Page 47 of Twice
LaPorta smirked, but his mind did jump to his second wife, Barbara, and the summer they met in Las Vegas, a late-night swim they took after the pool was closed. They couldn’t stop pawing one another in the water, bobbing and kissing and wrapping their legs around each other. Eventually, they ducked into a nearby cabana and yanked the curtain closed. He was still in solid shape in those days, stomach tight, chest firm, and he remembered the sensation of her body pressed against his, the dampness of their skin, her breath in his ear. He wanted every inch of her, every minute of her. It stayed that way for a while.
“Let’s say I did,” LaPorta offered. “What about it?”
“What Gianna and I had was like that,” Alfie said. “Every day in college, I just wanted to know where she was. Every meal, we would sit together. If I went to a convenience store, I’d buy her a key chain or a little stuffed animal. Or she’d show up at my dorm room with a record album she’d bought because I said I liked a song on the radio.
“When I had exams, she left good luck notes under my door. If she got sick, I brought her chicken soup and nose spray. When we walked around, we held hands. When we watched a movie, she leaned her head on my shoulder. I couldn’t be around her without physically connecting, you know?”
“Whatever,” LaPorta snipped. He didn’t want to let on that he’d experienced such feelings, too, but lost them along the way. He couldn’t tell if Alfie’s story was making him sympathetic or envious. It was definitely distracting, like getting caught up in a TV show when you’re supposed to be doing work. He wanted to find out what happened with this Gianna.
But.
“What doesanyof this have to do with the two million dollars?” he asked.
“I told you, the notebook will explain everything.”
“Or it won’t, and you’ll go to jail.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Listen, pal. You gotta take this more seriously—”
His cell phone buzzed. He lifted it to his ear. “Yeah?”
“I have some new information, Vincent.”
It was Sampson, his connection with the Bahamian national police. LaPorta rose and stepped into the hallway. He closed the door behind him.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“Your suspect went straight to the bank after the casino. He wired all the money out.”
“I know that already.”
“The big chunk went to that woman’s bank account in Florida. Rule. Gianna Rule?”
“Yeah, I know—”
“But, listen. He went to another bank twenty minutes later. He did a second wire. Two hundred thousand. To Zimbabwe in Africa.”
“What?”LaPorta grabbed his forehead. “Why didn’t we know this before?”
“The teller who did the wire went home just before we got to the bank. We found him this afternoon when he came in for his shift.”
“He confirmed?”
“Two hundred grand. To an account in Bulawayo, wherever that is.”
“What kind of account?”
“It’s a company. We’re trying to find out who owns it, but it’s the middle of the night there.”
“Call me as soon as you get ahold of them.”
He hung up and reentered the room. He studied Alfie, who was looking down and smiling at the page he had just read aloud. LaPorta admonished himself. He had actuallystarted to root for this guy, hoping there was an innocent explanation for the whole roulette thing. But innocent people didn’t wire money to foreign bank accounts and buy international plane tickets.
“Everything all right, Detective?” Alfie said.
“Just peachy.”
