Page 8 of Twice
“If I had a dollar for every time someone sang that to me—”
“You’d have as much money as you stole?”
Alfie smiled. “I didn’t steal anything.”
“Really? You immediately wired your winnings to some woman, and we picked you up the next morning at a travel agency, buying tickets to Africa.”
“So?”
“Sooo, that sounds a lot like a guy trying to run and hide from something.”
“The tickets weren’t for me.”
“Who were they for?”
“If you just let me finish this—”
“Yeah, yeah. Your alibi notebook. I know.”
LaPorta checked his phone. No message yet from the Bahamian police. He sighed. Things took forever in the islands.
“It’s from a movie, isn’t it?” LaPorta said. “That song?Alfie?”
“Yes. A movie about a playboy who gets all these women to fall in love with him, but eventually pays a price.”
“So that’s you? A playboy?”
“No. Just the guy who paid a price.”
“Well, I don’t give a crap. How’s that? When do we get to the roulette scheme?”
“I told you. It’s part of the story.”
LaPorta drummed his fingernails on the table.
“Come on then, playboy. Keep reading.”
The Composition Book
My father and I moved back to America, to our old neighborhood outside Philadelphia. My mother was buried a few miles away, in a cemetery just off the highway. I remember the constant whoosh of traffic as they lowered her casket into the ground. It felt so disrespectful, people driving past, going to work, listening to their radios. I put my hands over my ears. I didn’t hear most of what the pastor said.
After everyone left, I stood there with my father, staring at the grave.
“Why do they throw dirt in there?” I asked.
“That’s just how they do it, Alfie.”
“Mom didn’t like dirt.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Should we clean it out?”
He bit his lip and squeezed my shoulder. The wind blew. I think that was the moment I realized it was just him and me now.
