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 requi re 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.
E veryone 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.
O pened 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
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 requi re 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.
E veryone 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.
O pened 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
Similar Books
The Rowing Lesson
Anne Landsman
DARK BLISS (Dangerous Games,)
Madison Smart
The House of Wolfe
James Carlos Blake
The Whiskey Rebels
David Liss
Five Night Stand: A Novel
Richard J. Alley
Secrets of the Night Special Edition
Shirley Martin
Ronald Rabbit Is a Dirty Old Man
Lawrence Block
Owned by the Russian Mafia Boss: A Mob Romance
Leona Lee, Bella Rose
No Good Deed
Lynn Hightower