A/N: I do not own the RENT characters. Lucinda is copyrighted by me.
Benny woke up with a groan. Evita was at it again: barking incessantly at the cars passing by the Gracie Muse. Everyday, the same thing: bark, bark, bark. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shut the damn dog up. Even worse, he couldn't get rid of the dog either (not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind several times). If Evita should die, Allison would be heartbroken. All for a lazy, no good, purebred dog who barked at the world.
Lucinda woke up, ready to smash something against the side wall. The stupid neighbor dog was at it again; barking its head off for no apparent reason. Ever since the Coffins had bought the dog a year ago, Lucinda hadn't been able to sleep through the night.
She picked up a blue vase, poised to throw, then thought better of it. The Coffins were neighbors after all; better to be civil than a bad neighbor. She pulled her robe around her and headed toward the door.
A few seconds later, she was standing outside the Coffins door; she could hear the dog still barking. She knocked, which set the dog to barking even louder, if that was possible. She heard the key turn in the lock.
"Oh, hi Lucinda," said Benny, holding Evita by the collar to prevent her from jumping up on their guest. "What can I do for you?"
"Your dog has kept me awake long enough Benny. Ever since you bought it, I haven't been able to sleep; this is your first warning. If that dog doesn't shut-up, I will be forced to take action."
"Now calm down Lucinda; I realize that Evita is a bit high-strung, but—"
"A bit high-strung? That…that…thing jumps on everybody, pees on my welcome mat and tries to dig up the hallway. All that on top of the barking. Mark my words Benny, I will do something about it; and you won't like it." With that, Lucinda turned and walked down the hallway, Evita barking at her retreating back.
"Shut-up Evita!" Benny smacked the dog on the rump, causing it to yelp, before it started barking again. Benny groaned, yanking the dog back into the apartment.
Back in her apartment, Lucinda paced around the room, fuming. She had to get rid of that dog, but how? There was the idea of killing it, but she was no cold blooded killer; besides, she couldn't kill the dog; the cops would trace the fingerprints. Better to think of some of other way to do it. Suddenly, she had an idea: what if she got someone else to kill the dog?
"Yes! That's it! I'll get someone else to kill the dog! That way, it will be on their head, not mine. It's brilliant! Now, who to choose? Which victim…I mean assistant, should I choose?" Lucinda grinned wickedly as she walked over to the window that looked out over Avenue A. She scanned the streets. "Somebody unassuming, who would be lured by the prospect of money, someone poor, someone who…" Her voice trailed off as she spotted someone a ways down the Avenue. A young man was sitting on a bench, drumming away on what appeared to be a pickle tub of some sort. He was wearing sneakers, jeans, a black shirt and brown leather jacket. A man passed in front of the drummer, setting something down on the tub before walking away. The drummer paused, picked up the dollar and put it in his back pocket. Lucinda grinned. "A street performer. Perfect!"