Freaking Fast

By David Pereda

The Year is 2066 ...

Today I’m going to kill the love of my life. This deliberate act should not to be misinterpreted for what the sensationalistic media will surely call a crime of passion, because it isn’t. There’s nothing passionate in what I am about to do. My action is premeditated, has been planned for a long time, and will be executed for the benefit of all and my own peace of mind.
I have chosen this date for a reason.
Today is my birthday, and the anniversary of our first kiss, fifty years ago. I turn sixty-three today. Five decades ago I would have been considered an old woman, gray-haired and wrinkled, and possibly overweight. But that was then. Nowadays, thanks to the medical advances of the past fifty years, I am in the prime of my life. I have the sculpted body, the vigor, and the mental acumen of a highly-intelligent woman in her early thirties.
But I digress. Today I am a killer. A killer with a gun. I selected my weapon with care. I settled for the simplest death of them all – a bullet to the heart at close quarters ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS
• Release date: May 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463989838

David Pereda

David Pereda was born in Havana, Cuba. The award-winning author of seven previous novels, he enjoys crafting political thrillers and edgy mainstream novels with unique characters placed in exotic settings. He has traveled to more than thirty countries and speaks four languages. Before devoting his time solely to writing and teaching, David had a successful international consulting career with global giant Booz Allen Hamilton, where he worked with the governments of Mexico, Venezuela, Peru and Qatar, among others. A member of MENSA, David earned his MBA from Pepperdine University in California. He earned bachelor degrees in English literature and mathematics at the University of South Florida in Tampa. He lives in artistic Asheville, North Carolina, with his youngest daughter Sophia, where he teaches mathematics and English at the Asheville-Buncombe Community College. He loves sports and is an accomplished competitor in track and show-jumping equestrian events.

Book preview

Chapter One

13-14 Girls 200m Race, Raleigh, North Carolina

2016 State Championships

I turn for home and here I am, behind the KK twins again, like a piece of bologna in a sandwich. Katosha is two meters ahead to my right, and Kashandra is half a step behind her to my left. I don’t notice any of the other runners; I figure they are all eating our dust. My heart sinks. I prepared so hard for this moment, eating the right foods, controlling my weight, forcing myself to train every day, giving up all sweets, even my favorite raspberry-filled chocolates, and for what? I’m going to lose.

My stride slows, caused by my despair, and the KK twins gain a little more on me. My dad’s voice booms inside my head. ‘Keep those legs pumping, Alexandra! Don’t decelerate. You’re still in the race!’

My dad only calls me Alexandra when he’s angry with me. His words give me a new surge of energy, and I pick up maybe a foot on the twins. We are about ninety meters from the end. People in the stands are waving and screaming. The sun is a ball of fire overhead, and the temperature is close to one hundred degrees in Raleigh, but I don’t care. The three of us are breathing hard. Katosha sounds like a tractor, full of energy and power.

My father’s voice screams inside my head again. ‘Stride length and turnover rate, Alex. Your stride is good. Your turnover rate is not. Move those legs faster!’

I make a superhuman effort and try to move my legs faster. Kashandra and Katosha do the same. I can hear the click-click-click of our spikes beating on the steaming orange track like machine gun fire.

Down we go: click-click-click. The finish line looms ahead. I can’t lose this race. I will not lose this race. My immediate future depends on me crossing the finish line ahead of everyone else, and that means Katosha and Kashandra, my arch-enemies. They are also competing for the same prize I am.

Seventy meters, sixty-five meters, sixty meters, the click-click-click is even.

My thighs are numb. I can’t move my legs any faster. I’ve reached my limit. I have a stitch on my side, and my ribcage hurts from trying to expand my lungs to inhale more oxygen. I’m hypnotized by the flowing motion of Katosha’s muscular legs. She’s very tall for a thirteen-year-old, around six feet or so, and runs with the effortless grace of a cheetah. She’s more muscular than Kashandra – and meaner too.

My dad’s voice resonates inside my head again. ‘Concentrate on the race, Alex! Sprint!’

I try to pump my legs even faster, but don’t know if I’m going faster or slower or the same; I can’t feel my legs anymore.

‘Don’t decelerate, Alex!’ It’s my father’s voice again. ‘The runner who decelerates the most loses the race.’

We are forty meters or so from the end. Finally, I notice progress. I am nearly even with the KK twins, at least one of them: Kashandra. We barrel down toward the finish line. Kashandra’s breathing is slightly uneven. Katosha’s breathing has changed also: the tractor engine seems to have lost some of its power. The click-click-click of our spikes has a different rhythm too. It’s more like one click-two click-three click. I’m even with Kashandra now but still trailing Katosha.

Twenty more meters to go. Kashandra is done. Her breathing is ragged. She’s decelerating the fastest. It’s only Katosha and me now, but I’m still behind. Although the 200-meters race lasts a little over twenty seconds, time seems to be standing still. Everything is moving in slow motion, and I can notice every detail. Is that my dad in the stands? Where is that cute boy Vitali? I’ve been dreaming of this moment for months. I want him to see me run. He said he’d come. Where is he? Is that his voice I hear?

It’s my dad’s voice again, but I don’t know if he’s yelling from the stands, or if it’s the recorder inside my head. ‘Sprint, Alex! Sprint!’

What does he think I’m doing?

I block out the screaming from the stands, sure Katosha and Kashandra’s parents are there urging their daughters on, too. I concentrate on the race and listen intently, trying to detect any further weakness in Katosha’s breathing. Bad news. She’s breathing like a tractor again. Katosha is a competitor. No wonder she wins the 200-meters race at the North Carolina State Championships every year. She has the heart of a champion.

‘To be a champion, you have to beat the champion, Alex.’ It’s my father’s voice again. ‘Do you want it?’

I want it.

We rocket down the track, Katosha, intent on leaving me behind, and I, resolute in catching her. I have run against the KK twins three times before, and they have always beaten me. I can’t lose today. I won’t lose today. There are several high school coaches in the stands. I may be only thirteen, but I’m old enough to know the importance of networking – besides, Dad always reminds me. Although I excel in math and have outstanding grades, scholarships are few and highly competitive. A win at state might help me get a scholarship at the Asheville Elite School, the best private school in town, where they like to balance brains with brawn. The director of admissions is in the stands. He has driven all the way from Asheville to attend this meet for only one purpose: to watch me run.

Katosha’s stride is a bit slower, or am I imagining things? Maybe I have a chance.

My dad’s voice booms again. ‘Now, Alexandra! Now!’

I suppose he means for me to give it my all at this moment. What does he believe I’ve been doing?

My anger seems to give my legs added fuel. Katosha and I are even now. The finish line is just strides away and coming fast at us. We are there.

Both of us lean forward toward the tape at the same time…

*****

Chapter Two

Six Months Earlier …

Principal Duron’s voice crackles in the loudspeaker, interrupting my math class and disrupting my concentration as I try to solve a difficult nested square-roots problem. ‘Alexandra, please come to my office.’

The heads of all the students in my class turn toward me, no doubt wondering what I have done wrong. I’m wondering myself. Principal Duron only calls students to his office for reprimands.

Mr. Taylor, the math teacher, raises his eyebrows. ‘Please go to the principal’s office, Alex.’

He has a puzzled look on his face. He’s probably wondering what I’ve done too.

I push my glasses up to the bridge of my nose and rise. My cheeks are burning with embarrassment from all the attention. My desk is in the back of the room, and I need to walk by the entire class to get to the front. I peek at Andrew first, and he gives me an encouraging smile. Boy, is he handsome! I glance at Xavier next, and he shrugs, which is his nerdy way of telling me it’s okay. I take a deep breath and shuffle to the door, trying to look cool.

It’s hopeless. I’m as graceful as a newborn colt trying to stand up for the first time, all legs and no coordination. Managing to make it to the front without bumping into anything, I stumble by the doorway and hear a couple of girls snicker, probably Cassandra and Julia. Oh, how I hate those girls!

I resist the temptation to glance over my shoulders and step out into the hall without looking back.

Principal Duron receives me with his toothy ‘Hello,-my-subject, I’m-your-king’ smile, all cheap plastic and yellow. He’s wearing a green shirt the color of grass and a striped red tie that looks like an Italian restaurant napkin. He stands briefly, and I get to see he’s wearing shiny, charcoal-gray polyester pants. Wow!

‘Please, sit down, Alexandra,’ he says, sitting down.

Every time I’ve been to his office before, he’s given a lecture about one thing or another. I’ve never been able to look at the surroundings closely. I take my time sitting down now, so I can ogle. His wooden desk is covered with papers and pencils. There’s also a pair of reading glasses. At the edge of the table, there is a white teddy bear called Mr. Snuffles, which, I heard two teachers laughing about it once, the principal dresses every morning. There is a silver safe in one corner of the room with a red rose in a vase on top. The walls are adorned with two tennis rackets and several photographs of tennis stars.

The principal is an avid tennis player, who tells all the kids who come to his office the same thing: ‘One day I’m going to teach you how to play tennis like a pro.’

He never does.

Principal Duron catches me ogling the pictures and asks, ‘Do you like tennis, Alexandra?’

I hate tennis, but I nod. When I try to hit a tennis ball with a racket, I usually miss it entirely or the ball goes up, sideways, or out, instead of straight ahead. Principal Duron has asked me this question before, and I know what he’s going to say next.

‘One day I’m going to teach you how to play tennis like a pro, Alexandra.’

Yes, uh-hum. ‘Thank you, Mr. Duron.’

He beams at me. ‘I bet you’re wondering why I asked you here.’

No kidding. I nod again, maybe too hard because my glasses slide down my nose. I push them back up and wait.

‘Do you want the good news or the bad news first?’

I open my mouth to speak, but he doesn’t give me a chance.

‘There’s no bad news, Alexandra.’ He pauses, and I breathe with relief. He clears his throat and continues. ‘There’s only an opportunity.’

My heart compresses. I know that tone of voice, and it isn’t good. Here it comes, the big Kahuna.

He leans forward in his chair, his ferret eyes fixed on mine.

‘I talked to my friend Joseph Kriger at the Elite Asheville School this morning.’ He stops, another dramatic halt. ‘I called him to check on your scholarship application.’

My heart quickens. ‘What did he say?’ I blurt out.

‘He says you have a good chance, but…’ His voice trails off.

‘But what?’

‘He thinks you’re too much of a nerd.’

Tell me something I don’t know. ‘And that’s bad?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘What did you say, then?’

He clenches his teeth like a bulldog, and I note the resemblance in the stuck-out chin, jowly face, and baggy eyes. I feel like laughing, so look away. I don’t want Principal Duron to think I’m making fun of him as I know from experience he loses his temper easily. My eyes come to rest on the silver safe. What in the world can a school principal keep in a safe, anyway?

Principal Duron clears his throat, announcing he’s about to say something important. I look at him again and try to smile.

‘Mr. Kriger thinks you need to round out your resumé more.’

I think about that. Round reminds me of circles. Math problems of circles within circles flood my mind. What’s the radius of the small semicircle if the radius of the large circle is two? Solve using the Pythagorean Theorem.

‘Okay,’ I say.

‘Think of it as an opportunity, Alexandra.’

‘What’s the opportunity, Mr. Duron?’ I exhale noisily to show my displeasure. ‘To take an advanced geometry course?’ I know I’m being sassy, but I can’t help myself. I know what Mr. Kriger means, and I’m both angry and afraid.

Principal Duron doesn’t like my comment. ‘We know you’re a whiz in math and science.’

‘I don’t do so badly in the other school subjects, either.’ My voice is a little testy, and I try to control it. ‘I have the highest GPA in my class.’

I’m pushing it now. Principal Duron swallows hard and his face reddens. ‘Indeed you do, Alexandra.’ He puts his elbows on the desk and leans forward. Here comes the lecture. ‘But in this day and age that’s not enough.’ Principal Duron’s voice rises two octaves. ‘The Asheville Elite School wants its students to be well-rounded.’

‘You mean fat?’

Principal Duron takes a deep breath. His face turns purple. Have I gone too far? I don’t want him to have a stroke.

‘Are you being disrespectful, Alexandra?’

‘Of course not, sir,’ I protest in my most syrupy voice. ‘Why do you say that?’

He removes his thick glasses and makes a big production of cleaning the lenses with his handkerchief. I watch his glistening bald head and wait patiently for him to speak again. He shoves his glasses back on and squints at me.

‘I know what you mean, sir,’ I say before he has a chance to speak. ‘He wants me to do other activities besides school work.’

‘Right, Alexandra.’

‘What kind of activities?’ I know the answer to that question because I’ve been to the school site many times and know all their requirements, but I ask it anyway.

‘He wants you to do sports. They are big on that at the Asheville Elite School. Students must participate in at least one different team sport each quarter of the school year. Mr. Kriger is concerned because you don’t do sports.’

‘Does that mean I won’t get the scholarship?’

‘No. It means you have to do sports to ensure you get the scholarship.’

My head sags. Despite myself, and my resolve not to show emotion to Principal Duron, I feel like crying. My chin quivers and my eyes moisten. I’m about to whimper.

The Asheville Elite School is the best private prep school in the county, and possibly in the state. It’s also the most expensive. My dad can’t afford it. He’s a wine merchant, and his business hasn’t been doing so well lately. ‘Asheville is a beer town,’ he says. ‘People don’t drink much wine.’

Going to the Asheville Elite School is as much a dream of mine as of my dad’s. I inherited my love of math from him. He’s a well-traveled, highly educated man with an awesome head for symbols and numbers. Although he doesn’t like to talk about it, he used to have an important position working for the government in Washington, DC. My dad can do math operations quicker in his head than I can do with a calculator. My mom is dead. She died in a freak accident driving home from work late one night, caused by a truck driver who ran a red light, fled the scene, and could never be found. I was seven years old at the time. All I remember of my mom is that she was beautiful and caring. I keep a picture of her by my bedside.

My dad has always felt guilty about her death. I don’t know if it is because she was driving his car that night, or because she was rushing home to get dressed for a dinner party in his honor at the White House. Whatever it was, he quit his job with the government, and we moved to Asheville so he could work with Uncle Carl in the wine business. Even though we’ve been in Asheville more than six years now, my dad still gets calls from Washington asking him to go back, but he always says no and slams the phone down afterwards.

When I ask why, he tells me Washington was another life, and that his life now is to take care of me. He’s a single parent, and I am his responsibility, he says. He spent years doing things for his country and for others, first as a marine with tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, and later in Washington. Now he just wants to concentrate on me: to give me the best education possible and to see me grow. He’s emphatic about not letting boys, in particular, tell me I can’t do something because I’m a girl. ‘You can do anything you want, Alex,’ he says. ‘And don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. It’s what’s in your mind that counts.’

Right now, my mind is not so good because my heart is heavier than a sixteen-wheeler with eight flat tires attempting to transport a mobile home. What do I know about sports?

‘Don’t take it so hard, Alexandra,’ Principal Duron says. ‘All you need to do is find a sport that suits you. You have an excellent chance to get that scholarship, Mr. Kriger told me. He’s truly impressed with your grades.’

‘I’m terrible at sports, Mr. Duron.’

Other than playing Freeze Tag and Capture the Flag during recess, which I love to do because I can usually outrun everyone in my class, I’m not very coordinated in sports. I can’t throw a football three feet; I can’t dribble a basketball without it bouncing off my foot; and when I kick a soccer ball my foot hurts.

‘I’ve watched you playing during recess, Alexandra. You’re a very fast runner. Have you ever tried track?’

‘Our school doesn’t have track.’

‘We’re a small school, Alexandra. However, there are other choices in town. There’s a really good track team named the Asheville Speedsters. They do well in state and national competitions. Why don’t you try them and see?’

‘Do you think it would help me with my scholarship application?’

‘The Asheville Elite School has a strong track team. Sure, it would help.’

‘I’ve never run track before.’

‘There’s always a first time for everything. Give it a try. What do you have to lose?’

I toss the idea around in my mind. I am fast, but I’ve never competed against the real speedsters in the state. Being the fastest girl in my class doesn’t guarantee I can beat well-coached track sprinters who train year around. A voice in my head