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I’ve been watching the weather. Last night’s rain was just what I was looking for. There’s a curve in the road before the intersection in front of me. Over time, oil has built up on the tarmac in front of the stoplight. In the overnight rain, some of that oil will have floated up to the surface of the road.
That extra slickness isn’t usually a problem for a car. Only if something else goes wrong. Like if a tire blows out. A blowout on a slick corner could be dangerous.
I see another car coming up Bustleton toward me. I look through the scope. Escalade. License plate matches. A driver and a passenger. It’s him.
I aim the gun at the front passenger-side tire and wait for it to be in the perfect spot. I’ve got a modified high-powered air rifle. It will barely make a sound. Instead of a bullet, I’m using a glass cartridge. It normally has about a 50% chance of puncturing a tire, a bit less of a chance on the tires of a fairly new Escalade.
But I don’t take chances. Not if I can avoid them. Two weeks ago, I removed the valve stem from the tire on Novikov’s Escalade and poured in a catalyst agent that’s used for breaking down rubber. I put the valve stem back on and refilled the air in his tire. But while they’ve been driving around, the chemical has slowly been eating away at the tire from the inside out. Like I said, lots of preparation and attention to details.
I track the tire in my scope as the car approaches the bend at the intersection. I hold my breath. I pull the trigger. The gun makes a sharp and fast hiss.
Then I see the tire pop beneath Novikov, like a small explosion. The driver loses control of the Escalade as it slides on the oily road. Instead of going around the turn, they smash head-first into the telephone pole on the corner.
The front of the car crumples and the airbags explode. I sling the air rifle over my shoulder, put my gloves on, and jump down from the roof of the drive-thru. I check the surroundings as I sprint toward their car. Nobody around.
I run up to the passenger side. The driver is out cold. Probably still alive by the looks of it. Novikov is dazed and bloody. The airbag has deflated in front of him. Before he can figure out what’s going on, I reach through the door’s broken window and grab the back of his head. I smash his head against the dash hard enough to kill him.
When the first responders show up, it’ll seem obvious that Novikov died in the car accident. Even if they investigated it thoroughly, the best they could find is that the roads were wet from the rain and some broken glass caused the tire to fail. Novikov’s driver looked like he would survive, so he could validate the story to his bosses.
When we hear about it, we’ll send our condolences.
Car accidents are all too common. One of the leading causes of death in the United States. I’m too familiar with that. Not just because I’ve caused some of them, but because the closest thing I ever had to a mother was killed in one.
Now that Novikov is taken care of, I can move on to my next target.
GINA NICOLETTI
I wipethe sweat from my temple. That was my most solid performance yet. It felt together. I felt on. I like when dress rehearsals go that well. People say a bad dress rehearsal means a good show, but I’m not superstitious. In my experience the dress rehearsal just shows me if I need to get my head in the game or if I’m actually ready. In this case, it feels like a good sign for the actual shows.
After the 3rdAct is run, Alvaro Perez, the Artistic Director for Philadelphia Ballet Theater calls all the performers back on stage. I squeeze into the back of the group and sit down on the black marley next to Lexi.
Alvaro stands downstage in front of us, giving out his final notes. I can’t help but stare at the empty seats behind him. This theater is old and grand. I don’t think I could ever get sick of performing here.
“We’re ready for opening night,” Alvaro announces after he’s given his notes. He pulls an envelope out of his back pocket and unfolds it. “This weekend’s evening shows are all sold out!” he announces. I cheer along with all the dancers and Lexi bangs the floor next to her with her fists. “We still have tickets available for the matinee this weekend,” Alvaro adds, reading a note on the envelope. “And we’re about 80 percent sold for our closing weekend.”
What Alvaro has done with this company since he took over three years ago is impressive. It’s easy to sell out for something likeThe Nutcracker, or evenSleeping Beauty, but to sell outLa Bayadere? I’ve got to hand it to him.
“I also want to announce choreographers for this summer’s showcase,” Alvaro says. My spine straightens and my eyes go wide. I’m no longer distracted by the theater. I’m just focused on Alvaro.
“We had a lot of great submissions this year,” he continues. “After much discussion, we’ve chosen our three choreographers.” I can feel my heart beating. It feels like 15 minutes between each beat. “Zane Greene, Terrence Jordan, and …” Great for them. Who else? It’s like 90 fucking minutes have gone by. “Gina Nicoletti,” Alvaro finally announces.
I freeze. Did I hear it right? I feel Lexi grab my arm and shake it and hear her yell, “Yeah!” I see the other dancers look around at me and clap politely. A large grin spreads across my face and my spine relaxes.
“Congratulations to you all,” Alvaro says as he joins the applause.
I got it. I’m going to choreograph a piece for the summer showcase. I can hardly believe it. I almost felt stupid for even submitting my idea. I smile at Lexi. She smiles back. She knows how much this means to me. How much I want to be a choreographer.
“Are you also going to announce company promotions?” Cara asks Alvaro from across the group.
“No, not yet.” Alvaro answers. Cara lets out a huff and crosses her arms. If I didn’t know her, I would have thought she was joking. “We’ll announce promotions at the fundraising gala. Like we do every year,” Alvaro continues. “Let’s focus on finishing this year strong.”
“Seriously,” I hear Lexi mutter next to me. I glance at her just in time to catch her rolling her eyes. Cara must have heard Lexi as well, because she turns and glares at Lexi. Lexi shrugs back at her and shakes her head.
I hide my grin behind my hand. Sometimes I wish I was like Lexi. I wish I called people out on their shit like she does. But I can’t.
“Alright everyone, that’s all for tonight,” Alvaro says. “Go home, get a good night’s sleep. See you in the morning for class and then call time at 5pm.”
Lexi and I walk off stage and down to the dressing rooms. “Don’t know if I’ll be getting a goodnight’s sleep tonight,” Lexi grumbles as we change into our street clothes.
