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.
Opened 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 fake."
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.