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 Caesar's.

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 show time."

"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 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 sub-machinegun 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. He 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 90's strapped to their backs. All wearing neoprene face masks screen-printed with demonic-looking clowns.

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 grey 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.