THE STUDENT COUNCIL
Chapter 41

With the hunting knife at the bottom of her bag, Amy closed the garage door and entered the house. Her parents were in front of the TV again, toasting their love with sparkling wine. Her father was relaxed and composed, certainly not a victim of a Louis Sorvino visit. Not yet.

“Big day at the school tomorrow,” her mother said in greeting. “Sixty Minutes! Try to get in front of a camera, okay? Grandpa and grandma would be thrilled to see you on TV. Dad and I too.”

Amy put on a carefree grin. “Maybe you can do my hair in the morning.”

She glanced at her father. “Your guys did a nice job shading the windows at Forever Fit.” Amy caught her silly error. Would she always refer to the exercise room by its former business name?

“Glad you like it, Ames.” He leaned close to Emily and kissed her ear.

“Feels like bedtime,” her mother giggled, turning off the television.

Amy shook her head in mock disapproval. Nothing made her happier, more proud, than seeing the old folks so lovey-dovey.

In her bedroom, she did her internet research. Her target should be near the center of the upper back, just clear of a backbone that could deflect the blade. If she struck Sorvino’s heart, death would come quickly. A volley of thrusts, three or four, would be ideal. Targeting the back also seemed less personal.

At ten o’clock, she dressed in black sweats and slipped down the stairs. This chore couldn’t wait. She never wanted to hear Sorvino’s voice again. No one else could hear it either. If there were even whispers of Westin involvement in the school fire, her family would go down in flames too.

With her bag stowed in the basket in front of the handlebars, she pedaled toward Diamond Street. Judge Edward Diamond, she thought. He had served Venango County for over thirty years, long and well enough to have a street named in his honor – a suitable place to administer justice of her own. According to Google, Sorvino lived in a garage apartment at 312 Diamond.

The bike ride felt nothing like the trip toward the old school on the night of the fire. She was more determined than afraid. Her eyes were dry. Killing Sorvino seemed almost humane, like putting a rabid animal to rest. He was a menace to society. A defiler of women. On top of everything, he was a threat to all the good she’d accomplished.

Two blocks from the high school, she took a left on Diamond. Less than three blocks later, she cruised past 312, a small home with lights in the windows. The detached single-car garage was toward the back of the lot. An SUV sat in the driveway. No sign of Sorvino’s dark blue Focus. Continuing on to the corner, she turned right and caught the first parallel street back. Counting houses, she stopped at the home directly behind the detective’s residence. After stashing the bike behind a hedge, she grabbed her bag and crept between houses toward Sorvino’s lair.

The doorway to the converted garage was at the rear, directly in front of her. A single window was dark. The only illumination came from a porchlight above the door. Sorvino had simple taste or a very small budget. She crouched in bushes to wait as long as necessary, concealed by darkness more than foliage.

Only minutes later, she heard the closing of a car door. Her nemesis appeared moments later, whistling a tune she didn’t recognize. He reached up to the porchlight before unlocking the apartment, then returned the key to its hiding place. When he opened the door, a black and white cat darted past his feet and into the night. The interior lit up when he stepped inside.

The presence of the cat caught Amy off guard. When she thought of people with pets, they all seemed like honorable, caring folks. Paul had Rex, a Golden Retriever. Google’s family owned Tilly, a little who-knows-what of a pooch. Why would a person like Sorvino have a cat?

Amy moved closer for a better view inside. Standing behind the eight-inch trunk of a maple tree, she looked into the tiny apartment from barely ten yards away. Sorvino sat at a small table, hunched over a black laptop. He held a beer or soda can in his left hand. He looked more domestic than devious, like any other person relaxing after a long day. Maybe he was reading about the Pirates or Steelers. Both teams were busy this time of year.

A plan immediately took shape. She’d position herself beside the door, her back against the side of the building. After making some noise to lure him outside, she’d shove the knife into his back. Once, twice, three times. When he was dead, she would hurry inside, confiscate a computer that might hold damaging information, and make a quick escape. There would be only a half-hearted investigation. Who cared about the disgraced Louis Sorvino?

Could anything go wrong? Well, she thought, he was a trained and experienced peace officer. He’d probably be more alert than most people, harder to surprise. He might even have a gun. When she stabbed him, he might holler out, start screaming even. How could she know? Televisions were flickering in the windows of nearby homes. Someone might hear. Most likely of all, he’d fend her off with some kind of tricky police move and exact revenge, possibly even kill her. Many things could go wrong.

She revised her plan. Why not walk right up and knock on the door? She’d say she came to replace out what he wanted in return for his silence. He’d believe that. It was only normal for her to be anxious and concerned. She’d wait for him to turn his back and wham! One, two, three. Even if he yelled, they’d be inside where no one could hear.

Plan B was better. Much less could go wrong. Because he had no fear of her, he’d be caught off guard. He didn’t even credit her for coming up with the whole school scheme; he assumed her father was behind it. He called her a little girl! It was a workable plan.

Still, she remained glued to the bark of the tree. Was she suddenly afraid to do what was necessary? She tried to light a fire inside herself. Are you a damn pantywaist? You played catcher for goodness sakes. You took a shot from Big Ed Barner. Are you nothing but a gutless wimp? A sissy-girl? It’s time to step up!

She slumped her shoulders and backed away from the tree, back toward her bike. The missing ingredient was rage. She felt it toward herself, but not enough toward the crooked, cat-loving cop. Adding so much money to the mall lease had been a foolish mistake that attracted eyes. Giving away the marijuana was plain stupid. She brought trouble on herself. She couldn’t make even the lowly Louis Sorvino pay for it – not without rage.

Riding home, reflecting on her inaction, Amy had a revelation. There had been more than rage that was lacking. The timing was off. She had spent ten minutes alone with Sorvino at the school. There were witnesses, including Google and Trisha. As the last person to speak with the security guard, she’d be the first person questioned after his death. What credible explanation for their meeting could she have offered? How invisible would she have been?

Amy studied the right hand that was steering her home. It had almost acted on impulse, just like Big Ed Barner’s. She could never allow that to happen again.