by Blake Crouch
Now, the shape of her skeleton was emerging.
For a split second, Letty had the strong sense of her old self, her real self, her best self, trapped inside the emaciated monster staring back at her.
It took her breath away.
CHAPTER FOUR
One week later, Javier picked Letty up in a black Escalade curbside at Miami International. They headed south into the Keys on the Overseas Highway that crossed the 110-mile island chain. The stereo system blasted Bach’s Four Lute Suites on classical guitar. Letty leaned her head against the tinted glass and watched the world go by.
Land and sea. Land and sea.
On the far side of Key Largo, Javier glanced across the center console.
He said, “You don’t even look like the same woman.”
“Amazing what a little mud rinse and a padlock can do.”
“Your eyes are clear. Your color’s good.”
“I put on ten pounds since you saw me last. Got my hair and nails done. I did a whole spa thing yesterday. I wasn’t sure what to wear for tomorrow…”
“I brought your dress. I brought everything you’ll need.”
Letty couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the ocean. More than ten years ago, at least. The sea was blue-green, and the sky straight blue and scattered with clouds that resembled puffs of popped corn. It was early afternoon. Short-sleeve weather. Winter felt like a word that had no meaning here.
They rode through Islamorada and Layton.
Quaint island villages.
Past Marathon, they crossed Seven Mile Bridge into the Lower Keys.
The views into the Gulf of Mexico and the Straits of Florida went on forever.
* * *
They reached Key West in the late afternoon, and Javier checked Letty into the La Concha Hotel. She tried to lie down but her mind wouldn’t stop. She poured herself a merlot from the minibar and went to the table by the window. The breeze coming through the screen smelled like cigar smoke and sour beer. And the sea.
She sat drinking and watching the evening come.
Her room on the fifth floor overlooked Duval Street. It was crowded with cars and bicycles. Tourists jammed the sidewalks. She heard a ukulele playing in the distance. On many rooftops, people had gathered to watch the sunset. She wondered what it would feel like to be here on vacation. To have no plans beyond finding a place for dinner. To be in paradise with someone you loved.
* * *
She didn’t have to see Javier until lunch the next day, when they would make their final preparations. So Letty slipped into a new skirt and tank top and headed out into the evening.
There was an atmosphere of celebration.
Everyone happy and loaded. Nobody alone.
At the first intersection, she left the chaos of Duval Street. Two blocks brought her into a residential quarter. It was an old neighborhood. She passed restored bungalows and Caribbean-style mansions.
On every block, there was at least one house party going.
Ten minutes from the hotel, she found a Cuban restaurant tucked away in a cul-de-sac.
The hostess told her it would be a ninety-minute wait.
There was a patio out back with a tiki bar, and Letty installed herself on the last available stool.
The noise was considerable.
She didn’t like being here alone.
She opened her phone and tapped out texts to no one.
It took five minutes for the barkeep to come around. He was an old salt—tall and thin. So grizzled he looked like he’d been here back when Hemingway hung around. Letty ordered a vodka martini. While the barkeep shook it, she eavesdropped on a conversation between an older couple seated beside her. They sounded Midwestern. The man was talking about someone named John and how much he wished John had been with them today. They had gone snorkeling in the Dry Tortugas. The woman chastised her husband for getting roasted in the sun, but he expertly steered the conversation away from himself. They talked about other places they’d been together. Their top three bottles of wine. Their top three sunsets. How much they were looking forward to a return trip to Italy. How much they were looking forward to Christmas next week with their children and grandchildren. These people had seen the world. They had loved and laughed and lived.
Letty felt a white-hot hate welling up in the pit of her stomach.
She didn’t even bother to persuade herself it wasn’t jealousy.
The barkeep set her martini down. A big, sturdy glass the size of a bowl. The drink had been beautifully made, with flakes of ice across the surface.
“Wanna start a tab?”
“No.”
“Twelve dollars.”
Letty dug a twenty out of her purse.
The barkeep went for change.
The gentleman beside her had worn a sports coat for the evening. In the light of the surrounding torches, Letty could see by the cut that it was designer. Gucci or Hugo Boss. She could also see the bulge of a wallet in the side pocket. So easy to lift. Two moves. Tip over her martini glass in the man’s direction and slip her hand into his blazer pocket as he reached for a napkin to help clean up. She’d done it a dozen times, and only once did the mark ignore the spill.
And that’ll really make you feel better? To drop a bomb on their holiday?
When she stole, it was out of necessity. Only ever about the money. She’d never made it personal. Survival had been her sole motivation, even at her lowest points. Never the intentional infliction of hurt to boost her own morale.
While the old barkeep was still at the register, Letty slipped off the chair, leaving her drink untouched.
She threaded her way between tables, out of the restaurant and onto the street.
By the time she reached Duval, she had managed to stop crying.
Her life seemed to be defined by moments like these.
Moments of pure self-hatred.
And this was just one more in a long, long line.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You slept okay?” Javier asked.
“Yes.”
“How are you feeling?”
“All right. Nervous.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Nerves keep you sharp.”
Wind rustled the fronds of the palm tree that overhung their table. They were sitting outside at a café two blocks from the ocean. A cruise liner had just unloaded gobs of people onto the island. They were streaming past on the sidewalk. Herds of Hawaiian shirts and panama hats propelled by pasty-white legs.
“You should eat something,” Javier said.
Their waiter had brought their lunches five minutes ago, but Letty hadn’t touched her ham-and-brie panini or her salad.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat.”
She started picking at her salad.
Between bites, she pointed the tines of her fork at the chair between them, where Javier had placed a cardboard box.
“Is that my dress?”
“Among other things.”
“Is it pretty?” she asked in a mock-girlish voice.
He ignored this. “In the box, you’ll find a mini spray bottle. The label says mouthwash. It’s an opiate tincture. Oxycodone. Fitch is a wine snob. Five squirts in his wineglass during dinner. Not four. Not six. Exactly five.”
“Got it.”
“Get him to his room before he starts to fade. His people will hang back if they think you’ve gone in there to sleep with him.”
“How thoughtful.”
“Once he’s unconscious, head up to the office. Now listen to me very carefully. My contact says there will be five men on the island. Three outside. Two in the residence. Considering his notoriety, Fitch has had countless death threats and one actual attempt. These men are private security contractors. Ex-Blackwater types. They’ve all seen combat. They’ll be armed. You won’t be.”
“Where will you be during all this?”
“I’m getting there. Part of your outfit
is a Movado watch.”
“Ooohhh, Christmas.”
“Don’t get attached. It’s on loan. We rendezvous at eight on the eastern tip of the island. You won’t be allowed to bring your cell phone. Keep an eye on your watch.” He patted the box. “There’s also a map of the island and blueprints of the house. I would’ve given them to you earlier, but I just got my hands on them.”
“What if I get held up?”
“Don’t get held up.”
“Eight. All right. How are we getting off the island?”
“A Donzi Twenty-Two Classic Shelby. I’m picking it up after we’re done here.”
“Is that a boat or a plane?”
“It’s a boat.”
“Fast?”
“Faster than any of Fitch’s watercraft. Miami Vice fast.”
“Assuming this works, what’ll stop them from just radioing for help? Having the coast guard track us down on the way back to Key West?”
“You are taking on some risk here, which is why I will tolerate these questions that seem to suggest I haven’t thought everything through. That I haven’t foreseen every possible glitch and planned accordingly.” Javier took a sip from his glass of ice water. “We won’t be going back to Key West. We’ll be heading five miles farther south to a deserted key in international waters.”
Letty forced herself to take a bite of the sandwich.
Javier said, “Now, we haven’t even discussed the most important part of this. The reason we’re all here.”
“Skull with Burning Cigarette.”
“The painting is hanging in Fitch’s office on the wall behind his desk. My intel is that there’s no theft-security system. You just have to cut it out of the frame.”
“Cut it?”
“Careful. Like shooting heroin into your femoral artery careful. There’s a razor blade hidden on the bottom of your handbag, under a piece of black electrical tape.”
“I’m not comfortable with that,” Letty said.
“Why?”
“Because they’ll probably search the handbag, don’t you think?”
“Where do you want to hide it?”
“I’ll think of something. What kind of bag is it?”
“Try to control yourself. Louis Vuitton.”
“Up to this point, the accessories are far and away the best part of this job. Them, I keep.”
“We’ll see.”
“And once I get the canvas out of the frame?”
“Roll it up. You’ll find a plastic tube taped to the underside of Fitch’s desk. Stick the rolled-up canvas inside and get yourself to the eastern edge of the island.”
“What about cameras?”
“None.”
“What about the people who actually see me up close? Who can identify me and describe me to law enforcement?”
“You’ll be a redhead tonight.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want, a latex mask? This isn’t Mission Impossible. This is the price you pay for a shot at four million dollars.”
Letty felt something go cold at the base of her spine.
Without exception, this was the most dangerous job she’d ever signed on for.
Javier said, “You wondering why I don’t just slip in there while you’re distracting Fitch?”
“Now that you mention it.”
“Because that would turn this into a very different kind of job. People would die. I assume you don’t want that.”
“No.”
Javier tossed his napkin onto the table. He stood and looked at his watch.
“It’s almost two thirty. They’re picking you up outside the hotel at four.” He pulled out his money clip and dropped two twenties on the table. “Go back to your hotel. Study your maps. Get your head right for this.”
Letty had barely touched her food.
Javier stared down at her through a pair of aviator sunglasses.
“You forgot something,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“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.”
CHAPTER SIX
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. Three fifty-eight.
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’s. 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 retrieved 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 CliffsNotes, 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 k
new 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’s 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.”
