The waitress stopped at the booth and freshened up Letty’s coffee.
When she was gone, Letty stared across the table at Javier.
“Well, do I have to guess?” she asked.
He glanced around the restaurant as he reached into his leather jacket. The sheet of paper he pulled out had been folded. Javier slid it across the table. Letty pushed her plate aside and opened it.
She stared down at a painting printed in full color from a Wikipedia page—a skull with a burning cigarette in its mouth.
“What’s this?” Letty asked.
“Skull with a Burning Cigarette. You familiar with your post-Impressionists?”
“Not so much.”
“You don’t recognize the style?”
“I’m a thief, not an art collector.”
“But you have heard of Vincent Van Gogh...”
“Of course.”
“He painted this one in the mid-eighteen-eighties.”
“Good for him.”
“The original is hanging in Fitch’s office in the Keys.”
“Get to the good part.”
Letty managed to smile through her driving headache.
“When we discuss the value,” Javier said, “we’re talking about two numbers. First, what could we sell it for at auction? In nineteen-ninety, Van Gogh’s Portrait of Dr. Gachet sold for eighty million. In adjusted dollars, that’s a hundred and forty.”
Letty felt something catch inside her chest. It was a strange sensation, like being dealt four aces. She fought to maintain her poker face.
“You said there were two numbers?” she asked.
“Obviously, we can’t just steal this painting and put it up for a public auction through Sotheby’s.”
“Black market?”
“I already have a buyer.”
“How much?”
“Fifteen million.”
“What did Fitch pay for it?”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re selling it for fifteen. You’re rolling your eyes over fifteen mil? Really?”
“I just think we can—”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Look at me.” She looked at him. “You don’t know me well. But from what you do know, do you honestly believe I would broker a deal for anything less than the most favorable payout to me? To my crew?”
When she didn’t respond right away, he continued, “The answer you’re looking for is ‘no.’ That should leave you with one question.”
“What’s my cut?”
“Two.”
It was more money than Letty had ever imagined acquiring in a lifetime of theft, but she forced herself to shake her head. Strictly on principle of not accepting a first offer, if nothing else.
“No?” Javier seemed amused. “Two isn’t a fair cut for a tweaker?”
“That’s not even fifteen percent of the take, Jav.”
“You think it’s just you and me on this deal? That there aren’t some other people I have to pay off? You wouldn’t even have this opportunity without me. Sounds like you’d be living in a box somewhere.”
“Why do you need me? Why not have your guy on the inside handle this?”
“That was the initial plan, but he was let go last week.”
“Why?”
“Nothing related to this.”
“So you had a man on the inside.”
“This can still work, Letty. I can get you on that island with all the tools, all the intel you’ll need.”
She sighed.
“What?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you might have put this together, but I’ll be taking on most of the risk.”
Javier cocked his head as if he might disagree.
Instead, he held up four fingers and then waved her off before she could respond. “I know it’s hard for you, but just accept graciously, Letty. It’ll buy you enough crystal to kill yourself a thousand times over.”
“Go to hell.”
Javier reached into his jacket again and tossed a blank white envelope on the table.
Letty opened the flap, peered inside.
A bunch of fifties and an airline ticket.
“You fly down to Miami a week from today,” Javier said. “I’ll be there to pick you up. There’s a thousand in there. I assume that’ll cover you until then?”
“Yeah.”
She didn’t even see his arm move. Suddenly, Javier had a grip on the envelope. She instinctively pulled back, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said, “this is for your room and board. And to get yourself a world-class makeover. Keep receipts for every purchase. If you use this money to buy meth... If you look anything like the car crash that’s sitting across the table from me when you get off the plane in Miami... You know how this will end.”
3
Letty walked back to her motel through the falling sleet. It made a dry, steady hiss drumming against the sidewalk. It was bitter cold. The streets were empty.
The thousand in her pocket kept whispering to her. Take a detour down Parker Street. Score a teener. You’ll still have time to get straight before Florida. You’ve got to celebrate. This could be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. To Jacob.
As she crossed Parker, she glanced down the street. Caught a glimpse of Big Tim standing on his corner, unmistakable in a giant down parka, designer jeans, fresh kicks.
She ached to score, but instead focused her gaze back on the road ahead.
Kept walking.
# # #
By the time she unlocked the door to her dingy motel room, Letty was freezing. She punched on the television and headed toward the bathroom. The local news was in hysterical storm coverage mode.
She drew a hot bath. The tub filled slowly, steam peeling off the surface of the water. Letty stripped out of her clothes. She stood naked in front of the mirror hanging from a nail on the back of the door. A crack ran down through the glass. It somehow seemed fitting.
She’d never looked so thin. So haggard. In health, she was a beautiful woman with clear eyes the color of amber. Short, auburn hair. Curves in all the right places.
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.
4
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 mini-bar 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 tomorrow 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 Ponce de Leon first showed up. Letty ordered a vodka martini. While he 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 whitehot 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 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.
5
“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 cafe 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 further 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 a 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 t
he 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. That, 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?”