Confidence Girl: The Letty Dobesh Chronicles

by Crouch, Blake

  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.”

  Fighting to keep her fingers from touching his leg.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You lied to me.”

  There. 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, said, “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 said, “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’re 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.

  “That’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-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.

  “When’s the last time you slept?” Letty asked.

  “I don’t know. I think I’ve forgotten how.”

  “Let me get you some help,” she said. “Someone to talk to.”

  “Psychobabble doesn’t work on me. I know all the tricks.”

  He stared out the window by their table, but she could tell that he didn’t see a thing. The restaurant turned imperceptibly. At the moment, their view was west. Miles of glittering sprawl and development. Beyond the city, the desert climbed into a range of spruce-covered mountains.

  Letty checked her phone—no missed calls or texts.

  “I’m not keeping you, am I?” Christian asked.

  “Not at all.”

  The waitress came.

  Letty ordered Christian a coffee.

  He reached into his wallet, pulled out two small photos, laid them on the table.

  “This is Angie, my wife. My daughter, Charlie.”

  Letty lifted the photo of a thirteen or fourteen year old girl. Kneeling in a blue and white uniform in front of a goal, holding a soccer ball.

  “She’s beautiful. And Charlie is short for...”

  “Charlene.”

  “That’s lovely.” Letty reached into her purse, took out a photo of her son—his kindergarten photo.

  “Jacob?” Christian asked.

  “Yeah, I don’t think I ever showed you his picture.”

  Christian leaned over the table to get a better look.

  “Good-looking kid.”

  Christian collected his photographs and returned them to his wallet with the care and focus of a ritual.

  Letty said, “Don’t you have family or friends back in Charleston who can help you?”

  “They certainly think so.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “When my girls died, all I got was a bunch of platitudes. Cards that said things like, ‘She is just away.’ People lining up to tell me they knew what I was going through. I’m never going back.”

  “Then what will you do?”

  “Kill myself. That was the deal I made. I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’m a terrible therapist.”

  “What deal?”

  “If I doubled my money, I’d see it as a good omen. I’d try to push on. If I lost, that was it. I was done.”

  “And there’s nothing at this point that might change your mind?”

  “Let’s be clear. You really don’t know me. Don’t really know anything about me. You don’t love me. You’re trying to help me and in the sense that I’m not alone in this moment, you are. And it means more to me than I could ever tell you. But don’t try to convince me that my life has value. How there’s an end to this pain. There isn’t. And I know it.”

  “You told me my life had value.”

  “You shouldn’t see me like this,” he said. “I don’t want it to undo all the progress we made, just because I’m weak.”

  “You’re
in this bad spot now. You will feel different one day.”

  “My girls were my life, and it was over the moment that truck came over into their lane. I’m just trying to pin down my exit strategy.”

  “How did I miss this?” she asked. “Every week for months, I came to see you. And you were hurting—badly hurting—and I completely missed it. Am I that self-obsessed?”

  “No.” He smiled. “Let’s just say I was that dedicated.”

  “But you didn’t leave town until I did.”

  “You were my last patient.”

  “So I was the only thing keeping you from this insanity?”

  “No, my loyalty to you as a patient was. This isn’t your fault, Letty. You know that, right?”

  # # #

  The food came, but Letty’s appetite was shot.

  They ate in silence, and when she’d finished her sandwich, she threw her napkin down and fixed her stare on Christian.

  He said, “Trying to figure out how to change my mind?”

  She shook her head. “It’s your call. Your choice. I respect that.”

  “Thank you.”

  Letty felt her phone vibrate.

  A text from Isaiah: the wynn in 30...we go tonight

  Christian must have caught the sudden intensity in her eyes.

  He said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  Christian smiled. “So what are you doing in Vegas, Letty? I thought you were headed west to see your son.”

  The waitress brought the check.

  Letty waited until she walked away.

  “A slight detour. I love Vegas.”

  “Just here for the shows and the slots, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Let me guess. You’re a huge Neil Diamond fan.”

  Letty said, “How did you know?”

  “Wouldn’t happen to be running with your old associates? Back to your old tricks? This is a dangerous city for someone with your triggers.”

  She pulled out enough cash to cover the bill and a twenty-five percent tip.

  Said, “Speaking of, I almost used last night. I did have a drink, but I was on my way to score.”

  “What happened?”

  “Long story short, I went to a meeting instead.”

  “Good for you. That’s great, Letty.”

  She reached across the table and took hold of his hand.

  “Christian, I have to go.”

  “Thanks for lunch. Thanks for stopping in the lobby when you saw me. You could’ve walked right on past. I’d never have known.”