Blake Crouch - Confidence Girl - The Letty Dobesh Chronicles

They reached him.

Isaiah and Jerrod let the bags slough off their shoulders. She peered over the ledge. The wall dropped six feet to the top level of a parking deck. A white Suburban idled below, the rear cargo doors thrown open.

The parking deck was well-lit, inhabited by a smattering of vehicles, but otherwise still and quiet.

“Your boy showed,” Isaiah said. He looked at Jerrod and Stu, said, “Homestretch. There will be cameras. Move like the wind, gentlemen.”

He hoisted a bag, swung it over the ledge, let it fall to the concrete on the other side.

The remaining bags followed.

Then the men.

Then Letty, climbing over last, letting her feet hang for a beat before dropping.

The Suburban’s rear seating had been removed.

Stu loaded the final duffel as Letty hurried around the back and climbed up into the front passenger seat.

She pulled off her mask and smiled at Christian.

“Good to see you again,” he said.

Ize and his crew piled in, doors slamming.

Isaiah said, “Christian, glad you could make it.”

Christian shifted into gear. “Where to?”

“Ninety-five north.”

Christian drove down the ramp into the parking garage.

A tense silence descending over the car.

After the second overly hard turn, Isaiah said, “Just drive cool, my man. This ain’t the movies. No one’s chasing us yet.”

Letty checked her iPhone—2:23.

Hard to believe that only twenty-three minutes had elapsed since the guards had walked into that suite. She’d worried enough in that time span for three lifetimes.

Each corner Christian turned ratcheted the knot in her stomach a little tighter.

Her hands trembled. She tried to steady them, but she was too amped.

She looked over, studied Christian. “You all right?” she asked.

He nodded, but he looked scared as hell.

The road out of the garage seemed to go on forever, like the Penrose stairs.

Turn.

After turn.

After turn.

Letty stared out the window, watching all the paint jobs of the cars gleaming under the harsh light.

Something reached her through the glass. She lowered her window two inches.

There it was—the screech of tires across smooth concrete.

She said, “Someone’s coming up fast.”

Jerrod said, “Ize? Should he pull into an open space? Let them pass?”

“Hell no. All likelihood, they got a vehicle description. We need to get the fuck out. Just drive, my man. And try not to crash.”

The screeching drew closer.

Letty heard Isaiah’s glass hum down, turned just in time to see him climbing up onto his knees, pointing an AR-15 through his window.

She buckled her seatbelt.

Christian took a hard, squealing turn.

A black Escalade ripped into view.

Isaiah opened up.

Three bursts on full auto, a smear of silver-rimmed holes starring the engine and driver side door of the Escalade. Its right-front tire blew. Christian gunned the Suburban, its back end jutting left, smashing into the side of the Escalade as it passed.

“Down!” Isaiah screamed.

The back window of the Suburban exploded in a splash of safety glass, bullets chinking into the cargo doors.

Christian cranked it around one last curve.

Letty saw them first—a black strip lying across the exit lane up ahead.

“Spikes!” she yelled. “Other lane!”

Christian steered over a six-inch concrete median with a violent shudder that seemed to tear apart the undercarriage. The entrance gate snapped off as they punched through and made a hard, blind turn into traffic.

They accelerated down Las Vegas Boulevard.

The Strip still rocking at 2:30 in the morning.

“Nicely done,” Isaiah said. “Now hang a left at the next intersection.”

Letty glanced back. Traffic moved slowly but there was plenty of it.

The curve of the Wynn fell away.

She heard frantic honking, accompanied by a symphony of sirens. Several SUVs a few hundred yards back were fighting their way through traffic with little success.

“Radio and scanner would be nice,” Stu said.

“Doing the best we can, brother.”

Letty said, “They’ll put out a description of the Suburban, right?”

“APB, no doubt.”

They lucked out, caught a protected green arrow at the next intersection.

Christian turned onto Desert Inn Road.

Compared to the Strip, this street was practically vacant.

Christian said, “Should I speed or just—”

“Hell yes, speed. We just knocked over a casino, son.”

The man pushed the gas pedal into the floor.

They screamed past a vacant lot where a new hotel was in its foundational infancy.

Then Trump Tower.

“Let’s get off the beaten path,” Isaiah said.

“Any particular direction?”

“Just keep us moving north.”

They drove residential streets dead quiet at this hour.

Isaiah said, “Now you keep it under control. Only drive like a maniac if you see the Po-Po coming.”

Letty leaned against the glass. Tried to steady her rampant pulse, but it wouldn’t slow. They hadn’t just robbed at gunpoint. She’d been part of a crew that had fired on casino security. Isaiah could have killed the driver. And if the cops showed, tried to take them down, was there any doubt that a gunfight of epic proportions would ensue?

How did you let it get this far?

Because I needed it to.

Are you really this person, Letisha Dobesh?

She smiled.

Because she was.

Because she loved it.

19

On the edge of town, Isaiah directed Christian into the boondocks of a Super Wal-Mart parking lot. It was surprisingly busy considering the hour. This far out from the epicenter of Save-Money-Live-Better land was the territory of Winnebagos, car campers, and one U-Haul. Specifically, a 4x8 trailer already rigged to the towing package of a car that had piqued Letty’s fear several days ago in Arizona.

Isaiah’s black Tundra.

Letty climbed out and raised the door.

The four men had the trailer loaded inside of thirty seconds.

# # #

They hit U.S. 95 at 3:00 a.m.

Blasted north.

Isaiah driving.

By 3:15, the suburban sprawl had begun to relent.

Patches of lightless, unsettled desert scrolling past with greater frequency.

The glow of the Strip dwindled in the rearview mirror.

The sky trading the absurdity of the Vegas skyline for honest-to-God stars.

# # #

Even forty miles out of town, no one spoke.

As if their success up to this moment hinged upon a collective silence.

# # #

By four o’clock in the morning they were tearing through a landscape that looked ready-made for missile testing.

Scorched earth.

Joyless mountains.

No trees.

Snakeskin country.

It was Isaiah who finally broke the silence.

Said, “Christian. I’d roll with you again. You absolutely badass.”

Letty looked back, saw Christian smirking.

“And you, Letty,” Isaiah said. She could hear the celebration beginning to build in his voice. “Wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here.”

She said, “I told Christian he’d make at least a million.”

“Nope,” Isaiah said. “My man stepped up on a moment’s notice. Saved the day. Let’s call it one point five. How you guys know each other back wherever you from?”

“He’s my therapist.”

“No, seriously.”

# # #

They rode toward Death Valley under a star-blown sky.

Letty’s adrenaline charge had tapped out.

She hadn’t been this dog-tired since the birth of her son.

Ize turned off the highway.

For several miles, they bumped along a one-lane road that snaked through the creosote.

The stars had just begun to fade and the sky to draw color when Letty spotted structures in the distance.