Death Comes to Call in Vegas

North Las Vegas bore witness to a spectacle of speed and misfortune Sunday afternoon, the likes of which would make even the most devil-may-care daredevil pause for reflection. At precisely half past noon, the Nevada State Police Highway Patrol responded to a calamity involving two Nissan Altimas, whose fateful meeting upon the Cheyenne Avenue overpass above Interstate 15 was sudden, violent, and most inconvenient for all involved.

A red Nissan, possessed of a reckless spirit and no evident regard for the laws of physics, came tearing southward down I-15 before executing what can only be described as an ill-advised maneuver—crossing all westbound lanes of Cheyenne Avenue at what one can assume was an ungodly speed. It met its first adversary in the form of the center median curb, but rather than being satisfied with this collision, it promptly sought out and struck a silver Nissan Altima for good measure.

The result was a balletic display of unintended motion. The red Nissan, now stripped of dignity and direction, spun counterclockwise before finding another curb to tangle with. The silver Nissan, not wishing to be outdone, spun in the same manner before embracing a concrete light pole with all the force one might expect from a high-speed automobile.

The driver of the red Nissan, a woman whose luck had run dry, was declared deceased at the scene. The driver of the silver Nissan, also a woman, was whisked away to a hospital, where she remains in critical condition, presumably wondering how an otherwise ordinary Sunday had betrayed her so cruelly.

Cheyenne Avenue, meanwhile, took the brunt of this disruption, being closed in both directions for several hours. In their wisdom, officials advised drivers to find alternate routes, which, in Las Vegas traffic, is much like advising a drowning man to find a different means of breathing.

Elsewhere in the city, Death, apparently unsatisfied with his Sunday spoils, made a Tuesday morning call in the central Las Vegas valley. At approximately 4:15 a.m., Las Vegas police received word that an exchange of words between two men in a business parking lot had taken a most unfortunate turn, as one of the gentlemen produced a firearm and saw fit to settle the matter with a bullet.

The shooter, demonstrating both decisiveness and a profound disinterest in lingering at the scene, promptly climbed into his vehicle and sped north on Jones Boulevard, leaving the victim to his fate. Metro homicide Lieutenant Robert Price assured the public that this was an “isolated incident,” meaning, one assumes, that the shooter was not in the habit of performing such acts as a matter of routine.

Authorities, ever hopeful, have asked the good people of Las Vegas to assist in identifying the culprit, should any among them possess knowledge. Those with information are encouraged to call CrimeStoppers, a fine institution dedicated to justice—or at least the collection of anonymous tips leading in that direction.