Good behavior, p.19
Good Behavior, page 19
Isaiah said, “Now you can panic.” He grabbed her harness, gave it a hard tug. “Ever rappelled before?”
“No.” She could feel a wave of nausea coming on.
“Easiest thing in the world.”
“I’m sure.”
As they approached the gaping hole in the window, Letty felt the night heat of Vegas and the smell of the Strip and the desert ripping through. Sage and car and restaurant exhaust.
Isaiah had rigged a sophisticated anchor system of webbing to the bed frame.
“I don’t want to die,” Letty said.
A black rope had been halved and thrown out the window.
“Go ahead, look,” Isaiah said. “You need to see where you’re going.”
She edged up to the glass, poked her head through.
“Oh Jesus Christ.”
Stomach swirling. Body in full revolt against this.
Stu and Jerrod the size of Lego men far below.
The curve of the building a dizzying mindfuck.
“We should’ve gone over this before,” Letty said.
Isaiah grabbed her belay device, threaded the rope through, then locked everything into the carabiner on her harness.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“I hear that. But personally . . . I’d rather fall and die than be in this room when hotel security busts through. You feel me?”
She nodded.
He grabbed her hands, put her left on the rope near the belay device, her right on the rope farther back.
“This belay device is your friend, your brake. When the rope is back here”—he touched her right hand to her hip—“you won’t move. When you raise it up, it’ll allow the rope to feed through. You’ll drop.”
Her heart was going like mad.
“Do not let your left hand get too close to the belay device. It’ll chew it up. You’ll let go and die.”
The radio crackled. “On my way, Matt. Say, did you ever send Mario down? He never showed, isn’t responding, over.”
Isaiah said, “Look in my eyes.” She did. “You go down in a sitting position. Control your speed.”
“I can’t do this.”
“You have to do this.” He helped her up onto the lip of the glass.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You been through worse than this. Put your right hand in the brake position.” She clutched it, held it to her hip. “You ain’t gotta squeeze so hard. Relax. Now lean back.”
“I can’t.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Matt, do you copy? Over.”
“Lean. Back.”
She hung her ass out over the gaping darkness, her stomach turning itself inside out.
“Now raise your right hand slowly, until you feel the rope begin to glide through the belay device.”
“I—”
“Do it!”
“Matt, do you copy? Over.”
She raised the rope off her hip.
Isaiah smiled at her from inside the room, said, “There you go, now let it slide through your grasp, but not too fast.”
She opened her fingers, felt the rope move through.
She dropped a foot.
“Keep it going,” Isaiah said, “and I hate to rush you, but I do need you to hurry the fuck up.”
She descended in erratic bursts.
The sensation of plummeting to her death never out of her mind.
Twenty feet below their window, she lowered past a room where the curtains had not been drawn. Glimpsed a couple watching television in bed less than ten feet away, their faces awash in high-def glow.
She ventured a glimpse down, surprised to see that she was already halfway to the ground. Lifting her right hand as far off her hip as she’d yet dared, she felt the rope streaming through her loosened grasp. The balls of her feet bounced off the windows. For a fraction of a second, it was almost fun.
She touched solid ground, her legs buckling, relief blazing through her veins.
Jerrod caught her before she fell.
They stood at the edge of a field of commercial AC units that were noisy as turboprops. He unscrewed her locking carabiner, ripped the rest of the rope through her belay device, and said, “She’s down, Ize. Let’s blow.”
Letty looked around—too dark to see much of anything beyond the fact that Stu and all but two of the bags were gone.
She was about to ask where he was when Isaiah hit the ground beside her.
She said, “Wow, you’ve done that a few times.”
“Once or twice.”
The men shouldered the last two duffels.
Jerrod led the way, threading between the roaring AC vents.
“How much time do we have?” Letty asked as they ran.
“They know something’s up. But we magnetized the lock in the suite. No keycard will get them through. Yelling for someone to let them in won’t get them through. They’ll have to break it down.”
“And then?”
She was having to shout to be heard.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The guards saw us go through the bedroom and disappear. I moved the marble quietly, but I’m guessing they’ll connect the dots in a hurry. Or else someone will spot us on this rooftop.”
“Cameras up here?”
“Possibly. Whether or not they catch us at this point will depend on how quickly they can lock down all exits from the property. And if they’ve conceived of a theft like this.”
They climbed over a four-foot wall.
Jerrod said, “Almost there.”
Letty spotted the shadow of Stu up ahead.
They reached him.
Isaiah and Jerrod let the bags slough off their shoulders. She peered over the ledge. The wall dropped six feet to the top level of a parking deck. A white Suburban idled below, the rear cargo doors thrown open.
The parking deck was well lit, inhabited by a smattering of vehicles, but otherwise still and quiet.
“Your boy showed,” Isaiah said. He looked at Jerrod and Stu, said, “Homestretch. There will be cameras. Move like the wind, gentlemen.”
He hoisted a bag, swung it over the ledge, let it fall to the concrete on the other side.
The remaining bags followed.
Then the men.
Then Letty, climbing over last, letting her feet hang for a beat before dropping.
The Suburban’s rear seating had been removed.
Stu loaded the final duffel as Letty hurried around the back and climbed up into the front passenger seat.
She pulled off her mask and smiled at Christian.
“Good to see you again,” he said.
Ize and his crew piled in, doors slamming.
Isaiah said, “Christian, glad you could make it.”
Christian shifted into gear. “Where to?”
“95 North.”
Christian drove down the ramp into the parking garage.
A tense silence descending over the car.
After the second overly hard turn, Isaiah said, “Just drive cool, my man. This ain’t the movies. No one’s chasing us yet.”
Letty checked her iPhone—2:23.
Hard to believe that only twenty-three minutes had elapsed since the guards had walked into that suite. She’d worried enough in that time span for three lifetimes.
Each corner Christian turned ratcheted the knot in her stomach a little tighter.
Her hands trembled. She tried to steady them, but she was too amped.
She looked over, studied Christian. “You all right?” she asked.
He nodded, but he looked scared as hell.
The road out of the garage seemed to go on forever, like the Penrose stairs.
Turn.
After turn.
After turn.
Letty stared out the window, watching all the paint jobs of the cars gleaming under the harsh light.
Something reached her through the glass. She lowered her window two inches.
There it was—the screech of tires across smooth concrete.
She said, “Someone’s coming up fast.”
Jerrod said, “Ize? Should he pull into an open space? Let them pass?”
“Hell no. All likelihood, they got a vehicle description. We need to get the fuck out. Just drive, my man. And try not to crash.”
The screeching drew closer.
Letty heard Isaiah’s glass hum down, turned just in time to see him climbing up onto his knees, pointing an AR-15 through his window.
She buckled her seat belt.
Christian took a hard, squealing turn.
A black Escalade ripped into view.
Isaiah opened up.
Three bursts on full auto, a smear of silver-rimmed holes starring the engine and driver-side door of the Escalade. Its right front tire blew. Christian gunned the Suburban, its back end jutting left, smashing into the side of the Escalade as it passed.
“Down!” Isaiah screamed.
The back window of the Suburban exploded in a splash of safety glass, bullets chinking into the cargo doors.
Christian cranked it around one last curve.
Letty saw it first—a black strip lying across the exit lane up ahead.
“Spikes!” she yelled. “Other lane!”
Christian steered over a six-inch concrete median with a violent shudder that seemed to tear apart the undercarriage. The entrance gate snapped off as they punched through and made a hard, blind turn into traffic.
They accelerated down Las Vegas Boulevard.
The Strip still rocking at two thirty in the morning.
“Nicely done,” Isaiah said. “Now hang a left at the next intersection.”
Letty glanced back. Traffic moved slowly but there was plenty of it.
The curve of the Wynn fell away.
She heard frantic honking, accompanied by a symphony of sirens. Several SUVs a few hundred yards back were fighting their way through traffic with little success.
“Radio and scanner would be nice,” Stu said.
“Doing the best we can, brother.”
Letty said, “They’ll put out a description of the Suburban, right?”
“APB, no doubt.”
They lucked out, caught a protected green arrow at the next intersection.
Christian turned onto Desert Inn Road.
Compared to the Strip, this street was practically vacant.
Christian said, “Should I speed or just—”
“Hell yes, speed. We just knocked over a casino, son.”
The man pushed the gas pedal into the floor.
They screamed past a vacant lot where a new hotel was in its foundational infancy.
Then Trump Tower.
“Let’s get off the beaten path,” Isaiah said.
“Any particular direction?”
“Just keep us moving north.”
They drove residential streets, dead quiet at this hour.
Isaiah said, “Now you keep it under control. Only drive like a maniac if you see the po-po coming.”
Letty leaned against the glass. Tried to steady her rampant pulse, but it wouldn’t slow. They hadn’t just robbed at gunpoint. She’d been part of a crew that had fired on casino security. Isaiah could have killed the driver. And if the cops showed, tried to take them down, was there any doubt that a gunfight of epic proportions would ensue?
How did you let it get this far?
Because I needed it to.
Are you really this person, Letisha Dobesh?
She smiled.
Because she was.
Because she loved it.
— 19 —
On the edge of town, Isaiah directed Christian into the boondocks of a Walmart Supercenter parking lot. It was surprisingly busy considering the hour. This far out from the epicenter of Save-Money-Live-Better Land was the territory of Winnebagos, car campers, and one U-Haul. Specifically, a 4 × 8 trailer already rigged to the towing package of a car that had piqued Letty’s fear several days ago in Arizona.
Isaiah’s black Tundra.
Letty climbed out and raised the door.
The four men had the trailer loaded inside of thirty seconds.
They hit US 95 at three a.m.
Blasted north.
Isaiah driving.
By three fifteen, the suburban sprawl had begun to relent.
Patches of lightless, unsettled desert scrolling past with greater frequency.
The glow of the Strip dwindled in the rearview mirror.
The sky trading the absurdity of the Vegas skyline for honest-to-God stars.
Even forty miles out of town, no one spoke.
As if their success up to this moment hinged upon a collective silence.
By four o’clock in the morning they were tearing through a landscape that looked ready-made for missile testing.
Scorched earth.
Joyless mountains.
No trees.
Snakeskin country.
It was Isaiah who finally broke the silence.
Said, “Christian. I’d roll with you again. You are absolutely badass.”
Letty looked back, saw Christian smirking.
“And you, Letty,” Isaiah said. She could hear the celebration beginning to build in his voice. “Wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here.”
She said, “I told Christian he’d make at least a million.”
“Nope,” Isaiah said. “My man stepped up on a moment’s notice. Saved the day. Let’s call it one point five. How you guys know each other back wherever you from?”
“He’s my therapist.”
“No, seriously.”
They rode toward Death Valley under a star-blown sky.
Letty’s adrenaline charge had tapped out.
She hadn’t been this dog-tired since the birth of her son.
Ize turned off the highway.
For several miles, they bumped along a one-lane road that snaked through the creosote.
The stars had just begun to fade and the sky to draw color when Letty spotted structures in the distance.
The road curved toward a collection of buildings. At first, she mistook them for a town, but on approach, she saw they were nothing but skeletons. Broken framework profiled against the sky.
Isaiah eased to a stop in front of the remnants of a three-story building.
The only part still standing was its facade.
The rest had been reduced to crumbling mortar.
Ize killed the ignition.
The silence that flooded in was graveyard quiet.
Through the dusty windshield, Letty spotted four cars parked a little ways down the road.
“Whose are those?” she asked.
“Ours,” Isaiah said. “They’re just rentals. I figured we’d split the dough here. Go our separate ways.”
Christian was sitting in the back between Stu and Jerrod.
He cleared his throat, said, “You’re absolutely sure we’re safe here?”
Isaiah glanced back between the front seats.
“US 95 South. US 93 South. I-15 South. I-15 North. US 93 North. US 95 North. Six main arteries out of Vegas. They’re looking for a vehicle that matches your white Suburban. They will check every motel and hotel within three or four hours, which is why we aren’t taking that chance. Why don’t you let the professionals do the thinking, my man. You’re in good hands.”
They climbed out.
It was almost cold in the desert ghost town.
No wind.
Letty glanced back the way they’d come. The dust trail of their passage beginning to settle.
Everywhere she looked—emptiness.
Isaiah walked out into the middle of the road. He stared off at the distant hills.
Then laughed—long and low.
Jerrod and Stu moved toward him, and as he turned, the trio embraced.
A fierce, sudden, emotional huddle.
“I’m so proud. We did it, boys. We did it. They’re gonna make movies about us.”
“Yeah,” Christian said. “And with a big surprise ending.”
Letty looked across the hood of Ize’s Tundra.
It took her a second to process Christian standing in the road with an AR-15 pulled snug against his shoulder, sighting down the Marines.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “Raise your hands and get down on your knees.”
Isaiah’s head tilted. “What the fuck—”
The gunshot exploded across the desert, the round punching through the windshield of one of the rentals.
“Next shot goes through your eye. Ize.”
Isaiah, Stu, and Jerrod exchanged glances.
They slowly lifted their arms, got down on their knees.
“Join them, Letty.”
“What are you doing, Christian?”
“You’re going to make me kill somebody, aren’t you?”
She moved around the front of the car.
“Christian,” Isaiah said. “You want more money? An even split? We can do that. This hard-bargaining shit ain’t necessary. We’re reasonable men.”
Letty eased down into the dirt.
“Your offer of one point five million was generous, but I think I’ll have to settle for everything. Where are the keys to the Tundra, Isaiah?”
“No.” She could feel a wave of nausea coming on.
“Easiest thing in the world.”
“I’m sure.”
As they approached the gaping hole in the window, Letty felt the night heat of Vegas and the smell of the Strip and the desert ripping through. Sage and car and restaurant exhaust.
Isaiah had rigged a sophisticated anchor system of webbing to the bed frame.
“I don’t want to die,” Letty said.
A black rope had been halved and thrown out the window.
“Go ahead, look,” Isaiah said. “You need to see where you’re going.”
She edged up to the glass, poked her head through.
“Oh Jesus Christ.”
Stomach swirling. Body in full revolt against this.
Stu and Jerrod the size of Lego men far below.
The curve of the building a dizzying mindfuck.
“We should’ve gone over this before,” Letty said.
Isaiah grabbed her belay device, threaded the rope through, then locked everything into the carabiner on her harness.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“I hear that. But personally . . . I’d rather fall and die than be in this room when hotel security busts through. You feel me?”
She nodded.
He grabbed her hands, put her left on the rope near the belay device, her right on the rope farther back.
“This belay device is your friend, your brake. When the rope is back here”—he touched her right hand to her hip—“you won’t move. When you raise it up, it’ll allow the rope to feed through. You’ll drop.”
Her heart was going like mad.
“Do not let your left hand get too close to the belay device. It’ll chew it up. You’ll let go and die.”
The radio crackled. “On my way, Matt. Say, did you ever send Mario down? He never showed, isn’t responding, over.”
Isaiah said, “Look in my eyes.” She did. “You go down in a sitting position. Control your speed.”
“I can’t do this.”
“You have to do this.” He helped her up onto the lip of the glass.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You been through worse than this. Put your right hand in the brake position.” She clutched it, held it to her hip. “You ain’t gotta squeeze so hard. Relax. Now lean back.”
“I can’t.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Matt, do you copy? Over.”
“Lean. Back.”
She hung her ass out over the gaping darkness, her stomach turning itself inside out.
“Now raise your right hand slowly, until you feel the rope begin to glide through the belay device.”
“I—”
“Do it!”
“Matt, do you copy? Over.”
She raised the rope off her hip.
Isaiah smiled at her from inside the room, said, “There you go, now let it slide through your grasp, but not too fast.”
She opened her fingers, felt the rope move through.
She dropped a foot.
“Keep it going,” Isaiah said, “and I hate to rush you, but I do need you to hurry the fuck up.”
She descended in erratic bursts.
The sensation of plummeting to her death never out of her mind.
Twenty feet below their window, she lowered past a room where the curtains had not been drawn. Glimpsed a couple watching television in bed less than ten feet away, their faces awash in high-def glow.
She ventured a glimpse down, surprised to see that she was already halfway to the ground. Lifting her right hand as far off her hip as she’d yet dared, she felt the rope streaming through her loosened grasp. The balls of her feet bounced off the windows. For a fraction of a second, it was almost fun.
She touched solid ground, her legs buckling, relief blazing through her veins.
Jerrod caught her before she fell.
They stood at the edge of a field of commercial AC units that were noisy as turboprops. He unscrewed her locking carabiner, ripped the rest of the rope through her belay device, and said, “She’s down, Ize. Let’s blow.”
Letty looked around—too dark to see much of anything beyond the fact that Stu and all but two of the bags were gone.
She was about to ask where he was when Isaiah hit the ground beside her.
She said, “Wow, you’ve done that a few times.”
“Once or twice.”
The men shouldered the last two duffels.
Jerrod led the way, threading between the roaring AC vents.
“How much time do we have?” Letty asked as they ran.
“They know something’s up. But we magnetized the lock in the suite. No keycard will get them through. Yelling for someone to let them in won’t get them through. They’ll have to break it down.”
“And then?”
She was having to shout to be heard.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The guards saw us go through the bedroom and disappear. I moved the marble quietly, but I’m guessing they’ll connect the dots in a hurry. Or else someone will spot us on this rooftop.”
“Cameras up here?”
“Possibly. Whether or not they catch us at this point will depend on how quickly they can lock down all exits from the property. And if they’ve conceived of a theft like this.”
They climbed over a four-foot wall.
Jerrod said, “Almost there.”
Letty spotted the shadow of Stu up ahead.
They reached him.
Isaiah and Jerrod let the bags slough off their shoulders. She peered over the ledge. The wall dropped six feet to the top level of a parking deck. A white Suburban idled below, the rear cargo doors thrown open.
The parking deck was well lit, inhabited by a smattering of vehicles, but otherwise still and quiet.
“Your boy showed,” Isaiah said. He looked at Jerrod and Stu, said, “Homestretch. There will be cameras. Move like the wind, gentlemen.”
He hoisted a bag, swung it over the ledge, let it fall to the concrete on the other side.
The remaining bags followed.
Then the men.
Then Letty, climbing over last, letting her feet hang for a beat before dropping.
The Suburban’s rear seating had been removed.
Stu loaded the final duffel as Letty hurried around the back and climbed up into the front passenger seat.
She pulled off her mask and smiled at Christian.
“Good to see you again,” he said.
Ize and his crew piled in, doors slamming.
Isaiah said, “Christian, glad you could make it.”
Christian shifted into gear. “Where to?”
“95 North.”
Christian drove down the ramp into the parking garage.
A tense silence descending over the car.
After the second overly hard turn, Isaiah said, “Just drive cool, my man. This ain’t the movies. No one’s chasing us yet.”
Letty checked her iPhone—2:23.
Hard to believe that only twenty-three minutes had elapsed since the guards had walked into that suite. She’d worried enough in that time span for three lifetimes.
Each corner Christian turned ratcheted the knot in her stomach a little tighter.
Her hands trembled. She tried to steady them, but she was too amped.
She looked over, studied Christian. “You all right?” she asked.
He nodded, but he looked scared as hell.
The road out of the garage seemed to go on forever, like the Penrose stairs.
Turn.
After turn.
After turn.
Letty stared out the window, watching all the paint jobs of the cars gleaming under the harsh light.
Something reached her through the glass. She lowered her window two inches.
There it was—the screech of tires across smooth concrete.
She said, “Someone’s coming up fast.”
Jerrod said, “Ize? Should he pull into an open space? Let them pass?”
“Hell no. All likelihood, they got a vehicle description. We need to get the fuck out. Just drive, my man. And try not to crash.”
The screeching drew closer.
Letty heard Isaiah’s glass hum down, turned just in time to see him climbing up onto his knees, pointing an AR-15 through his window.
She buckled her seat belt.
Christian took a hard, squealing turn.
A black Escalade ripped into view.
Isaiah opened up.
Three bursts on full auto, a smear of silver-rimmed holes starring the engine and driver-side door of the Escalade. Its right front tire blew. Christian gunned the Suburban, its back end jutting left, smashing into the side of the Escalade as it passed.
“Down!” Isaiah screamed.
The back window of the Suburban exploded in a splash of safety glass, bullets chinking into the cargo doors.
Christian cranked it around one last curve.
Letty saw it first—a black strip lying across the exit lane up ahead.
“Spikes!” she yelled. “Other lane!”
Christian steered over a six-inch concrete median with a violent shudder that seemed to tear apart the undercarriage. The entrance gate snapped off as they punched through and made a hard, blind turn into traffic.
They accelerated down Las Vegas Boulevard.
The Strip still rocking at two thirty in the morning.
“Nicely done,” Isaiah said. “Now hang a left at the next intersection.”
Letty glanced back. Traffic moved slowly but there was plenty of it.
The curve of the Wynn fell away.
She heard frantic honking, accompanied by a symphony of sirens. Several SUVs a few hundred yards back were fighting their way through traffic with little success.
“Radio and scanner would be nice,” Stu said.
“Doing the best we can, brother.”
Letty said, “They’ll put out a description of the Suburban, right?”
“APB, no doubt.”
They lucked out, caught a protected green arrow at the next intersection.
Christian turned onto Desert Inn Road.
Compared to the Strip, this street was practically vacant.
Christian said, “Should I speed or just—”
“Hell yes, speed. We just knocked over a casino, son.”
The man pushed the gas pedal into the floor.
They screamed past a vacant lot where a new hotel was in its foundational infancy.
Then Trump Tower.
“Let’s get off the beaten path,” Isaiah said.
“Any particular direction?”
“Just keep us moving north.”
They drove residential streets, dead quiet at this hour.
Isaiah said, “Now you keep it under control. Only drive like a maniac if you see the po-po coming.”
Letty leaned against the glass. Tried to steady her rampant pulse, but it wouldn’t slow. They hadn’t just robbed at gunpoint. She’d been part of a crew that had fired on casino security. Isaiah could have killed the driver. And if the cops showed, tried to take them down, was there any doubt that a gunfight of epic proportions would ensue?
How did you let it get this far?
Because I needed it to.
Are you really this person, Letisha Dobesh?
She smiled.
Because she was.
Because she loved it.
— 19 —
On the edge of town, Isaiah directed Christian into the boondocks of a Walmart Supercenter parking lot. It was surprisingly busy considering the hour. This far out from the epicenter of Save-Money-Live-Better Land was the territory of Winnebagos, car campers, and one U-Haul. Specifically, a 4 × 8 trailer already rigged to the towing package of a car that had piqued Letty’s fear several days ago in Arizona.
Isaiah’s black Tundra.
Letty climbed out and raised the door.
The four men had the trailer loaded inside of thirty seconds.
They hit US 95 at three a.m.
Blasted north.
Isaiah driving.
By three fifteen, the suburban sprawl had begun to relent.
Patches of lightless, unsettled desert scrolling past with greater frequency.
The glow of the Strip dwindled in the rearview mirror.
The sky trading the absurdity of the Vegas skyline for honest-to-God stars.
Even forty miles out of town, no one spoke.
As if their success up to this moment hinged upon a collective silence.
By four o’clock in the morning they were tearing through a landscape that looked ready-made for missile testing.
Scorched earth.
Joyless mountains.
No trees.
Snakeskin country.
It was Isaiah who finally broke the silence.
Said, “Christian. I’d roll with you again. You are absolutely badass.”
Letty looked back, saw Christian smirking.
“And you, Letty,” Isaiah said. She could hear the celebration beginning to build in his voice. “Wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here.”
She said, “I told Christian he’d make at least a million.”
“Nope,” Isaiah said. “My man stepped up on a moment’s notice. Saved the day. Let’s call it one point five. How you guys know each other back wherever you from?”
“He’s my therapist.”
“No, seriously.”
They rode toward Death Valley under a star-blown sky.
Letty’s adrenaline charge had tapped out.
She hadn’t been this dog-tired since the birth of her son.
Ize turned off the highway.
For several miles, they bumped along a one-lane road that snaked through the creosote.
The stars had just begun to fade and the sky to draw color when Letty spotted structures in the distance.
The road curved toward a collection of buildings. At first, she mistook them for a town, but on approach, she saw they were nothing but skeletons. Broken framework profiled against the sky.
Isaiah eased to a stop in front of the remnants of a three-story building.
The only part still standing was its facade.
The rest had been reduced to crumbling mortar.
Ize killed the ignition.
The silence that flooded in was graveyard quiet.
Through the dusty windshield, Letty spotted four cars parked a little ways down the road.
“Whose are those?” she asked.
“Ours,” Isaiah said. “They’re just rentals. I figured we’d split the dough here. Go our separate ways.”
Christian was sitting in the back between Stu and Jerrod.
He cleared his throat, said, “You’re absolutely sure we’re safe here?”
Isaiah glanced back between the front seats.
“US 95 South. US 93 South. I-15 South. I-15 North. US 93 North. US 95 North. Six main arteries out of Vegas. They’re looking for a vehicle that matches your white Suburban. They will check every motel and hotel within three or four hours, which is why we aren’t taking that chance. Why don’t you let the professionals do the thinking, my man. You’re in good hands.”
They climbed out.
It was almost cold in the desert ghost town.
No wind.
Letty glanced back the way they’d come. The dust trail of their passage beginning to settle.
Everywhere she looked—emptiness.
Isaiah walked out into the middle of the road. He stared off at the distant hills.
Then laughed—long and low.
Jerrod and Stu moved toward him, and as he turned, the trio embraced.
A fierce, sudden, emotional huddle.
“I’m so proud. We did it, boys. We did it. They’re gonna make movies about us.”
“Yeah,” Christian said. “And with a big surprise ending.”
Letty looked across the hood of Ize’s Tundra.
It took her a second to process Christian standing in the road with an AR-15 pulled snug against his shoulder, sighting down the Marines.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “Raise your hands and get down on your knees.”
Isaiah’s head tilted. “What the fuck—”
The gunshot exploded across the desert, the round punching through the windshield of one of the rentals.
“Next shot goes through your eye. Ize.”
Isaiah, Stu, and Jerrod exchanged glances.
They slowly lifted their arms, got down on their knees.
“Join them, Letty.”
“What are you doing, Christian?”
“You’re going to make me kill somebody, aren’t you?”
She moved around the front of the car.
“Christian,” Isaiah said. “You want more money? An even split? We can do that. This hard-bargaining shit ain’t necessary. We’re reasonable men.”
Letty eased down into the dirt.
“Your offer of one point five million was generous, but I think I’ll have to settle for everything. Where are the keys to the Tundra, Isaiah?”
