by Blake Crouch
“My name. Who will they be expecting?”
“Selena Kitt. S-E-L-E-N-A-K-I-T-T. But you won’t be carrying any identification.”
“And my back story? Should he be so inquisitive?”
“Thought I’d leave that to you. Bullshit seems to flow so freely from your lips. Moments like this don’t come along very often,” he said.
“I know.”
“Ship sails at four. Make me proud, Letisha.”
6
Riding down to the lobby, Letty watched herself in the reflection of the elevator doors. So did the twenty-year-old boy with an obvious hangover standing beside her. She didn’t blame him. She looked stunning. The little black dress was Chanel. The fuck-me pumps were Jimmy Choo. They made her legs look like stilts. She’d worn wigs before but nothing as finely-made as this one—wavy red hair that fell just past her shoulders. Javier certainly had a well-developed sense of style, but she couldn’t imagine he’d put this ensemble together all by himself.
The elevator doors spread apart. Letty tried to steady her breathing as she walked out into the lobby past a grouping of palm trees in planters.
She glanced at her watch.
3:58.
As she approached the revolving door at the entrance, a man stood up from a leather chair. He wore a black suit and carried the beefy build of a bouncer. Bald, graying goatee, and a sharp skepticism in his eyes. She figured the extra padding under his jacket for a shoulder holster.
“Ms. Kitt?”
“The one and only.”
The man extended his hand and she shook it. “I’m James. I’ll be taking you to Mr. Fitch. Right this way.”
He led her outside to a silver Yukon Denali idling on the curb and opened the rear passenger door. Letty climbed in. The driver didn’t bother to introduce himself. He wore sunglasses and a black suit almost identical to James’. He was younger with a buzz cut and a strong, chiseled jaw that Letty associated with soldiers.
The radio was tuned to NPR and turned down so low that Letty could barely hear it.
James sat beside her.
As they pulled out into traffic, he reached behind them into the cargo area and emerged with a black leather pad. He opened it and handed Letty a sheet of legal size paper. At the bottom, she noticed a line for the signature of Selena Kitt.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A Non-Disclosure Agreement.”
“For what?”
“For anything that happens from the moment you climbed into this vehicle until you’re returned to Key West.”
She studied the document.
“Looks like a bunch of legalese.”
“Pretty much.”
“You wanna give me the cliff notes since I didn’t go to law school?”
“It says that you agree not to disclose any details regarding your time with Mr. Fitch. Not in writing. Not in conversation with anyone. And if you do, you can be sued for breach of contract in accordance with the laws of the State of Florida.”
“You mean I can’t write a tell-all book and then sell the movie rights about Mr. Fitch’s last night of freedom?” She smiled to convey the intended humor, but James just tapped the signature line with a meaty finger.
“Sign right here, please.”
# # #
They parked at a marina on the west coast of the island, not far from the hotel. Letty walked between her escorts to the end of a long dock. Waited for several minutes while the men took in the mooring lines on a fifty-foot yacht. When they’d prepped the boat for departure, the driver climbed to the bridge. James offered Letty a hand and pulled her aboard. He led her up several steps and through a glass door into a salon.
The pure luxury stopped her in her tracks and took her breath away.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” James said, gesturing to a wraparound sofa.
Letty eased down onto the cool, white vinyl.
“Would you care for a drink?” he asked.
She knew she shouldn’t, but she felt so jittery she figured just one wouldn’t hurt. Might even help to calm her down.
Letty peered around James at a wet bar stocked with strictly high-end booze.
“I see you’ve got Chopin,” she said.
“Rocks?”
“Yes.”
“With a twist?”
“No thank you.”
James crossed the teak floor to the freezer and took out a bucket of ice. Letty leaned back into the cushion and crossed her legs. The engines grumbled to life deep inside the hull. At the bar, James scooped ice cubes into a rocks glass and poured. He brought her drink over with a napkin.
“Thank you, James.”
He unbuttoned his black jacket and sat down beside her.
She could feel the subtle rocking as the yacht taxied out into the marina.
There were windows everywhere, natural light streaming in through the glass. The view was of a colony of sailboat masts, the dwindling shoreline of Key West, and the sea.
Letty sipped her drink. The vodka was nearly flavorless in her mouth with a slight peppery burn going down.
“That’s very good.” She set her glass on the coffee table.
“We need to have a conversation,” James said.
“Okay.”
“You’re aware of who your client is?”
“Mr. Estrada explained everything to me.”
“This is a very important night for Mr. Fitch.”
“I understand that.”
“And you’re here for one reason, Ms. Kitt. To make it as special and as memorable as it can possibly be.” Letty was nodding and trying to find a window to break eye contact. But James’ stare held her. She couldn’t help feeling they were the eyes of a cop. Hopefully an ex-cop. “There are a few topics of conversation that are off-limits,” he continued. “You are not to bring up the case against Mr. Fitch, his trial, or his conviction in any way. You are not to discuss his sentence or anything relating to the prison term he’s facing.”
“Okay.”
“You will not discuss anything you’ve read in the papers or on the Internet. You will not discuss your view of his guilt or innocence.”
“I have no views. No opinions whatsoever.”
“Now I need you to stand up for a minute.”
“Why?”
“Just do it please.”
Letty uncrossed her legs and stood.
James got up as well and faced her.
“Hold your arms out.”
“Are you frisking me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Mr. Fitch has received numerous death threats since the case against him was filed.”
“And you think I’m packing something in this itty bitty dress?”
“Hold your arms out horizontal to the floor.”
Letty did as she was told and stared out the window while James patted her down, his hands roving over every nook and cranny.
“Jesus, at least buy me dinner first.”
“All right, you can sit, but I will need to search your purse.”
Letty handed over the Louis Vuitton.
The yacht exited the marina. The engines roared to life as they throttled out into open water. She could feel the tension in her gut ratcheting up a notch. Having never learned to swim, being surrounded by water always made her uneasy.
She tried not to watch too intently as James opened the handbag. He removed the contents, one at a time, and lined them up on the coffee table.
Lipstick.
Mascara.
Package of Kleenex.
Hotel keycard.
He paused as he lifted out the mini spray bottle.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Letty’s heart stomped in her chest.
“Just what it says. Breath freshener.”
James held it up to the light, read the label. “Watermelon?”
“Try it if you like.”
James let slip a tight smile and set the bottle on the table. Then h
e dumped out the remaining items: a condom, a mirror, brush, gum, and two hair bands.
“You left your cell phone. Good.”
James held the interior of the handbag up to the window so the sunlight could strike the black, textile lining.
After a moment of close inspection, he handed her the bag, said, “I apologize for the intrusion. We should be arriving in less than twenty minutes.”
James walked out of the salon. She heard him talking quietly into his cellphone.
Letty returned everything to her purse and settled back into the cushion with her glass. She sipped her drink and turned her thoughts to this man she would be spending the coming hours with. From everything she’d read, Fitch was a monster. His conspiracy and fraud had resulted in the bankruptcy of PowerTech. Fifteen thousand employees lost their jobs. Many lost their life savings. Investors in PowerTech lost billions.
Throughout his prosecution, Fitch had always maintained that he just wanted the chance to tell his story. But at crunch time on the witness stand, he’d invoked the Fifth Amendment to avoid self-incrimination.
The yacht hummed along at over forty knots, skimming the water like a blade across ice.
Key West was nothing but a blurred line of green on the horizon.
Out here, there was nothing but the sea in all its varying hues of blue and jade. Its surface sparkled. The horizon lay sprinkled with tiny islands. The sky shone a deep, cloudless blue. It was early evening. They cruised straight into a red and watery sun.
Letty could feel the vodka buzz coming on like a soft warmth behind her eyes. A numbness in her legs. For a fleeting second, everything seemed so impossibly surreal.
This yacht.
This thing she was about to do.
This life she lived.
7
The sea in the vicinity of Fitch’s island was shallow. His dock extended seventy-five yards out from the shore into water deep enough to berth a boat.
Letty followed James out of the salon onto the stern.
A tall, thin man stood on the last plank of the dock. He was throwing squid into the sea, his gray hair blowing in the breeze. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. White Dockers. Leather sandals. Very tan. He finished rinsing off his hands under a faucet mounted to the end of the wharf and dried them with a towel as Letty approached. Reaching down, he gave her a hand up onto the dock. He was even taller than she’d first thought. Six-two. Maybe six-three. He smelled of an exotic cologne—sandalwood, spice, jasmine, lime, money.
The man still hadn’t let go of her hand. His fingers were cool and moist, as soft as silk.
“Welcome to Sunset Key, Selena. Please call me Johnny.”
She could hear Texas in his voice, but it wasn’t overbearing. Houston drawl by way of an Ivy League education. She stared up into his face. Smoothshaven. No glasses. Perfect teeth. He didn’t look sixty-six years old.
“It’s beautiful here, Johnny,” she said.
“I like to think so. But it pales in comparison to you. They broke the mold.”
Letty’s eyes riveted on what he’d been feeding—gray fins slicing through the water.
“Sand sharks,” Fitch said. “Not to worry. Totally harmless. They like the reefs for protection. A mother and her pups.”
He offered his arm. They walked down the long dock. Letty could see the cupola of a house peeking above the scrub oak that covered the island. According to the blueprints and to Javier, that was Fitch’s office.
“How was your ride over?” Johnny asked.
“Wonderful. Your yacht is amazing.”
“Part of my midlife crisis, some would say.”
Letty glanced back over her shoulder.
James and the unnamed driver followed at a respectful distance.
“Don’t give them another thought,” Fitch said. “I know James searched you, and I apologize for that barbarous invasion, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“It was no big deal,” she said.
“Well, you’re my guest now.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Letty said. “You’ve lived here long?”
“Back in my former life, I was primarily based in Houston. I also had a winter place in Aspen. An apartment in Manhattan. Of course, those are gone now. But I bought this key twenty years ago when it was fourteen acres of unspoiled paradise. Designed the house myself. It was always my favorite. There’s a view of the sea from every room.”
They went ashore.
A man of fifty or so stood waiting for them in khaki slacks and a short-sleeved button down.
“Selena, this is Manuel, my caretaker and steward. He’s been with me for…how long, Manuel?”
“Since you buy island. I live here twenty-two years.”
Fitch said, “Before we go to the house, I thought we’d take a walk on the beach.” He kicked off his sandals.
Manuel turned to Letty. “If you give me shoes, I take them up to house for you.”
Letty leaned over and unfastened her pumps. She stepped out and handed them to Manuel.
“And your purse?”
“I think I’ll hang onto this.”
Fitch said, “Thank you, Manuel.”
“Very good, sir.”
“You’re leaving for Key West when Angie goes?”
“Yes, I go with her.”
“Take care, my old friend.”
Letty and Fitch walked barefoot up a manmade beach.
“Manuel came over on a raft. Half of them died. Sends his paychecks back to Havana. He’s an honorable man. Loyal. He’ll never have to work again after tomorrow. He doesn’t know this yet.”
The sand was soft and stark white and still warm from the sun. There was no surf, no waves. No boats within earshot. You could hear the sound of leaves rustling, a bird singing in the interior of the island, and little else. The water was bright green.
Fitch picked up a shell before Letty stepped on it.
He said, “Down on the seashore I found a shell, left by the tide in its noonday swell.
Only a white shell out of the sea, yet it bore sweet memories up to me. Of a shore where brighter shells are strown, where I stood in the breakers, but not alone.”
“That’s lovely,” Letty said.
They moved on up the shore. It seemed that with every passing second, the sun expanded, its pool of light coloring a distant reef of clouds.
“It’s why I chose the Keys, you know,” Fitch said. “Best sunsets in the world. Ah. Here we are.” They had reached the tip of the island. A pair of Adirondack chairs waited in the sand under the shade of a coconut palm. They faced west, an ice bucket and a small, wooden box between them.
Letty and Fitch crossed the sand to the chairs. The sunset spread across the horizon like a range of orange mountains. There was no wind. The water as still as glass.
Letty glanced down at the box. The top had been stamped:
Heidsieck & C° Monopole
Goût Américain
Vintage 1907
N° 1931
Fitch pulled an unlabeled bottle out of the ice water. He held it to the fading light. The glass was green and scuffed. He went to work opening it.
Letty said, “Special. Even has its own box.”
“This bottle was on its way to the Russian royal family when the boat carrying it was torpedoed by Germans. What must have gone through those young sailors’ minds? It took a half hour: They knew, for a half hour, they were going to die and could do nothing to stop it. Nothing but wait and watch the minutes slide.”
“In what year?”
“Nineteen-sixteen. The vintage is nineteen-oh-seven, which makes this—”
“Ninety-eight years old?” He nodded. “Oh my God.”
“It was recovered from the wreck seven years ago. The bottles were perfectly preserved at the bottom of the ocean. Notable not only for the rarity and the history, but as it turns out, the wine itself is quite excellent. I bought one for a special occasion. I’d say tonight qual
ifies. Would you get the glasses please?”
Letty reached into the box and lifted out two crystal flutes.
“Go ahead and ask,” Fitch said as he struggled with the cork.
“Ask what?”
He worked it out so slowly, there was no pop. Just a short hiss as the pressure released. The cork crumbled in his hand. He held the opening of the bottle to her nose.
It smelled like perfume.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Gorgeous.”
Fitch took a whiff himself and then began to pour.
“So ask,” he said. “It won’t offend me.”
“What?”
“What I paid.”
“That would be rude.”
“But you want to know.”
With her glass full, Letty smelled it again, the carbonation bubbles misting her nose.
“All right. What’d you pay, Johnny?”
“Two hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. Here’s to you,” he said.
She didn’t even know how to comprehend such a figure.
“To you, Johnny.”
They clinked glasses.
The champagne was amazing.
“I want to know your passion Selena.”
“My passion?”
“What is it that most excites you in this life? What is your prime mover? Your reason for being here?”
“Prada.”
This got a huge laugh.
“Money can’t buy you happiness, darling. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“But it affords your own brand of misery.”“You’re a lively one, Selena. That’s good. Real good. Let’s sit back and enjoy, shall we?” Fitch said. “This is going to be a night for the senses.”
Letty leaned back in her chair. “That’s the prettiest sunset I’ve ever seen,” she said.
“I’m just glad it didn’t rain.”
Fitch laughed but there was a sadness in it.
All the color went out of the sky.
“Where are you from, Selena?” Fitch asked.
Letty had only had two glasses, but she felt good. Too good. “A little bit of everywhere. I guess I don’t really think of any one place as home.”
Fitch looked over at her. He patted her hand.
“I know this must be a strange deal for you,” he said.
