Grab (Letty Dobesh #3) Read online

  "How'd you find me?"

  "Friend of mind in Charleston put a TrimTrac on your ride. Know what that is?" She shook her head. "Little device that lets me track your location using GPS. I heard you was coming west, thought we should meet."

  "Why?"

  "We'll get to that."

  "I have a phone. Just calling would've been less creepy than this by a factor of a hundred."

  "I'm more persuasive in person."

  "Have we met before?"

  "No, but we share a friend."

  "Who's that?"

  "My man, Jav."

  "Javier sent you after me?"

  "Not after you. To you. With a proposal."

  "I hope you weren't counting on Javier's name to facilitate whatever the hell you thought was going to happen here."

  He reached his hand across the table. "Isaiah."

  She didn't take it.

  "Damn, that's cold."

  "I want you to get your tracking device off my car and leave me alone."

  "Why you hatin' when you ain't even heard what—"

  "Does Javier want something? Is that what this is about?"

  "No, I want something."

  "I don't understand."

  "He recommended you to me."

  "For what?"

  He grinned. "What do you think? A job."

  Letty leaned back against the seat.

  "I did some work with Jav last fall," Isaiah said. "He's an interesting—"

  "He's a psychopath."

  "Be that as it may, he knows a lot of people. I called him last week. Told him about this thing I got going. This bind I'm in. Told him the kind of person, kind of skill set I needed, and he said I had to have you."

  "No, I'm done with all that." Even as she said it she tasted the lie. "Do you know why I'm driving across the country, Isaiah?"

  "No."

  "To see my son."

  "For real?"

  "For real."

  "And what? You ain't seen him in a while?"

  She shook her head.

  "What happened?"

  "Right. I'm going to tell the guy who's been spying on me for the last week about my private affairs."

  "You ain't gotta be this way, Letisha. I ain't coming at you with negativity."

  She sighed. "What do you want?"

  "Javier tells me you the best."

  "The best what."

  "Best liar he's ever worked with."

  "Thanks, I guess."

  "And that you got scary-fast hands."

  "So."

  "So that's exactly what I need."

  "I think I already gave you my answer."

  "You don't even want the pitch?"

  "Nope."

  "So you out, huh? Gonna go be Miss Respectable Citizen? Get a nine to five. Pay taxes. All that shit?"

  "I'm gonna go be a mother to my son."

  Isaiah's eyes didn't exactly soften, but his body language changed. Like someone had let a little air out of the tires.

  "That's cool then. I feel that." He crumpled up his Subway wrapper, slid out of the booth. "Good luck to you, Letisha."

  "You too Isaiah. Hope the score's big and you don't get caught."

  His laugh was low, booming. "Never."

  # # #

  She watched him walk out of the restaurant.

  Felt suddenly cold.

  Alone and empty and void of anything approaching hope.

  Here it came, right on cue—the crushing need to use.

  Challenge the thought.

  When I'm high and when I'm on a job—those are the only times in my life not plagued by the sadness of the past and the fear of the future.

  So, tonight you can either be high in some motel room, taking that first step toward running your life into the ground once again.

  Or...

  5

  Letty caught Isaiah in the parking lot, crouched down beside her car, prying the tracking device off the undercarriage.

  He looked up, grinning.

  She said, "I was thinking."

  "Yeah?"

  "You wanna walk around the crater."

  # # #

  It was God-awful hot, Letty already sweating.

  Isaiah moved slowly along the footpath. They had to keep stopping to let the tour group up ahead gain distance.

  "Ever hear of a man named Richter?" he asked.

  "What thief hasn't? The rock star grifter we all want to be. But he's just a myth. Urban legend."

  "Actually, he's not."

  "You've met him?"

  "I'm doing a job with him."

  Letty felt a pulse of energy ride up the bones of her legs into her stomach, like it had come from the ground beneath her feet.

  "Where's the job?"

  "Four and a half hours from where you stand."

  She stopped.

  Shielded her eyes from the sun as she stared up at him. He was smiling but his eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses.

  "Vegas?"

  "Fabulous Las Vegas."

  She said, "A man I respect very much once told me that of all the jobs in the world, the only one I should never touch was a casino. Said 'there's all this money floating around waiting for us just to reach up and grab it. Why rob it from the pit of hell?'"

  They walked again.

  "I'm part of Richter's ten-man crew," Isaiah said.

  "What's your superpower?"

  "Brute force. Weapons. I was Force Recon back in the day. So the vault in one of the major casinos is having its security system overhauled this coming weekend. We don't know if it's Friday, Saturday, or Sunday."

  "I'm not going into any goddamn vault. I'll just tell you that right now."

  "Me and you both, sister. Here's the cool part. They don't trust nobody. Not even the security company personnel. Two hours before the install, they box the cash up and cart it from the vault area into a room in the hotel. Of course, the money is still guarded by its own private army, but at least there's no vault to break it out of."

  "And what? Richter has a guy on the inside?"

  "Exactly. At some point on Friday, twenty-four to thirty-six hours from now, Richter will get a call or a text from his contact. They'll tell him when the security install is happening and which room in the hotel will be housing all that cash. Richter's plan is ingenious. The crew gains access to the room directly underneath. We go through the ceiling, set up an ambush, and let the money come to us."

  "You have blueprints of the hotel?"

  "No. Too many variables and possibilities. We'll have to finalize our game plan once we see the room they've chosen."

  "Sounds super risky."

  "For sure. But the probability of success is much greater than if we had to go through a vault, grab the cash, and fight our way back out through the casino. No amount of money could get me to sign up for that shit."

  "I guess I'm just confused. I mean, the idea of working with Richter sounds intriguing. But I'm having a hard time seeing where I fit into all of this. Your plan sounds solid. What do you need me for?"

  "Jav said you could be trusted."

  "I can."

  "You wouldn't be working with Richter."

  "I don't understand."

  "Richter put the crew together, but he's doing one thing in this whole deal. He's giving us the room number and the time. It's his contact at the hotel. I give him that. But he ain't gonna be anywhere near the hotel room when the half-dozen armed guards roll in with the money."

  "His contact, his show, right?"

  "He's taking half. Other nine of us are splitting the rest. And it's like we should be grateful for the privilege. That sound right to you?"

  "Not so much."

  "So I'm thinking, sure Richter's a legend, but fuck him."

  "How exactly?"

  "I'm running a shadow crew. Brought in Jerrod and Stu, two of my boys from Iraq. We're going to take down this money. Estimate is thirty-eight to forty mil. Split that four ways, includi
ng you, we're talking possibly seven zeroes apiece. You know what I call that?"

  "No, what do you call that?"

  "I call that you ain't gotta do shit ever again money. I call that living right for the rest of your life money. Don't tell me some part of you hasn't always dreamed of robbing a casino."

  She was starting to see it—her place in this madness.

  They had walked half a mile, and she was dripping with sweat. She looked back at the visitor's center.

  "Richter's phone," she said. "You want me to grab it. That's why you want me, right?"

  Isaiah grinned. "Among other things."

  "What other things?"

  "Whatever we need. But nothing you can't handle. And if you ain't down for that, I'm happy to pay you a flat rate for the grab. But if you want to be in on the split, you see this thing through to the end."

  "I don't do jobs that require guns," she said. "Not for any amount of money."

  "Well, I guess it's your lucky day."

  "No guns? Seriously?"

  "No guns for the takedown. Too noisy. Too messy. But if things turn to shit after, I make no promises. If you need to think it over, I can give you one hour. But the clock is ticking."

  "No."

  "No?"

  "I don't need to think it over."

  6

  Letty rolled down Las Vegas Boulevard at sunset, the Strip already aglow.

  It had been five years since her last visit, and she was happy to see that everything about this city still got under her skin in the best kind of way. Where most people saw absurdity and flash, she saw art and life and possibility. There was the Venetian, lit up like a white angel. The MGM Grand the color of money or the guy at the Blackjack table losing his shirt while everyone around him wins.

  She loved the universal hustle.

  The bellboys, the strippers, the hookers, the dealers, the doormen, the bartenders.

  Everyone angling.

  She could live here.

  # # #

  Isaiah had checked her into a Prestige suite at the Palazzo. After a week of Motel 6's and worse, this elevation into luxury made her exuberant.

  She ordered up room service, then headed downstairs to find an outfit for the evening with the envelope of hundos that Isaiah had provided as a starting expense account.

  She bought a dress at Chloe's.

  Pumps at Christian Louboutin.

  Had a makeover at a salon called Fresh.

  By ten o'clock she looked like a completely different creature. The seven-day accumulation of road grunge gone. She stood at the window in the living room of her suite looking down at the traffic moving along Sands Avenue twenty-eight floors below. Across the street, she had a perfect view of their ultimate target.

  The sleek curve of the Wynn.

  But tonight wasn't about money or a vault.

  Tonight was all on her.

  Richter and his crew would be at Tryst at 11:00 p.m.

  A knock at her door pulled her away from the window.

  Through the peephole, she saw a bellboy.

  Opened the door.

  "I have a package for you, ma'am."

  She took the small box and gave him a five-spot.

  Letty carried it into the kitchen. It resembled a jewelry box. Simple. Elegant. Gold paper. Her phone rang as she tugged off the white ribbon and tore at the wrapping paper.

  "Hello?"

  "Get my package?"

  "You really shouldn't have."

  She lifted the top off the box.

  A black iPhone and a photograph.

  The photo was a headshot of a white man with a shaven head and a few days' worth of stubble darkening his jaw line. For some reason the smooth head and intense eyes reminded Letty of a thug in a European heist flick. Otherwise, he was unremarkable. Nothing like how she'd imagined the legend. Then again, maybe that was the point.

  Isaiah said, "I'll need access to Richter's phone for one hour. This is his replacement."

  "Does it work?"

  "No. It was impossible for Mark to replicate his contact list, apps, text, call history. Safer play to swap it for a non-functioning phone. It'll power up and display a black screen. What I'm asking isn't easy. I need you to swap his current phone out for this one. Then you're going to have to hand off his phone to my contact at the club. He'll find you, so don't worry about that. Then you have to entertain Richter for an hour while my guy builds the clone. Then you have to switch his real phone back for the fake."

  She said, "What if he freaks when his phone doesn't work?"

  "If he's into you, maybe he doesn't even think about his phone for an hour."

  "This is a tall order," she said. "Just so you know."

  "Tall orders come with big paydays. You got this, Letisha?"

  "Yeah. And by the way, it's Letty. I go by Letty."

  "Aiight. Since we turning into homies, I go by Ize."

  "See you in the club, Ize."

  7

  Even at 10:30, the line to get into Tryst was ridiculous. Letty was pretty sure she looked fabulous, but in the back of her mind, her age kept popping. Fifteen years older than almost everyone around. She didn't look thirty-six, at least not tonight. Could've possibly passed for something that started with a 2 depending on the lighting, but still...

  The group ahead of her consisted of two couples.

  One of the guys was trying to talk to a doorman in black slacks and a muscle-T with the cold eyes of an assassin. A man who had heard every plea to get inside. He was flipping pages on a clipboard and shaking his head.

  "I don't see you on anybody's guest list. And just to be straight up with you, there's no way you're going inside wearing sandals and shorts."

  "Are you kidding me?"

  "Do I look like I'm kidding you? Go put on some adult clothes and try again."

  "This is bullshit."

  The doorman looked past the group, met eyes with Letty.

  She pushed her way through to the velvet rope.

  "How's your night going?" she asked.

  "No complaints. What's your name?"

  "I'm not on anybody's guest list."

  "We're pretty full tonight."

  "How about I just give you a hundred bucks?"

  She already had it in her hand. The doorman looked down, took it, opened the velvet rope.

  She tried not to let it eat at her as she moved through the lounge area toward the entrance, the house music beginning to build. She'd had to slide a bribe to get in. Couldn't deny it. It stung.

  The lounge was a spread of reserved tables and clusters of beautiful people.

  She opened her purse, checked her phone.

  A new text from Isaiah: north patio by the waterfall

  She paid her cover charge and entered the club.

  The place was mobbed and loud beyond any level of pleasure she could conceive of. Straight on, the DJ booth was manned by a cleancut white kid whose real job you would never suspect outside these walls. Behind it, a waterfall crashed into a lake. Paths branched off the dance floor, one leading toward the main bar, the other to what she guessed was a VIP lounge.

  The decor and vibe felt seedy, dark, and elegant all at once.

  The strobe was disorienting, the heat on the dance floor massive.

  As she skirted through, two men caught her eyes and tried to lure her in.

  The air redolent of alcohol, cologne, sweat.

  She fought her way to the doors leading out onto the north patio.

  Despite it being summertime in the desert, it was cooler outside the crush of pheromones.

  The pool teamed with schools of bikini-clad women and ripped men.

  The stimulation dizzying.

  She wanted a drink. A hit of crystal.

  It was the most beautiful nightclub she'd ever seen, and to be here carefree and high would have been exhilarating.

  To be here on a job, she had to admit, was a close second.

  Even outside, there was no place to sit.
Every table either filled or reserved.

  She spotted Isaiah standing near a table in the far corner, tucked in beside the waterfall. He was laughing and he looked good—designer blue jeans, Red Wing boots, black-T under a green velvet bomber jacket. He stood with four other men, far outnumbered by the entourage of women surrounding them.

  It took Letty several minutes to make her way through the crowd to the outskirts of Isaiah's table.

  She stood alone.

  So much movement, so much conversation all around her.

  Lanterns hung from the trees and she could just hear the white noise of the falling water.

  Nine hours ago, she'd been talking to Isaiah at the crater.

  Seemed like years ago.

  A trainwreck of a thought barreled through her mind.

  There are so many women here more beautiful than you. Richter is surrounded by them. Why would he give you the time of day? Why should he? You look out of place here. You had to pay extra just to get inside—

  Stop. Maybe challenging the thought works on a job, too?

  Quit being insecure.

  This isn't the hardest thing you've ever done.

  You know how to make people like you.

  I need a drink.

  No you don't.

  Yes I do.

  She let the stimulation overwhelm her.

  The smell of champagne like spring in the air.

  The starless Vegas sky.

  The voluptuous architecture of the Wynn.

  The bright blue of the pool and the yellow glow behind the ninety-foot waterfall.

  The red heat inside the club.

  The infectious groove as the DJ remixed a song she liked—the Cowboy Junkies covering "Ooh Las Vegas."

  Everyone around her was moving. She let her hips begin to sway. Everyone was here to have fun and so was she. So was Richter.

  She had this.

  Letty moved closer to their table.

  There.

  Talking to one of the orbiting women who looked just bimbo enough to possibly be an escort.

  Richter was shorter than she'd imagined. Barely five-ten. He wasn't handsome, just put together nicely. Retro glasses. A short-sleeved button down that seemed to shimmer. No belt. Shiny black wingtips. No jacket.

  In that case, she'd be mining the front pockets of his slacks. Back pocket would be better. Cargo pants pockets ideal. But front pocket was workable, and his pants didn't look too tight. In fact, it was more in her comfort zone than a grab from an inner jacket pocket. A pants pocket is a pocket. What you see is what you get, with tightness being the only variable. An inner jacket pocket that you couldn't see was full of surprises. Like zippers. Snaps. Buttons. All manner of things to snag probing fingers.