Blake Crouch - Confidence Girl - The Letty Dobesh Chronicles

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.

She could feel her adrenaline begin to spike as she approached. She drew within range of Richter and the bimbo. The woman stood on legs that looked too insubstantial to support her top half.

Richter was staring at her with a glazed look that Letty hoped was boredom.

She inched closer.

Overheard the bimbo shouting: “Yah, I’ve been out here about a year and a half. It’s pretty fun, you know. Lots to do. Sometimes, I wake up and it’s like, I live in Vegas, right? Like, oh-my-God!”

Letty looked up at Richter.

Eye contact.

He said, “And what’s this? Another fly come to suck off our bottle service?”

He turned away from both women, called out, “Gentlemen, let’s roll.”

Letty shoved down the flush of rage.

Do not let him leave.

But she couldn’t think of a single play to stop this from happening.

Bimbo said, “Asshole,” and stormed off.

Richter and the rest of his crew headed out, with Isaiah bringing up the rear.

He didn’t even look at her.

8

Letty’s feet were killing her. She eased down into one of the chairs at the empty table.

Steaming.

In shock.

She’d choked.

Her first job since last Christmas, and she’d blown it.

A promoter materialized—cute brunette with chopped hair. Amazing dress. Nametag read Jessica.

She smiled at Letty and knelt down so she didn’t have to shout.

“Hi, what’s your name?”

Letty said, “Gidget.”

“Well, Gidget, this is actually a reserved table. I have a group I need to put here.”

Screams from the next table over drew Letty’s attention. Looked like a bachelorette party unfolding. Pure, smashed joy.