The True Showstopper

“Are you sure about this?” I ask my friend as we pull into the parking spot near the large open field. I’m good with either way, but this feels like it might be a bit much. Especially for one’s first time.

My friend looks back at me. The look on her face tells me everything. She’s not sure. But she’s going to go through with it anyway. “Yes,” she lies to my face.

I sigh. “Alright then,” I reply. She nods. “Now remember, it’s all about moving with the flow of things. Not getting too caught up in them or yourself. And if anything, and I do mean anything, feels off, you can always end it. You’ve got a good gut on you, so if something feels off to you, something’s probably off, and ain’t nothing wrong with leaving a bad situation behind. That’s how you don’t die or worse.”

“You keep on telling me this, man,” she shoots back, “Just chill a bit. I know what I’m doing.” Another lie, though this one’s a little less boldfaced than the first one. I’m not really sure she even realizes how little she knows about what she’s about to do.

“Fine,” I say, “Then let’s get on out there.” And, after taking a nice, deep, centering breath, I turn off the engine and climb on out of the car. She follows suit, checking around for whether she recognizes any of the cars already gathered around. She wants to know who’s here, whether she knows anyone. She thinks that’s important. And while she’s not entirely wrong, we’re here too early for that to actually be helpful. “Come on, Col,” I say, offering my arm, “Remember, eyes on a swivel, head confidently looking ahead.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Collen replies as she takes my arm, “And never let them see you doing anything no one else is doing. I do remember your dumb little lessons.”

“Dumb?” I muse aloud.

She shrugs as we head towards the field. “You do tend to treat me and Paul like we’re children.”

“Well,” I reply, “In all fairness, that is how you can act sometimes.” She shakes her head and smiles at that one, knowing I’m right. “Alright, we break. I’m heading to scavenge some drinks from these people, you find a comfortable place to wait.”

“This a test?” she asks with a smirk as she drops her arm from mine.

I shrug. “Always,” I half joke as I begin to run my eyes over the other early guests.

She chuckles and walks off. Doesn’t run because that would stand out. Which makes for a good start to the test. Gauging the guests, I look for the key factors. I want light beers, so I’ll always seem like I’m drinking but no one will realize how little I’m actually drinking. Which means I want to find a group of four to eight people in shorts without kids. Bonus if they’ve got an obviously visible case or cooler. Because if they have one of those out already, they’ve definitely got even more for when it starts getting dark.

A group of guys I vaguely recognize is hanging out around one of the tables, an open case of light beers sitting on the table, another closed one under it. I want to say they tailgated some game that I did some work at. I approach them, letting my shoulders relax backwards and my face settle into a light, friendly smirk. I approach the guy who seems like he’s the leader of the group. “Hey man,” I say, going in for the dap.

“Sup,” he replies after only half a beat, taking my hand. Because, as long as you go in with relaxed confidence, people like him tend to assume they just forgot you. Especially if you cultivate your, well, everything to feel forgettable. “How’re things?”

“‘S’alright. Listen, I didn’t exactly come here alone, but my,” I pause for effect, “Friend, is more of a wine drinker. I was wondering if I could grab a couple so I don’t got to drink that spicy grape juice.”

He laughs. “Of course, bro. We got you,” he turns around and pulls out a couple cans, tossing them to me. I catch them with ease, one in each hand.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”

He chuckles. “Anytime,” he replies. I give him a friendly smile and a nod, before heading out to find Colleen’s chosen spot. I do quite like that. Most conversations between people who know, or “know”, one another don’t actually involve any names. Names only really come up in introductions, exhortations, and descriptions. Just avoid those situations and come in with familiarity, and few people will honestly question whether they actually know someone. As I walk back towards the entrance, I crack open one of the beers and visibly take a sip. Best let any onlookers know I’m starting the drinking early. I let my eyes pick apart the rapidly filling park. Partway up the hill, still among but on the edge of the masses, Col is seated on a chair, with an empty one next to her. I head on over. Walking through the people, listening for anything interesting. Since I’m not doing anything tonight, I don’t need to worry as much about not being noticed, though I still can’t be memorable. That said, I don’t particularly like being noticed too much. It feels odd. Like the feeling one gets when they leave the oven on. A vague impression that I forgot to do something important. So I don’t look, I don’t linger, I don’t rush. I don’t do anything remarkable or memorable at all. I just walk forwards, always forwards, and listen. Occasionally, when I can feel the eyes around me taking note and causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end, I take another sip. Reinforce the idea that I’m intoxicated. In case any do actually remember me, they’ll assume I’m incapable of being involved in anything that requires thought or coordination.

I make it to the chair and sit down. “You found your horse piss?” Colleen asks.

Keeping the open beer in my hand, I put the other one in the chair’s cup holder. “No way,” I joke right back, “This is that watered-down horse piss. Get it right.”

“Of course. Everything go good for you?”

I shrug. “We’ll see. Anyone interesting show up?”

She shakes her head. “No one we didn’t expect, yet.” She takes a deep breath, then sighs. “Are you worried someone interesting is coming?”

“Always,” I reply with a smile. “Your friend here yet?”

She gestures subtly with her head towards the slowly setting sun. Sure enough, sitting on a chair beside a towel and surrounded by people, some fans, some guards, is the reason we’re here. “Remember, what we talked about,” I remind her.

She rolls her eyes. “Like I’m a child,” she mumbles to herself.

“What was that?” I shoot back quickly, even though we both know I heard her.

She smiles and looks over at me innocently. Or as innocently as she can pull off. “I said, ‘Like I even could.’ I mean, considering how often you’ve drilled it into me these last few days.”

I shake my head with a massive grin across my face. “You got to get better at that,” I inform her, “That was hardly better than the original.”

“Counter point: I don’t give a damn what you think,” she replies with a grin of her own. We both chuckle as the sun falls out of view. It’s showtime. Well, the beginning of the show. Our little show’s gotta wait until it’s closer to the finale.

The fireworks show starts with a bang. A terrible pun that I’m sure everyone uses all the time, but in this particular case, it was actually true, too. The first few fireworks are so colorful and blindingly bright, I think we might’ve been able to pull it off then. But I know better than to risk too much. And the darkness between the explosions is important for our movements. As the fireworks explode above us in the ever darkening night sky, I make sure it looks like I’m drinking every time the explosions are above our side of the field. Soon enough, the sky is dark in between each explosion, save the dim light falling from the full moon above. That would be much more light than I’d prefer in most situations, but as the much brighter fireworks go off too frequently for most people’s eyes to adjust properly, the dim moonlight is still dark enough to flow through. I give Colleen a nod during one explosion, tapping my ear. She smiles and nods back during the next one. The next explosion, she’s gone. I simply listen as I watch above us. See, fireworks have three distinct noises. The launch, the motion, and the explosion. Because of how loud the last one is compared to the other two, and how frequently fireworks are launched in a show, people tend not notice the other two during fireworks shows, but anyone who’s set off a lone firework before knows the three sounds. And that middle noise, the movement, changes apparent pitch as it gets higher into the air. So to move in darkness, you just need to time the flight, then move only in darkness when you hear the whizzing travel at the right pitch. And if you always are near a group of people when the explosions happen, people don’t really notice. Especially if you don’t linger once it gets dark again, but stay watching the fireworks whenever the sky’s alight. This is why in my more paranoid days, I tend to avoid fireworks shows. It’s too easy to lose people during them, and far too easy for the ill-intentioned to take advantage.

Speaking of, in the cacophony I’m focusing on, I hear a different explosion. Sharper, like the fireworks when they’re above, but closer to the volume of the firework launches. It happens immediately after an overhead explosion. One during a series of more epic combinations of colors and shapes. A fantastic distraction. Colleen listened to the launches well, then. This is the near-finale, when the people behind the scenes try to show off how clever they can be. The grand finale is where they go with the tried and true showstoppers. I expect that’ll be roughly when what just happened is discovered by the idiot’s camp. So, so long as Col’s back in her chair before then, we should be golden. I carefully cut the top of the beer can open. Making sure it’s smooth and still fits snugly in place. The beer has an added benefit. No one ever checks inside an empty. Carefully, I remove the top, and slide the knife back into my pocket. During the next series of explosions, Colleen is beside me. She moved quickly on the way back. Risky, but less risky than being caught out there, I suppose. I offer her the empty’s opening. As the world darkens once more, I can feel her put her nitrile gloves inside the can. I put the top back in place, then place the can on the ground for the moment. The sky lights up once more. She taps her side. I nod. The sky darkens once more and she hands the gun over to me. She keeps the silencer, probably putting it in her purse somewhere. In darkness, I make sure the safety’s on and slide the pistol into my concealed holster. Then, I pull out and palm the clip. It’s missing a single bullet. Well, technically two, but only one fewer than there should logically be. The sky lights up. It grows dark. I pull the spare bullet out of my jacket’s ticket pocket and, as though with well practiced coordination, I slide it into the top of the clip and return the clip to the gun.

The showstopper is about to start. I light a sparkler, as do others around the area. Including the man’s camp. The shouting begins. Laying it on the empty, I use the sparkler to warp the metal so the top shouldn’t fall out. The showstopper starts, only for a moment, before the bodyguard people stop it. Everyone looks around confused, until they spot the dead body. Then everyone rushes for the cars. No one around here wants to deal with all that time consuming nonsense that comes with a murder investigation. I toss the empty into a recycling bin on the street outside. And I drive off in a calm hurry, much like every other car pulling out the lot and off the streets right now. “You feeling alright?” I ask Colleen.

She looks vaguely in the distance, still processing things. “Ask me again tomorrow,” she answers honestly as we pull safely away.