Blindside. Wilna Adriaanse
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“And you’re still keeping track of everything?”
“Yes, but let me tell you, if you drop the ball and I have to stand up in court and skip the country and spend the rest of my life living in some godforsaken village under a false name, I’m coming for you first. I’m not joking. Make sure you have a watertight case. I don’t want to have to go underground with a wig and a false moustache.”
“I see Allegretti bought new vehicles. Where did the money come from?”
“That’s how they move the money around. He also bought polo horses, a house at Val de Vie Estate near Paarl, where his horses are stabled, a powerboat, and he added to his share portfolio. Very conservative, and he sees to it that the amount doesn’t correspond with any amount that came in via another route. The trick is integration. Once it’s done, it’s harder to follow the money, but not impossible. There are often crumbs that help you pick up the trail. Are you aware that Allegretti’s lost hundreds of thousands at the gambling tables over the past few months?”
Nick nodded. “You told me so on the phone.”
“It’s an easy way to hide money, but if you’re not careful, the bug bites, and before you know it, you’re hooked.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s so on edge at the moment. He knows he’ll have to get the money back before the old man finds out. Things are beginning to make more sense.”
“I’ve said it before, it’s not rocket science.”
“Do the cops ever show up at the club?”
“Frequently. But it’s not as if they come over and introduce themselves. The faces also change.”
“And you’re sure they’re cops?”
“You recognise them a mile off. Maybe you should introduce yourself and compare notes. Won’t it simplify things?”
Nick shook his head. “Under no circumstances. There have been too many leaks already. At the moment I trust no one.”
“There must be someone you can trust.”
“We simply don’t have time to separate the sheep from the goats. Just accept for now that all cops are dirty, at least to some degree.”
Paul looked at his watch and got to his feet. “I have to go.”
“I’ll grab a lift with you to the city centre.”
“You must be joking.”
Nick got up as well and put a few notes on the table. “There are no taxis around here.”
“There are buses.”
“Dammit, Paul … Do you know how long it’s going to take me?”
“Your time versus my neck – no contest. See you later.”
Nick walked to the Standard Bank on the corner. When a minibus taxi stopped, he asked where they were heading.
“Bellville station.”
He got in. His chances of finding a taxi there were better, or he could take the train to town. He cursed under his breath.
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