Grab (Letty Dobesh #3) (6 page)

And then she was walking away from the cabana, the piece of glass tingling in her knee—a sharp, bright sting—but she didn't care. Richter's phone jostled against her ass and this moment was the closest thing to being high that she'd felt in months.

11

Letty saw
him standing under an overhang of trees in the lobby of the Wynn. He barely looked old enough to be in college. Black Chuck Taylors, baggy jean shorts, a gray Billabong hoodie.

She pulled Ri
chter's phone out of her bikini and walked up to him.

He smelled like pot, his eyes red
with a stoner sheen.

"Mark?"

"Letty?"

She handed him
Richter's phone, said, "I'm in 812. How long?"

"One hour."

"I need you to bust a move. This thing is only halfway done."

Riding up in the elevator, she called Isaiah.

"I got it," she said. "You heading over?"

"On my way
."

"Let me know how it goes. I'll be back down as soon as Mark drops off the phone."

"It went well?"

"Yeah. But I'm co
ncerned their waiter will interfere, freak everyone out when he hears what happened."

"I'll damage control."

"See you soon."

This room was
smaller but nicer than the one at the Palazzo. She turned on the news and went into the bathroom. Dug out the piece of glass and cleaned up her knee.

She sat on the
end of the bed and stared at the plasma screen but her mind was elsewhere.

Thirty minutes in, she got a text from Isaiah:
trouble

She texted back:
?

real waiter showed

run interference

tryin

Fifty-five minutes after the handoff, there was a knock on her door.

Through the peephole—
Mark standing in the hallway, beaming and proud.

She let him in.

"It worked?" she asked.

"Like
a mofo."

# # #

Letty moved toward the cabanas. Isaiah stood with Richter's crew and a twenty-something man in white shorts and an open shirt. The real waiter.

Her phone vibrated.

Isaiah:
do not approach

She turned
away just as Richter emerged from the cabana. Ducked behind a potted cypress and watched him storm past with his goons in tow.

She fell in
after Isaiah, trailing him by five feet, typing out a text as she walked.

behind you

Up ahead, she could see Richter holding the dummy iPhone. He had ripped off the bumper case and was fumbling with it.

Hairy B
east said, "You can't just take the battery out of an iPhone. You have to go to an Apple Store."

The other guy said, "Or just You Tube it. I'm sure it can be done."

Isaiah pulled out his phone.

He didn't look back. Just started texting.

he's freaking

this is getting ready to
explode

She tapped out:
where's he going?

his room

A congestion of sunbathers had slowed the procession. Letty blasted ahead, past Isaiah, elbowing her way through the masses.

S
he hit the hotel entrance fifteen seconds before Richter and his group.

Rushed
ahead into the expansive chiming casino.

He'd have to pass through on his way to the tower elevators.

She glanced back, saw Richter and his men entering.

P
ushed on, faster, down a red-carpeted corridor between miles of slot machines. The way the overhead lighting struck the marble made it look like gold.

This was it.

Make the switch now or forget it.

From Richter's perspective, his phone was
malfunctioning. He was waiting on a call or a text worth millions. If he hadn't already, he'd call his contact, give him a new way to reach him. And that would be that.

Letty stopped at the
perimeter of a field of table games.

Cr
aps, Blackjack, Pai Gow, Big 6.

It reeked of cigarette smoke
, the air hazy with it, especially under the constellation of hanging globe lamps that ranged as far as she could see.

A
herd of cocktail waitresses on the prowl.

Richter was
coming.

She could feel her phone vibrating, Isaiah no doubt wondering what the hell she was doing.

One chance.

She
'd made a thousand grabs in her lifetime, but nothing like this.

Nothing approaching stakes on this order of magnitude.

Thirty feet away now.

The group moving quickly. Richter out
in front, flanked by the original thugs from the cabana, Isaiah bringing up the rear.

Her phone vibrated again.

Ize's new text:
forget about it

She reached into her purse and traded her phone for Richter's.

Heart beginning to thump. Lines of sweat running over the strings of her bikini top.

Richter wasn't holding his phone.
He'd put on a t-shirt and sandals, and she could see the outline of the dummy phone swinging in the left pocket of his trunks.

The pocket looked deep as hell.
Jaws. Like it could swallow her arm up to her elbow.

Game on.

She thought about her father.

The
tears flowed.

She p
eeled away from the tables.

Felt the heat from a galaxy of cameras staring down at her. Casino certainly wa
sn't the ideal setting for this, but oh well.

She st
arted toward them.

Pictured it happening.

Perfect execution.

Twenty feet away.

Richter's sunglasses were tilted up across the bald dome of his head and he looked angry.

Her phone vibrated in her purse.

She ignored it.

Ten feet.

She switched Richter's phone into her right hand, clutched it between her first and second finger, powered it on.

Stared at the red carpeting, tears running fast down her cheeks now.
Beginning to tap into that well of emotion that underlay her soul like an aquifer.

Looked up as she bumped into Richter.

He stopped. Studied her through hard, hazel eyes.

They stood inches
apart.

As she dipped her right hand into his left pocket, she said, "I hope you're happy
."

F
ighting to keep her fingers from touching his leg.

"What are you talking about?"

"You lied to me."

Th
ere. The dummy iPhone.

All at the same instant, she

—jabbed a finger into his chest

—
lifted the dummy iPhone with her thumb and pinkie

—
let Richter's iPhone slide gently out of her grasp

—
said, "You told me I wouldn't—"

Even the best pickpockets in the world rushed the ending. Once your fingers touched the goods, the impulse to grab it and get
to safety became overpowering.

She took it nice and slow.

Because she
had
this.

"—get into any trouble."

"I—"

"They fired me."

The phone was clear of his pocket.

She jabbed a finger into his chest again, sa
id, "I have a young daughter. Rent to pay."

Slipped it into her purse.

"What am I supposed to do? Huh?"

Now she crossed her arms and glared at him and let the tears stream down her face.

A thought flashed—
what if he doesn't try his phone again?

Richter sa
id, "I don't have time for this," and started to move on.

She blocked his way. "You're mad
because I spilled champagne on you? Sorry. It was an accident."

The rage came over him almost without warning.

"Your little accident ruined my phone."

"It didn't touch your phone."

Pull it out. Show me I'm wrong. Do it, you cocksucker. Do it.

He
thrust his hand into his pocket, dug out his iPhone.

She grabbed it from him, pressed the Sleep/Wake button, held it up so he could see.
His eyes went wide when the screen brightened.

"Looks fine to me."

"Thirty seconds ago, it wasn't—"

She shoved it into his chest, said, "Asshole," and pushed her way between the thugs.

She stared at Isaiah as she moved past.

Said, "What are you looking at?"

And winked.

12

Ten minutes later, Letty
let Isaiah into her room at the Wynn.

"I take back everything I said
about you," he said. "That grab and switch was off the chain. You got ninja skills."

"Richter's okay now? I was worried he'd get another phone or
—"

"Nah, he's cool.
We all cool." Isaiah moved past her. "What up, Mark?" They bumped fists.

"We'r
e in biz," Mark said. "Come check it."

Letty followed them over to the bed where Mark had a laptop open. He lifted a white iPhone off the comforter,
tossed it to Isaiah.

"Th
at's a perfect clone of Richter's phone. Has all his voicemails, text history, contacts, data usage, apps. More importantly, every call or text that comes to Richter will first hit us. We'll have the option to intercept, pass along, or kill it. You'll see the incoming texts and calls on that phone. I'll see them on my laptop. If it's okay with you, I'll just set up my base of operations here."

"Most definitely
," Isaiah said. "And I want you to study his contact list. We gotta let a few calls through so he doesn't suspect anything, but nothing from a Vegas area code. No texts we don't understand. Nothing that looks like code."

"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-talkie
s 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 pock
eted 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."