Good behavior, p.18
Good Behavior, page 18
A suited man with a shaved head and neatly trimmed goatee had entered. He was built like a vending machine. Carried a MAC-10 with a long magazine and suppressor, the machine pistol dangling from a shoulder strap.
He glanced into the powder room, the massage room.
Walked past the dining table, then turned, moving toward Letty’s cabinet.
She let her door close fully.
Listening as his wingtips sank into the plush carpet, his wool pants swishing.
She caught a whiff of overbearing cologne.
Finally dared to breathe again when his footsteps trailed off toward the bedroom. She lifted her phone, banged out a text to Isaiah as the man’s footfalls echoed off the marble in the bathroom.
1 man just entered
doing walk through
Isaiah responded in her headset. “Copy that. Just be cool.”
The man emerged from the bedroom and walked into the living room. He lifted the shoulder strap over his head and set the machine pistol on the glass-topped coffee table. Tugged a small radio from an inner pocket in his jacket, said, “Clear.”
Thirty seconds later, that electronic chiming repeated.
There was enough noise as the men entered for Letty to whisper into her microphone.
“Ize, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
She whispered, “Three, make that four men have just entered.”
“In addition to the first guy?”
“Yeah. Five total. All armed. Shotguns. Machine guns. Pistols. And still more are coming. A whole line of them.”
“All muscle?”
“No, they’re pushing carts.”
“What’s on the carts?”
“Cages. Covered in wire mesh.”
“Our money?”
She liked the sound of that.
Said, “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“I’ve just never seen so much. That makes six. Six carts they rolled in here.”
“Is it our money?”
“Oh yeah. And there’s a shit-ton of it. Two more guards have entered.”
“Seven total?”
“You guys can handle seven, right?”
The cart pushers departed, leaving the half dozen carts grouped near the dining area.
The front door closed.
A man armed with a subcompact Glock took a post by the entrance.
The other six retired to sofas in the living room.
One of them spoke into a radio. “We’re in, locked down, all secure.”
Letty whispered, “They’re getting settled. One man is standing by the door, the other six are in the living area. Wait.”
One of the men stood. He moved over to the carts and, on top of one of them, placed a small device mounted to a tripod. It began to revolve slowly.
“What’s happening?” Isaiah asked.
“Not sure yet. Stand by.”
The man pressed a button on the device, said into his radio, “Visual installed. Confirm.”
As he returned to the sofa, Letty said, “They set up a camera. It turns, takes in the entire room.”
“It’s okay. We planned for this contingency.”
“So what happens now?”
“Sit tight.”
The radio silence unnerved her. The pain in her legs was back with a vengeance. Through the crack between the door and the cabinet, she watched the guards.
Everyone black-suited. None younger than thirty, none older than forty-five.
Each exuding his own special brand of ex-military, fucked-by-life hardness.
Two of the men chatted about an upcoming fight at Caesars.
One just stared.
Another took laps around the room.
She startled when Isaiah came through her earpiece.
He said, “Report.”
“One guard is still by the door. Five seated in the living area. One on his feet near the TV.”
“Have they been making regular trips into the bedroom or bathroom?”
“Just once.”
“Are the curtains still drawn?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. How you feeling?”
“Scared.”
“It’s showtime.”
“Even with the camera rolling?”
“Yes. When I say go, I want you to climb out of the cabinet. Let them see you. Distract them. Engage them. Just don’t get yourself shot.”
“How much time do you need?”
“Ten, maybe fifteen seconds.”
Her heart rate tripled.
She began to perspire.
Heard Isaiah say, “Stu? Jerrod? Ten seconds.” And then, “Letisha?”
“Yes.”
“You got your head on straight for this?”
“Absolutely.”
“Because the next hour is going to take a few years off your life.”
“I’ll bill you for the Botox.”
There was a four-second pause, and then Isaiah said, “Go.”
— 17 —
Letty tugged down her Barbie Halloween mask.
Her iPhone lit up with a text as she reached for the door.
Christian: never in my life felt so alive thank you
She nudged the door open and crawled out of the cabinet onto the carpet.
No one saw her.
She slipped out of sight behind the bar, made herself take three deep breaths, flooding her lungs with oxygen.
She tried to stand but her legs were still numb. Frantically, she squeezed her calves. The tingling burn of sensation roared back.
Up onto her feet.
Got her elbows on the granite bar.
For what seemed like ages, nothing happened.
She couldn’t see the guard by the entrance, but the six men in the living room carried on just as before.
She opened her mouth.
The words fell out.
“What a sausage fest. Could I get any of you gentlemen a drink?”
The air went out of the room.
Six heads turning.
The seventh guard stepping out from the entranceway with an expression of pure disbelief spreading across his face.
Three men were already on their feet, reaching for weapons, the others rising.
Someone said, “How the hell—”
Letty said, “I sort of come with the room.”
The tallest, oldest of the bunch stepped forward and trained his Glock on the center of her chest.
Thank God—he was blocking the camera from seeing her.
He said, “How did you get into this room?”
“Did you not just hear me?”
“You have no idea the world of shit you have just brought down on yourself.”
Letty smiled through the mask, making sure to keep her hands visible and still.
“Worlds of shit are all I know, dude.”
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard the faintest sound coming through the wall—something sliding across the bathroom floor.
In her ear, Isaiah whispered through a strained voice, “Keep him talking, we’re almost in.”
She said, “Are you sure you don’t want that drink? Gotta be honest. You all seem a little tense.”
The man glanced at the wide-load who had been on the door.
“You were first in, asshole. Where’d she come from?”
“I checked everywhere.”
“Really.” He came another step forward, Letty growing increasingly uneasy with that black hole of death staring her down. Wasn’t the first time, but you never got used to it. The difference between you being here and not—just the smallest movement of a finger.
Isaiah said, “Letty, get down.”
She dropped.
By the time she hit the carpet, the lights had gone out.
Instinct drove her to cover her head with her arms.
She heard confused shouting.
Footfalls on carpet.
Bursts of suppressed submachine-gun fire, rounds chewing through the drywall.
Then the sound of snapping filled the room, interspersed with the shuck-shuck of shotguns pumping, more snapping, men screaming.
Isaiah’s voice: “Go, go, go.”
Jerrod: “Hit him again.”
Men groaning, struggling against the electrical current.
Stu said, “Lights back in ten. Disable the camera.”
Jerrod: “It’s toast.”
Letty sat up, grabbed hold of the edge of the bar, and hauled herself back onto her feet.
Isaiah said, “Everyone secure?”
“Yep.”
“Yes.”
Stu said, “Five seconds. Remove goggles.”
“Done.”
“Done.”
“Three, two, one.”
The lights returned.
What a difference thirty seconds had made.
Letty said, “Color me impressed.”
Six of the seven guards lay on their stomachs, hog-tied with zip ties, twitching with the remnants of Taser shock. The barbed electrodes were still embedded in their chests, the propulsion cartridges dangling by wires.
Stu and Jerrod straddled two of the men, tightening ball gags around the backs of their heads. Isaiah sat on the chest of the seventh, who wasn’t gagged. Ize held a radio in one hand, a Fairbairn-Sykes in the other, the knifepoint digging under the man’s right eye.
Letty’s crew looked more like mercs than thieves. Outfitted in close-fitting night camo. Night-vision goggles hanging from their necks. Super 90s strapped to their backs. All wearing neoprene face masks screen printed with demonic-looking clown faces.
Isaiah said to the guard pinned under his weight, “Tell them the camera shorted out, and to send someone up with a spare. I double-dog dare you to try a goddamn thing.”
The man nodded.
Isaiah clicked “Talk.”
“Hey, it’s Matt, over.”
“Copy, we lost visual, over.”
Letty walked out from behind the bar into the living room.
“Yeah, the camera crapped out. Send up a new one.”
“Copy that. En route.”
Isaiah set the radio down on the carpet. “Very good. Very good, Matt.”
“You’ll never make it out,” Matt said. “Not in a million years.”
“Well, if it was easy, any old goon could do it. Maybe even you.”
Stu had moved over to the cages.
“What do you see, my man?” Isaiah asked.
“Four-jaw independent chuck, top-reversible D-4 cam lock.”
“Same on each cage?”
“Yep.”
“This happy news or bad news?”
Stu said, “It’s just news. Nothing I didn’t plan for.” He reached into his pocket and tossed Isaiah a chunk of gray metal the size of a chalkboard eraser.
“Stick that magnet under the doorknob.”
Stu hurried off toward the bedroom.
Jerrod followed.
The guards lay still on the floor all around them, just panting now. With the red ball gags in their mouths, they reminded Letty of roasting pigs. She glanced back at the wall behind the bar. A spray pattern—two dozen holes—arced up toward the ceiling.
Isaiah gagged his man and stood.
He headed to the entrance, glanced through the peephole.
Stu and Jerrod returned, Jerrod toting the empty duffel bags under one arm, Stu carrying a small, beefy drill.
He hit the first cage, had the lock drilled out and off in less than forty-five seconds.
Jerrod glanced at Letty, said, “Shall we?”
He pulled open the door to the first cage. Letty reached in. Both hands grabbing crisp stacks of hundreds bound with black wrappers. On each wrapper, “10,000” had been printed in gold. The cube of money was twenty stacks high, twenty-five packets per story.
$5 million per cart.
Six carts.
$30 million.
Give or take.
Something so satisfying about dropping them into the duffel, the smell of ink and paper filling the room.
Letty could feel the eyes of the guards on her as she worked. Stu was already through the third lock, and she and Jerrod had nearly filled the second duffel.
“Report,” Isaiah called from the door.
“Cruising, brother,” Stu said. “What’s our time in?”
“Two minutes, fifty-five seconds.”
Jerrod zipped the first two duffels, pushed them aside.
They started in on the third cage.
Aside from the whine of the drill, they worked with a quiet intensity. The minutes whirred past with a staggering paradox of speed and timelessness.
So much adrenaline raging through Letty’s system it felt like they’d been in this room for hours.
Stu drilled out the last lock. Then he lifted something that resembled a TSA wand and started moving it slowly over the duffel bags.
“We got company,” Isaiah said. “One guy.”
“Need an assist?” Jerrod asked.
“What are you implying, brother?”
“Armed?”
“Just stay on task. I got this.”
There was a knock at the door.
Letty looked up. Would’ve missed the entire thing if she’d blinked.
Isaiah opened the door, dragged a good-looking Latino into the suite, and turned his lights out with an elbow strike.
Ten seconds later, the man was bound and gagged with the rest of them.
Isaiah jogged over as Stu was wanding the last cage.
“We happy?”
“Yeah, none of the cash is chipped.”
“What does that mean?” Letty asked.
“It means they can’t track it.”
Letty packed the last armful of stacks into a duffel and zipped it up. Isaiah, Stu, and Jerrod had already carried most of the bags into the bathroom. Letty tried to lift one, but it didn’t weigh much less than she did. It was all she could do to drag it across the carpet.
Halfway to the bedroom, she heard the guard’s radio.
A man’s voice. Deep, raspy.
“Matt, did your camera show up? Over.”
Letty dropped the duffel, rushed back. She turned Matt over, unfastened his ball gag, and grabbed the radio. The closest weapon was a MAC-10 lying on the coffee table.
She grabbed it, held it under the man’s chin.
“Matt, do you copy? Over.”
She said, “Tell him he just showed up and that you’ll be back online momentarily. Say just those exact words.”
“Letty, what’s up?” Isaiah from the bedroom.
She held up her finger.
Stared straight into Matt’s eyes, saw plenty of steel there, but some fear, too.
Hopefully enough.
As she held the radio to his mouth, it suddenly occurred to her what she was doing. That she was threatening a man with his life. Of course she wouldn’t pull the trigger if he sold them out, but still—a line had appeared and she’d crossed it.
Without hesitation.
Pure reaction.
Her first armed robbery.
You have no choice. You have to get out of this hotel right now.
Matt spoke into the radio, “He just showed up. We’re installing it now. Be back online momentarily. Over.”
“Copy that.”
She took the radio and bolted back into the bedroom.
The duffels were gone and Jerrod was just lowering himself down through the crawl space.
She stopped at the edge of the gaping hole and got down onto her knees. Isaiah gave her a hand over the lip of the marble. She found her footing in the crawl space, the urge to be out of this mess, out of this hotel, this city, overpowering.
A sense of panic, of time running out, enveloping her.
Then she was climbing down the ladder into room 968, listening to the marble slab slide back into place. The soles of Isaiah’s tactical boots descended toward her as he maneuvered through the ductwork.
— 18 —
It took Letty four tries to get her left leg through the harness.
Isaiah watching her from the window.
He said, “You gotta lock that shit down.”
“Lock what down?”
“Your panic.”
Stu had rappelled out the window four minutes ago. Jerrod right on his heels. Now Ize had the last three duffel bags on belay, smoothly lowering two hundred and fifty pounds of cash—$12 million—to the convention-center roof.
The radio crackled again.
A rod of tension shot through Letty’s entire body.
Isaiah unclipped his locking carabiner from his harness and moved over to the bed.
“Matt, we still have no visual, over.”
Isaiah lifted the radio, pulled off a passable impersonation.
“This one doesn’t work either, over.”
“Are you messing with me? Over.”
“Nope. Over.”
“I’m bringing one up personally. Over.”
“Copy that.”
“See you in five.”
