Blake Crouch - Confidence Girl - The Letty Dobesh Chronicles

“What happened?”

“Long story short, I went to a meeting instead.”

“Good for you. That’s great, Letty.”

She reached across the table and took hold of his hand.

“Christian, I have to go.”

“Thanks for lunch. Thanks for stopping in the lobby when you saw me. You could’ve walked right on past. I’d never have known.”

“This isn’t goodbye. You’re having dinner with me tonight,” she said.

“That means I have to be alive tonight.”

She smiled. “Yes, it does.”

14

There were now four people waiting inside of Letty’s room at the Wynn.

Isaiah.

Mark.

And two men she’d never seen before.

Isaiah sprang off the bed, said, “There she is.”

As the door closed behind Letty, she noted that the temperature in the room had changed. There was now a palpable pregame energy. The air juiced with nerves, fear, anticipation.

Ize walked over and took her by the arm, said, “Meet Jerrod.” She smiled at the tall, rugged man leaning against the dresser. He sported a patchy beard and long, walnut-colored hair bundled up into a ponytail.

Isaiah motioned to the other man. “And this is Stu. Three of us helped spread freedom to the Middle East.”

“I’m Letty, nice to meet you.”

Stu didn’t rise from the bed.

Just gave her a slight nod.

His hair was curly and black, and he didn’t boast the intimidating build of either Isaiah or Jerrod. But his eyes were as hard as any she’d ever met.

Letty looked at Isaiah. “You intercepted the call?”

He smiled.

“It came in two texts. First the time. Then the room number.”

“And it corresponds to a room in this hotel?”

“Tenth floor. East side of the building. In terms of location, it’s pretty close to perfect.”

“How so?”

“If they took the money any higher, we couldn’t rappel out from the room below. We’d have to get a second room closer to ground level. That would mean riding elevators. Exposing ourselves to cameras. It would represent a substantial escalation of risk.”

“Rappel?”

“What’d you think, Letty? We were going to tote this shit out in duffel bags through the lobby?”

“What’s the time frame?”

“They’re moving the money at oh-two hundred. To your civilian ass, that’s—” He glanced at his watch. “—a little more than eleven hours from now.” Isaiah looked at Mark. “Our rental van is ready for pick up. Go get it and scope the parking deck one last time.”

Letty said, “What about Richter?”

Mark grinned. “One of the cooler things I managed was to program an incoming call control feature into Richter’s phone.”

“English.”

“Using the clone, we can call him from any number.”

“So tonight,” Isaiah said, “just before we suit up, we’ll send Richter a text from his Secret Santa, hit him with a fake room number and a fake ETA on Sunday night.”

Letty said, “So by the time he realizes the grift...”

“We’ll all be long gone.”

She had to smile. “So what happens now?”

“While Stu and Jerrod bring over the toys, I got a little job for you.”

“Okay.”

“Your outfit’s in the bathroom.”

# # #

Letty walked down the hallway on the ninth floor.

At the door, she straightened her hunter green blazer and smoothed her skirt.

Knocked.

A groggy-eyed man answered.

Sleep lines down the right side of his face

She said, “Mr. Sax?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Amanda, RDM here at the Wynn.”

“RDM?”

“Rooms Division Manager. We’ve had a maintenance issue crop up. It’s impacting the air quality for a segment of rooms on floors eight through eleven. Unfortunately yours is one of them. We’re going to need to move you to another room.”

“But we’re already unpacked and—”

“I understand.” She smiled. “Of course, we’ll be upgrading you to a Salon Suite, which is nearly two thousand square feet, three times the size of your current room. We’ll also be giving you two hundred dollars in chips as a token of our appreciation for your understanding. We’re terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

# # #

Letty hit a brisk stride on her way back to the Palazzo.

It was almost five o’clock, and she had six hours to kill before Ize’s crew was set to rendezvous in the room directly below 1068.

Waiting at the crosswalk on Sands, she dialed Christian’s mobile.

“Hi, Letty.”

“Something’s come up. Can we do an early dinner?”

“Sure, when?”

“I’m free right now,” she said. “I just need to change. Let’s meet in the lobby in thirty minutes. And wear a coat. I’m taking you someplace special.”

“A proper last meal sounds nice.”

# # #

She asked the concierge to point her toward the best restaurant in town. At first he demurred. A twenty spot pulled a definitive answer out of him—a French place down the Strip at the MGM Grand. But he feigned doubt that reservations could be procured on such short notice. Forty dollars secured said reservations.

Christian met her at the same bench where she’d found him coming to pieces earlier in the day.

He’d cleaned up. He looked good and smelled good and she told him so, then took his arm as they walked together out into the scorching Vegas evening.

The sun was falling, reflecting off all the chrome and glass.

So hot it seemed like combustion would’ve been a certainty if there was anything green in sight.

The restaurant sent a limo.

Riding down the boulevard, Letty was struck with the feeling that it wasn’t just Christian’s last meal, but maybe hers as well. Something about the golden quality of the late light. A sadness, a finality to it.

She stared out the tinted window and thought about her son.

# # #

They went all-in on a sixteen course tasting menu.

It was like eating in a library—hushed and reverent—but the food was out of this world. Letty wouldn’t drink but insisted Christian have the wine flight. She had been worried going in that the conversation would be heavy, but they found common ground.

Politics.

Children.

Movies.

Letty sat on a velvet couch, propped up with pillows. Rich royal purple drapes everywhere she looked. Ivy walls. Candlelight.

She had the best lamb she’d ever tasted. Must’ve been fed gold flakes and the milk of the gods.

The bread cart was legendary.

Like baked clouds.

Everything plated as beautifully as jewelry. The artistic detail more precise than coinage.

Over espressos, Christian said, “I hope that whatever has really brought you to Vegas won’t keep you from seeing your son again.”

“It’s a risk. But I just have this fear that if I were to walk away and drive up to Oregon to be with my son, that within a few months, I’d be broke. Living out of a motel. Strung out. Maybe dead.”

“Sounds like your business here could produce the same end result.”

“Yeah, but at least I wouldn’t be doing it to myself. Truth is, I think about dying all the time. I think about my son finding out. And of all the possible scenarios, Jacob hearing that mommy was found OD’d and decomposing in a motel, is the worst.”

“So you are back in the game.”

“Are you judging me?”

“No.”

“Look, it fills this hole in my soul that I used to throw drugs at.”

“Your son doesn’t fill it?”

“Only part way.”

“So you’re saying it’s either crime or drugs for you. Can’t live without one or the other.”

“If I take drugs I will definitely die. If I... ...”

He finished her sentence: “Steal?”