Blake Crouch - Grab

"Is Richter's contact from the casino going to call or text?" Letty asked. "Or do we even know?"

"No idea."

Mark said, "I'll scan through his text history and see if I can pin down any promising leads."

Isaiah grabbed one of the walkie-talkies off the dresser and slipped in an earpiece.

"We stay in constant communication until that magic text or call comes."

"You got it," Mark said.

"If a call comes in, we talk it through. Any uncertainty, it doesn't go to Richter."

"Agreed. And what if a Vegas phone number shows up? Or worse, a private number?"

"Then we roll the dice and I answer. I got Richter's voice down cold just in case."

Isaiah pocketed the white iPhone and grinned at Letty.

"You done good, girl."

"Glad it worked out."

"You heading back to the Palazzo?"

"That's the plan."

"I'll walk you out."

In the hallway, Isaiah stopped her.

"My suggestion—go back to your room, get some sleep. This shit may go down in the wee hours."

"Rest of your crew's in town?"

"Everybody's on standby. Soon as we know the room number, we're ready to get it on. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You want out now, that's cool. I'll peel off two-fifty for your work and you can go on your merry way. No more risk."

Tempting.

But the truth was, she didn't want the job to end.

"I told you I'd see it through, Ize."

"That's my girl."

"What about Mark. Is he—"

"Work for hire. He's also our driver. He knows enough to do his job, but no more. You, me, Jerrod, and Stu. That's the only way this money splits."

She started walking toward the elevators.

He called out after her, "Get on your game face, girl!"

# # #

Letty moved through the lobby of the Palazzo, under a glass dome and past a two-story fountain.

The high from stealing Richter's phone was fading.

Fear rushing in to take its place.

She hadn't really thought beyond the initial grab. Hadn't begun to come to terms with the concept of Isaiah and his buddies taking down a heavily-armed casino security team. Much less her place in that equation.

Up ahead, a man sat on a bench, his face buried in his hands.

It was the hair she recognized—perfectly trimmed brown on the cusp of turning silver. A part she'd recognize anywhere.

She stopped and said, "Christian?"

Her therapist looked up, cologned with booze, eyes red and swollen with tears. He wore a wrinkled sports jacket and khaki slacks that looked like they'd been slept in.

"Letty?" he said.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

He wiped his eyes, said, "Not having one of my better days on this planet."

"Let me help you up to your room."

"You ever notice you can't open a window in a hotel room? Why is that? How did they know I wanted to jump?"

"Are serious with that? You don't want to jump, Christian. Come on." She grabbed his arm. "Let's get you upstairs. They're gonna throw you out if you stay down here in this condition."

She pulled him onto his feet.

They stumbled toward the elevators.

"You don't have to do this," Christian said. "Nobody is nice like this anymore."

They rode up to the thirty-first floor, just the two of them in the car.

He laughed bitterly. "My first thought was black," he said. "All the way driving out here, it was always going to be black."

"What are you talking about?"

"But I changed my mind at the last minute. Went with red. And then, of course, it hit on black."

"I don't under—"

"I lost a little money this morning."

"On roulette?"

"Red or black. Red or black. Red or black."

"How much did you lose?"

"Everything."

"You bet your life savings?"

"Before I came here, I sold my house. Cashed out my portfolio. Emptied my bank accounts. Two hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars."

"Why?"

They reached his floor.

The doors parted.

In the hallway, he said, "Because I'd already lost everything else."

She grabbed his arm. "Christian, look at me. What are you talking about? What's wrong?"

"My wife. My daughter."

"They left you?"

"They were killed."

"When?"

"Three months ago."

"Three months ago? You mean while I was seeing you, you were dealing with this shit? You never even—"

"Not your problem, Letty. Not on my couch. Not here."

"Was it a car wreck?"

"Yeah."

They went on.

"I don't even care about the money," he said, then veered into a wall. He leaned against it. "It was a sign I was looking for."

"What kind of sign?"

"You ever feel like it's all stacked against you, Letty? Like you never had a chance against the house? I just thought that maybe if I bet on black and it hit on black it would mean that things would change. That a corner had been turned. That I didn't have to do what I now have to do."

He grabbed her hands and turned them over.

Exposed her wrists.

Traced a finger down her scars.

Suicide hickeys.

"Must've taken great courage."

"No, not courage. Cowardice. What are you saying?"

"What was your low point, Letty? I can't remember if we ever spoke of it in our sessions."

"Let's get you to your room."

Christian sunk down onto the floor.

"Tell me. Please."

"When the court took my son from me. Terminated my parental rights. Night of the ruling..." She held up her wrists. "Three bottles of Merlot and a straight razor."

"My life is over," he said.

"But it's still yours."

"I don't want it."

She eased down beside him.

"It's like you're in this tunnel," she said. "It's dark, there's no light at the end, and you think it goes on forever." Christian looked up at her, tears reforming. "But if you keep putting one foot in front of the other—"

"Even when it's total agony?"

"Especially then. Then one day, you see a speck of light in the distance. And it slowly gets larger. And for the first time, you feel the sensation of moving toward something. Away from all the hurt and the pain and the crushing weight of the past."

"What's it like when you finally emerge?"

"Tell you when I get there."

"You're still in your tunnel?"

"Yeah."

"What keeps you going?"

She could feel herself becoming emotional. Tried to fight it down, but her throat ached with grief.

"I know that when I finally come out into the light that my son will be waiting for me. I want to live to see that version of me."

Christian said, "I have two hundred in cash in my wallet. My room is paid for through tonight. I don't know what happens after that. I don't know where to go. My practice is finished. I don't mean to sound dramatic, but I'm not sure what I'm living for. Why I would continue to breathe in and out."

"For you."

"For me?"

"For the you that one day walks out of that tunnel." Letty stood. "Come on. Let's get you into bed."

"I can't go back to that room and sit there alone in the dark."

Go to meetings. Help others.

"Tell you what," Letty said. "I missed breakfast. Let me take you to lunch. My treat."

"You don't have to do this."

"Actually, I do."

13

Letty changed out of her swimwear and met Christian downstairs.

They walked north toward the tower at the end of the Strip.

It must have been a hundred and ten degrees.

Waves of heat glowering off the sidewalks.

The tourists waddling around sweating like disgraced prizefighters.

They took the elevator to the top.

Letty slid the hostess fifty dollars to put them at a window table. Insisted that Christian take the best seat.

Waiting for their waitress to show, he looked like he might nod off right there at the table.