I hope you continue to catch the bad guys, Vincent, and you find contentment. And love, if you are lucky. What I’ve learned—after all this time—is that love is indeed the only rational act.
And the only real lifesaver.
Unlike those ones you pop in your mouth.
Warmest regards,
Alfred “Alfie” Logan
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Nine days later, LaPorta exited the hospital’s sliding doors and squinted against the sunlight. It always felt strange to leave a building where someone had just died and suddenly be in sunshine, wind tickling your face. Did the world forget us so quickly? Or did it never take much notice in the first place?
LaPorta never got to question Alfie further. His speech improved only enough for a few grunts. Then, two days ago, he developed sepsis. His weakened body couldn’t fight it off. He died just before sunrise.
LaPorta reached for his car keys and felt Alfie’s final letter in his pocket. He pulled it free and studied the last handwritten paragraphs. Then, as often happens after someone you know dies, he thought about his own mortality. His age. His health. His life.
And his wife.
He took out his phone and called her.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
“It’s kind of early. Everything all right?”
“Yeah.” LaPorta sighed. “I’ve been thinking. You want to get away? Take a trip? Just the two of us?”
“Yes.” Her voice perked up. “Yes, Vince. I’d love that.”
“Good.”
