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Home  ›  Suspense/Thriller  ›  McAnthny's Wars
McAnthny's Wars
by Michael Shina Crown   (Author)
Read First Three Chapters

CHAPTER ONE

Junction City had been her abode since six years ago, the time she was twenty-one. She had sacrificed living with her parents in the bubbling city of Los Angeles in their magnificent mansion to living in this town known for its bucolic peace and tranquility. A town where she had found her fiancé, Mark Cassis, a comfortable jeweler’s shop where she worked and a two room apartment which she had made a home. Upon all the satisfaction she had derived in this town in the 130 miles of Kansas City, she was now being haunted by nostalgia and incessant premonition about her father’s home in L.A. mixed with her recent evil perception about her one and only brother, William McAnthony. She now developed the urge to be in their midst of her loving relatives again; she knew she was needed to strengthen their faith being the first child of the family. Her impact would be needed at this time; her father was sick.
With this recent and intense premonition about her relatives, it now dawned on her that her days might have been numbered in Junction City. Whenever she felt like this, urgent attention was needed to avert any evil occurrence if they are going to actualize after all. The perception about William was so intense not to have been treated by kid’s gloves. She had to do something about this.
Her car horn blared as it made a sweep into the garage beside her apartment. She sighed as she killed the running engine. She rested her back on the driver’s seat and closed her eyes. She was now debating whether to go to L.A. for a week or stay put at this town that had given her much peace. After several minutes, she decided. She had to ask for Mark Cassis’ decision and a week’s leave at her place of work.
She alighted from the green Plymouth, bag clutched in hand. She had fought positively with her nostalgia and premonition with her decision, so she made her way to her apartment with a light heart.
As she emerged into the cuteness of the sitting room, she went straight to her telephone to play the answering machine to know who might have called her when she wasn’t around. She slumped on the couch listening, while her mind still wandered to her relatives.
Suddenly, her mother’s voice made her jerk. “Your father will be leaving the church finally this coming Sunday. We’ve decided he needed rest completely. You know, all that sickness stuff… We want you to be in L.A. that weekend he’s retiring. There’s more to talk about. Give me a call….” That was all she needed to hear to seal her decision on leaving for L.A. for a week.
She knew a week in L.A. would be enough antidote to heal her nostalgia and premonition, because leaving Junction City finally would be too great a sacrifice for her, especially now when she too wanted to raise her own family with her charming Mark Cassis.
She grunted. She would give her mother a call soon but not before her bath.
In Los Angeles, it was busy and bustling as usual. At midnight on Friday, it was like daylight. At the highway leading to Woolworth Club, there was a traffic jam that had orchestrated into pandemonium. Yelling and curses reigned supreme. Horns honking, lights flashing, there were curses and more curses. The highway patrols were making frantic efforts to curb the situation but their presence created less impact.
“…What the fuck caused this….”
“…Move your God forsaken car outta my way….”
“You wanna blow my mind with your gaddemn horn?”
“Hey… why can’t you fly, assholes….”
William McAnthony stayed glued on the seat in his BMW, his mind whirling with the excitements that the hold-up had caused. He glanced at his watch, five minutes past midnight.
He began to reason with his Aunt Jennifer who had decided to stay put at Junction City in Kansas to avert all these kinds of disorderliness. If not for the insistence of his parents who wanted him around being the only son, he would have loved to pitch his tent in Frederick, Maryland.
He would be twenty-five next month; he didn’t see why he had to stay with his parents but the mercy he had for his sick father had fastened him down.
The girl he had just picked on his way, sat vivaciously beside him. Her exposed lap looked inviting; her beauty looked tempting but the fact still remained that she was a whore. She was a brunette in a tight fitting mini gown who was smiling in an erotic manner, trying to switch up her charm to attract the young handsome guy beside her. Later, she succeeded. He had a hard-on and didn’t know when he placed his hand on her exposed lap, stroking seductively.
His way of life had been a disappointment. Nearly all the whores in Los Angeles knew him. He drank a lot, smoked a lot and even vied among addicts to be one of the best drug users. His way of life had been a disappointment because he was the only heir to the much respected and rich Reverend George McAnthony.
He soon forgot all the yelling, cursing and the honking of horns as he extended his touches from the lady’s lap to the two bulging objects on her chest. He wound up the tinted windshield to block any prying eyes from looking inside his car, switched on the A/C and drew down his brown jeans. The already half naked sexy brunette collected her service money before the shuddering William bounced on her.
The crimson limo came to a halt by a roadway and a blonde girl alighted. She stooped by the rear door, kissed the passenger, muttered out something and later waved briefly as the limo swept out of sight. Christiana McAnthony stole a glance at her watch on the moonlit street that led to her father’s mansion. It was ten minutes past midnight. She had again gone beyond her boundaries tonight; she was late.
She hissed as she remembered her craving for freedom. At twenty-one, she was supposed to be living in her own apartment but her parents had kicked against it. Anyway, she might not need that because she was highly comfortable in her apartment in McAnthony’s mansion, but what about her late nights? Her parents would complain as usual tonight. Her mind wandered to the solution she might apply to her late night’s arrival as she approached the illuminated mansion. She knew her problem but she had been averting from the truth. Her current boyfriend, Ronald Keller, had been the cause. He was one of the most successful actors in the United States; they had met during one of his rehearsals and since then, their love had known no bounds. He was not usually available during the daytime but at nights, and this had contributed to her late arrivals. She had to do something about this.
With brisk gaits, she approached the gigantic gate of her father’s mansion, paused and then pressed the bell. A small section of the gate opened and two probing eyes rested on her guilty gaze.
“Miss McAnthony, it’s you,” the man inside said.
“Yes, Franklin, please, open up,” she whispered.
“Okay, give me a second.”
The gate opened and she slowly entered. “Hi.”
“Good evening, Miss McAnthony.” The gray-haired man bowed.
“How’s everybody?”
“It’s only Ma and Pa that’s around.” “William?”
Franklin shook his head. “Not yet.”
“All right. Have a nice day.” She moved on.
“Thanks, Miss McAnthony.” He bowed again.
As she walked towards the mansion, the pride of being the daughter of the owner made her smile. She could boast of it anywhere in the world; even those rich men and women, actors, singers and actresses could not criticize the glowing beauty of the mansion. It was built immensely with marble, stood enormously with the beautification that could be comparative to a small paradise. Apart from its stalwart nature, it was amazingly spacious and its surroundings were full of paramount decorations. Before the main entrance, after entering through the gate, stood a huge bronze-cast statue of a unicorn and encircling it was a fountain whose water sprang out in designed patterns of crisscrossing. At the back of the mansion lay a well-treated swimming pool fenced with white wire. Besides the rich and green carpet grass that surrounded the mansion, by its right side was a big exotic garden while by its left was horticultural one. Halogen lights that were powerful enough to turn darkness into brightness also illuminated it. Nights at McAnthony’s mansion were always like afternoons; there were also series of some incandescent filaments made available to give light when power failed.
She had been trying to know the history of the gigantic mansion but all she could know was that it was an heirloom that had to be passed to all McAnthonys’ heirs. She had been living in the mansion for over twenty-one years and not a day had passed, since when she had been matured enough, for her not to admire the tremendous beauty of the mansion. Even her actor boyfriends could not match her father’s mansion in anything.
Before she could open the glass door leading to the entrance, it had already been opened and the impact forced her to a jolt. Her mother’s tall figure emerged by the door and watched her scornfully.
“I’m… sorry, Mum. It’s just that….”
“Will you shut your trap? You’re coming home again in the middle of the night? Where are you coming from?”
“I’m coming from Ronald’s….”
“At this hour?”
“I’m sorry, Mum.”
“You’d better be! Your father’s been looking for you before he went to bed. You’ll need to explain to him tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Does it mean you won’t come home late again?”
“I’ll try.”
“See! You’ll try.”
“I’ll try. Honestly, I will.”
After a long pause, she said, “Get yourself inside and don’t wake your father up.” She hissed as she passed. “Hey wait.”
Christiana stopped, backing to her mother. “Did you hear from William today?”
“No”
“You children know that your father needs you most now. You know that; why keeping late nights?”
“We’re sorry… I mean I’m sorry. I’ll change, you’ll see.”
“Get out of my sight, stiff neck… you’re always sorry.”
She rushed to her apartment silently. If Dad wakes up now, that’d be a hell of a problem and I’m not in the mood for that. She had to really change.
He had reached an ecstatic orgasm before he could be aware that the traffic was now moving lightly. The cursing and yelling had not subdued but there had been sounds of some moving vehicles from afar. Having finished, he sighed, closed his jeans back and sealed it all with a long kiss. He liked the response of the brunette; she was indeed a professional and he wouldn’t like to release her so soon.
He settled back on the driver’s seat. “Care for all night?”
“Sure, but that’ll be other charges.” She began to adjust her dress.
“Sure. How much?”
“Three hundred. I normally accept my fee before any service but since I know you, I have no fears; you can pay me a deposit first.”
“Oh… do you know me?” he asked, smiling.
“Who wouldn’t? William McAnthony.”
The fun of being popular made him thrilled, though contrary to his father’s notion. “Yea, yea, you got it quite right. The real guy in L.A., that’s me. Any other is fake, babe.”
“Two hundred for now, the remaining later.”
“Damn, you’re so sweet.” He delved his hand into his seat and brought out some money. “Count it, babe.”
After counting, she said, “This is one fifty.” She grimaced.
“Oh yeah, wait till we reach where we’re going.”
“And I’m gonna blow ya mind. Trust me.” She licked her lips seductively.
“Do you have a name?”
“Sure, Beatrice.”
“Betty. I’m gonna give it to you tonight and by the time I finish with you, you’ll be looking like somebody from hell.”
She released a chuckle.
“Care for coke? I have plenty.” He smiled, planted her a kiss.
“Do you?” she asked, frowning.
“Very well.”
“I seldom do but tonight, I don’t mind” She shrugged.
“That’s my girl.” Again he kissed her.
Some vehicles in front of his began to move. He nodded in satisfaction, ignited his car and followed. He again shot his passenger a licentious gaze. They moved in silence for a while before he made a swerve from the highway and headed to a less busy way. His car came to an abrupt halt at the middle of that road; he sighed and turned to her.
“Why did you stop, lover boy?” curiously, she asked.
“To ease ourselves of course… the coke.”
“Oh yeah, you’re fun.”
He brought out a black bag from the rear seat, unzipped it and took out a brown envelope. He tapped the envelope with the tip of his index finger and gave a low shrilling noise. “This is it, Betty,” he whispered, made a sniff of the substances and handed it over to the girl.
She followed suit as she passed it back to him.
With his shaking head, he made another sniff. “Oh babe, I feel high.”
“Me too, me too.”
“I promise you a helluva night.”
“We shall see!”
“This is just the beginning. Let’s get outta here.” He threw the empty envelope out of the window.
He reversed the car, made a turning and headed back to the highway. He was really high now and moving a little bit above the legal speed limit. To hell with the cops!
“I thought you’d wanna give it to me again in the car?” she said caressing herself.
“Are you on fire now, babe?”
“Of course, yes. Stop and let’s do it again.”
“Not in the car again.” The highway had somehow been less busy. “It’ll be in another odd place, like the cemetery.”
“Whoa! That could be frightful.” She grimaced.
“Haven’t you done it there before? It’s fun, Betty.” He was moving at a top speed now.
“Don’t you think you’re over speeding, William?”
“Yea, I know. I’m taking you to hell. I’ll do it again with you and you’ll beg me to stop.”
“You can as well stop the car and let’s do it now.” Her hands wandered to his thigh.
“Babe, I’m driving,” his mood made him said hysterically.
“Then stop and give it to me again.” She unzipped his trousers.
“For Christ’s sake, please stop.” The car swerved.
“Stop then, Willy. Stop.” She was so high now. Her eyes whirled in excitement.
“All right, all right. I’ll stop.” But he didn’t.
When it dawned on her that he wasn’t stopping the fast racing car, she gave another warning but he kept pestering her with deception. The venom of the cocaine she had sniffed took its toll on her; she needed him badly, and her body was on fire now.
She resumed her hand on his thigh and commenced her caressing; this time around he didn’t complain but released a groan. Yet, he didn’t stop or limit his racing speed.
Beatrice marveled in her touches and his rejection to her acts became feeble; he was beginning to enjoy it.
As the car made a swerve into a corner, suddenly, a racing lorry emerged in its front, its light blinding the lorry’s driver. William slammed his foot on the brake pedal as he tried to avert the racing lorry, whose driver was not aware of William’s car. Due to the force applied on the brake, the car skidded off the road after screeching tires and with a tumultuous jerk, the blue colored BMW somersaulted sideways and hit the lorry in its lane. The somersaulted car could not resist the force of the lorry after the hit. It made a grotesque tumble and a shove into the slope beside the highway. The lorry did not go unscathed as well; after the hit, its front bumper flew into the opposite direction and it too skidded off the road and swerved out of its lane, landing violently on its side in a vertical way that would obstruct the other vehicles.
It was after noon the following day that the news of William McAnthony’s death reached the McAnthonys’ household. It was so weird that nobody in the household could have heard before then. Christiana had made herself so busy playing video games after she had had her breakfast and the limited time she could have spared to listen to the news, she had used it in talking to Ronald on the phone.
Since the illness of the Reverend, his beautiful wife, Helen, had had no time for morning news again. Instead, she would prefer to be in his room having an encouraging conversation with him.
If Franklin, the man by the gate, was in a morning shift that day, he would have been the one who would have broken the news to them. He was a news addict, and William’s death had been announced since eight in the morning, but he was in the comfort of his apartment, five miles from the McAnthonys’ mansion, snoring it away.
Dwight who was on morning shift could have taken Franklin’s place and broken the news to them but he was a hip-hop addict. The stereo in his room beside the gate had been blaring hip-hop instead. And all other workers in the mansion were so obsequious in their various jobs that they could not have time for any breaking news. Thus, the situation in the mansion paved way for the cops to be the ones that would first break this sad news to them.
This fateful morning, Reverend George McAnthony lay gently on his giant sized bed. Beside him was Helen, clinging passionately to him, talking in a soothing manner. He had been diagnosed with liver cancer and had been given a specific time to live. The real truth was not known by the children, only by the family doctor and the couple. The children just knew that their father was having a deadly illness that might be healed. Having known that death was inevitable, he had tried to calm his nerve; he didn’t appear in the public as a worried man who was expecting his death but always tried to be vivacious in nature, continued in his preaching being a Reverend and kept believing in Jesus Christ. If not for his frailty and the occasional pains that usually gave him up, his congregation in the church he headed and some people wouldn’t have known that he needed retirement. His medical check- ups and applications were as constant as ever and if he remembered that he would soon leave this sinful world, he’d just smile for he believed he was going to the right hand side of the Lord.
Helen, in her part, had been a good and understanding wife who always gave him all the encouragement he needed. She was very brave and didn’t want to believe that her loving husband would soon leave them alone.
The phone beside the bed buzzed. Helen quickly went for the receiver. “Who’s that?”
“Mum, two cops are here asking for Dad.”
“Oh my God, Christy; what happened?”
“I don’t know. They’re not looking sternly anyway.”
“All right, we’ll be right there.” She gently placed the receiver on the phone, and looked at her husband to address his curiosity.
The couple emerged into the living room to see two policemen gazing at them in a somber manner. Christiana quickly turned to her parents as if they had already known what news the policemen had brought, but their perplexity made her shudder.
“Can we help you?” the Reverend asked as he sat on the couch. He had no doubt that it had to do with William.
“There’s been an accident early this morning….”
“Oh my God!” Helen and Christiana chorused with their quaking hearts. “And it involved your son. We’re sorry.”
“Where is he now?” he tried to ask calmly.
“Is he all right?”
“It’s an accident that claimed four lives and we regret to….”
“No, no, no, please don’t tell us this,” Helen cried.
“Please where’s my brother?” Christiana had begun to cry.
“…And we regret to tell you that your son was among the dead.”
Christiana fainted. Helen screamed and the two policemen quickly went to their aid.
“God giveth and taketh,” the Reverend muttered. Suddenly the sharp pain in his stomach intensified, he gripped his belly, made a loud groan and slumped on the couch. Sudden, arbitrary death of his splendid son was too much for him; he passed out.
The beeping sound of the phone beside her bed woke her up from her Saturday’s routine siesta. Jennifer stirred on the bed, sighed and attended to the phone. Unknown to her, she was about to listen to the news that would finalize her contemplation about moving to Los Angeles. Before talking into the receiver, she glanced at her watch, 4:17 p.m. Mark’s call was due at 4:30; she knew it couldn’t be him.
“Jenny, it’s happened.” Her mother’s shaking voice pierced through the receiver.
“What’s that? You’re frightening me. What about Dad?”
“I’m sorry to break this to you on the phone but I can’t help myself. Your brother’s dead.” She burst into tears.
That sent a whirling signal to her spine. “What!”
“They said it’s an accident. A ghastly one. Please come over now, will you?” amid tears she asked.
“I’m coming, I’ll… be right there… Shit!” It was her turn to cry.
“Please come fast; we need you now more than ever.”
“I’ll be there latest by tomorrow.”
“We’ll be expecting you.” And the line died.
She was still in a mourning mood when Mark Cassis’ call came through. Her eyes had been reddened by the impact of her incessant crying with nobody to console her. Florence Anderson, her best friend as well as her neighbor, had made a trip to Waterville, fifty-five miles from Junction City, to have her weekend with her relatives. If she had been around, she would have been in the right position to console her. She continued to mourn alone.
“Darling, what’s it?”
“Mark, Willy’s dead and I’m moving to L.A. tomorrow. I’ll be in Montgomery’s Jewelries anytime now to tender my resignation.”
“Damn. You must have been in deep shit by now. All right, I too will be in L.A. by Tuesday… this is sad.”
“I’ll be expecting you.” She sobbed yet.
“Come on, don’t cry. I’ll call something off and be with you in L.A. I’ll give you all my support.”
“Thanks, my love.”
It was when Lloyd McAnthony reached Oakdale hospital that he believed that William, the only heir to the McAnthonys’ estates, had been truly dead. The fat, pot-bellied man with a plump face who was the Reverend’s junior brother wondered who the next heir would be since the Reverend’s only son had been dead. He smirked; he knew what William’s death could bring to his own family positively unless the Reverend could find a worthy replacement, which was very unlikely. If his guess could turn to reality, his own son would be in control of the estates in some months’ time, and that was what he had been wishing for.
He made his way slowly to the room in which the Reverend was admitted, feigning sobriety. It would be bad if Helen detected that her son’s death had made him more emancipated. As he reached the door of the room 59, he adjusted his tie, sighed and prepared to act sober.
He rapped at the door and entered slowly. In the room were Helen, Christiana, the patient who lay on the bed with his eyes open, and an elderly man he didn’t recognize. After he nodded his greetings, he began to observe him in a seemingly sad mood.
The valetudinarian lay weakly on the bed, his face up. He was thinner now than the last time he had seen him, fragile looking, and had an aquiline nose with a face etched with sorrow. He was indeed emaciated by his illness as well as the bad news he had received. Sitting by his right hand was the beautiful blonde Christiana. She had a round face with deep brown and broad eyes that blazed with passion whenever she used them. His tall wife sat on the bed with him; despite being forty-eight, she looked more beautiful and younger than her age, her sorrow-contorted face notwithstanding. Though she looked disheveled, her glowing beauty had made her distinct. There was an iota of resemblance between daughter and mother; the minor differences were that, one was younger, the mother’s nose was pointer, and her hair blacker while her daughter was not as tall as her.
As Lloyd approached him on the bed, the elderly man muttered some prayers and excused himself out of the room. After many inspired words, Lloyd asked to be alone with the Reverend and his request was granted though not immediately.
“It’s a pity, George.” He sat at the earlier position Helen had been. “Where’s he now?”
“God giveth and taketh, I believe. He’s been with God almighty now.”
“Yes, God gives and takes but I keep wondering if this one he’d taken was not a big take.” He grunted.
“Why?”
“Don’t you ever figure it out that he’s your only heir? Or have all the verses from your Bible blinded you so bad that you don’t even know how to think harder?” He stood up.
“May the good Lord forgive you, Lloyd. This is not the time for such utterances.”
“Then when? Is it when you have been dead too with no one of your family to stay in the McAnthony mansion?”
“This is not the time for this, please….”
“Think, Reverend,” he said sarcastically. “Think. You’ll be the only McAnthony whose heir will not inherit the estates. Think. I know you won’t want them to come to my son.”
“For Christ’s sake, why are you telling me this now?”
“I want to know what you wanna do about it.”
“Not now, please.” He groaned.
Lloyd smirked. “I know the duration of your sickness before your demise.”
“What are you talking about?”
“George, you’re dying and you know it. You don’t have a son and you can’t have one again. All your daughters are not eligible to inherit the estates. See what I mean. You know that at your situation, the estates have long been lost to my son. Why don’t you make a bolder step and introduce my son to them? They belong to him now automatically.”
“Man proposes, God disposes. You never can tell. For your information, there’s no vacancy in those estates so far I’m still living.”
“Till when, Reverend?” he mocked.
“Till when God wants. I’m not giving them to a bastard.”
“Face the truth, George, and let’s quicken this up.”
“Wait till my testament has been read… or do you want me dead now?”
“Not at all. But I just want to let you know before it’s too late.”
“To hell with you, Lloyd. Please get out.”
“We shall see. The earlier the better.”
“Get out!”
He gave the frail man a very long gaze, hissed and walked briskly out of the room.
Reverend George McAnthony stared at the ceiling. The truth of Lloyd’s statements pinched his heart. Surely, something had to be done now or he would die without honor. And now that his death was lurking around the corner with no son to inherit those estates, he just didn’t know what to do.
He was in a crossroad.

CHAPTER TWO

In Madison Avenue, New York. 11:45 p.m. Lance Morrison who had been Bossert Mart’s clerk for over a year sat comfortably behind the counter making accounts and checking records of the day’s sales since he had less than fifteen minutes to close when two men walked warily into the shop. The black man paused, and watched the two shabbily dressed men entering.
“Be fast, pals. I’m about to close,” he called out.
The two men exchanged glances; they wore the same pullovers but of different colors; one was in a torn slicker and the other in reproving shoes. They walked confidently in their tattered jeans towards the fast foods section. Lance shook his head; these guys would make him arrive home late. He watched them closely, cursed silently as he remembered that Libby would be waiting for him at home, the girl who would be giving him his first child. He frowned at the men because they hadn’t even decided on what they wanted. As they approached him at the counter, he wondered if their hair was sprayed or if they were really blonde. It was oblivious to him that underneath the pullover of the man in the torn slicker was a neatly tucked Uzi with a silencer.
“This shop isn’t for exhibition guys. What do you want?” He was getting impatient.
“Shut the fuck up!” He brought out the Uzi. “The money fast!”
The other man, having seen his partner in action, brought out a snub-nosed thirty-eight revolver and took his position at the entrance.
“The money fast!” he repeated, pointing the Uzi at his head. “Hurry up, darkey!”
“Shit!” Lance blurted. “Hold on, hold on. I’m gonna give it all to you.”
“Now!”
“All right, all right.” He began to implement his assailant’s order. He tried to remain steady as he began to take out all the money in the vault but the fear that an Uzi was pointed at his head made his shudder intensified and he began to fumble in the process. He didn’t notice when his hand mistakenly touched the alarm button. Therefore, siren wailing ensued.
“Damn!” The man holding the Uzi squeezed the trigger on impulse and the result was fatal.
The bullet penetrated his head and splattered it all over the counter as Lance’s remains made a thud on the ground. In fast response, the two men rushed the money, scattering over the counter, and began to tuck it in the already produced polythene bag. Having finished, they bolted out as the shrilling noise persisted. The security alarm had sent a blinking warning to the nearby police post but the assailants were nowhere to be found when they arrived.
Later, the two men settled to share their proceeds in a deserted building, a place where they usually resorted to after such robberies.
“How much is it?” the man who had killed Lance Morrison asked with rolled-up cigarette between his lips. He was watching his partner sorting out the notes.
“Eight thousand, two sixty.”
“What a bunch.” A puffed smoke was oozing out of his nostrils.
“If the motherfucking asshole didn’t touch the button, we’d have gotten more than this.”
“And I gave him the slug. I hate to kill him but he made me.” The released smoke from his mouth coiled towards his partner. “Split the dough, Winston, and let’s get the hell outta here. Fifty-fifty.”
“Sure.” He smiled as he commenced sharing the money.
“Hey, Winston!” he said after a thoughtful pause.
Winston who was squatting as he split the money looked up at his caller and was surprised to see the Uzi pointing at him. “You crazy or something?” He grimaced.
“I’m sorry, Winston. It’s time to say goodnight.”
“Travis, is this a joke?”
“I’m through with you.”
“Why?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired and wanna leave New York for good. Sooner or later, the cops will catch up on us and I think I’m much safer if I’m alone.” Travis grinned. He puffed out the butt of the cigarette on the ground.
“Do you think killing me is the solution?” He had sensed the determination in his eyes and his heart began to jab.
“Ya, because if I’m not doing it now, you’ll do it. It’s just that I’m being faster.”
“You’re crazy, Travis.” Beads of sweats formed on his forehead.
“No, I’m just smarter.” He was ready to shoot now.
“No… no… no. Please listen….”
“Goodnight and goodbye, Winston.” He pulled the trigger twice and watched his victim jerk lifelessly to the concrete floor. “Sorry.”
Blood spurted out of Winston’s ghastly injuries. Travis smirked. He retrieved the thirty-eight revolver from the deceased and went for the money that had escaped bloodstain by whiskers. He had to get out of there as soon as possible, not only the deserted building but out of the city. He gazed at the street below and debated on which state to go. He would have to decide that before daybreak, he concluded.
William’s funeral was delayed till Reverend George McAnthony was discharged from the hospital. It was two days after when William was committed to the earth. It was a funeral that was attended by a vast amount of people, the majority of whom were from the Immaculate Church of the Lord in which the Reverend was the leader of its branch in Los Angeles. Nearly all the members of the church were present as well as friends, well-wishers and the deceased’s relatives. It was a day meant to instigate hope for the McAnthonys but the reverse was the case; it turned out to be a day that would always stir up sorrows in their lives because the one lost was the only heir of the Reverend. It was the funeral that prompted the postponement of Reverend George McAnthony’s retirement from the church. The epitaph on William’s tombstone had been “Goodbye William, the irreplaceable nucleus of our souls”. It was a day that would always bring cancerous sorrow to the household of the Reverend because the deceased’s memoir would always be ulceration to their minds.
Three weeks after Jennifer arrived in L.A., she was still harboring fatigue and agony due to the painful loss of her only brother. During his stay with her, Mark Cassis had shared in her agony and aided in giving her condolence that he also extended to all the members of her family. Before his departure to Des Moines, having sympathized with the McAnthonys for a week, he had promised to always call her on the phone till the end of his engagement in Des Moines, which would not be more than a month. After that, he would come to L.A. finally to give her the support she would need and most especially to make plans on taking her to the altar soon. Mark Cassis was a civil engineer and a contractor.
Jennifer blinked continuously on the bed in her apartment at the beautiful mansion. Her thought wandered from her dead brother to Mark Cassis. She couldn’t count how many times she had rolled over the bed because of her stormy thoughts; she would have used a tranquillizer but a crucial family meeting was scheduled to take place at her father’s bedroom by midnight. Tired of restlessness, she jumped up from the bed and switched on the light. She ran to the bathroom, splashed some water on her face and returned to her room. She caught a glimpse of the time on the wall clock and decided to get prepared for the family meeting, which had to be giving a lot of prominence due to its crucial nature. It was 11:17 a.m., about time.
She scrutinized herself in front of the standing mirror and frowned at her reddened eyes. She had to take things simple, Mark had warned, but it had not been so easy for her to heed to his advice. She had been tagged the jewel of the McAnthonys due to her beauty. She was tall as her mother, about 5’9", but more beautiful. Her structural statistics was that of a beauty queen: slanted eyes, sexy lips that made her face looked passionate when she laughed or talked. Even as her face was contorted with agony now, she still looked pleasant. Mark Cassis had always been caught soliloquizing how lucky he had been to have her as a fiancée.
When Jennifer emerged in her father’s bedroom, she was surprised to see she was the only one that was being expected.
“I thought you’ve slept off,” Helen said as she came in.
“Mum, I can’t,” she said, trying to smile her agony away, sitting on her father’s bed.
“How are you today?” the Reverend asked.
“Fine as usual, you?”
“I’m cool and I’m happy you’re here.” He adjusted the pillow on his head.
“How about your late nights, Christy?” She diverted to her watching sister.
“Oh, stop it, Jenny,” she cried.
“Mum told me how you used to come home late before we lost Willy.” She chuckled.
“Mum!” She shot her mother an inquiring look. “But you know I’ve changed; why did you have to tell her that?”
“Everything you do today will always be in the records, either good or bad. Change or no change.”
“I really hate this!” She isolated herself and backed away from them.
Jennifer smiled. “Hey, you haven’t told me about Ronald.” She tried to change the topic.
And that really captured her attention again. “He’s so wonderful.” She walked back to her early position. “He’s one in a million. You’ll need to see him one of these days. You too will tell me about Mark.”
“Sure. He’s the loveliest guy in the universe, ever caring….”
“Girls, it seems this meeting will mark the end of our mourning, won’t it?” Helen asked, buttoning her husband’s shirt. “Let’s make it start.”
Reverend McAnthony cleared his throat. “I called you here tonight because we’re having a very big problem in this family… due to Willy’s death….”
All the daughters looked serious.
“What shit are we in here?” Christiana asked.
“Big shit. We’re in a real big shit… in fact, I keep asking myself why our family is passing through all this.”
“What is it, Dad?” Jennifer didn’t like how puzzlement had enveloped her parents. It etched on their faces.
“There wouldn’t have been a problem but because I don’t want to lay a bad foundation for my own descendants, something must be done. As a man of God, I accept what comes my way as an act of God but if I count this as His act as well, I may be losing a worthy heritage that will bring dishonor to my own descendants.”
“Dad, what’s all this?”
“The McAnthony family was not known before as a wealthy or powerful one; they were very poor and infamous until Henry McAnthony, my great grandfather, made a mark and became rich. He was responsible for bringing honor to the McAnthony family; he was known throughout the States if not the world. And when he observed the goodness in wealth, he vowed never to let his descendants suffer from poverty again. Before he died, he made this powerful decision that he thought would always favor all his descendants and rid them of poverty forever. He made a law in which all McAnthonys must be following in the process of sharing his real and personal estates. Since he had a son and five daughters then, the law he made was a right of primogeniture and it’s been followed till date.”
“Law of right of primogeniture? Where the eldest son inherits all estates?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes. My grandfather happened to be his only son then, so he automatically had access to Henry McAnthony’s estates. He had four sons and a daughter and when he died, he passed the estates to his eldest son who was my father….”
“So if one is not an eldest son, he’s not entitled to his father’s estates? That’s not….”
Christiana was interrupted by her father. “Not at all. This law is only applicable to Henry McAnthony’s estates. When my father died, Henry’s estates were willed to me being his eldest son but all my father’s estates went to his other children. He had two sons and two daughters, as you’ve known that his two sons are Lloyd and I.”
“Is this mansion part of the estates?”
“Yes, and if I die now, I have to transfer all Henry McAnthony’s estates to my eldest son. Now that he’s dead, who do I have to get them from me? I don’t want to be the first McAnthony that those estates will slip away from. If I couldn’t produce a son now, they’d go to Quincy, Lloyd’s eldest son, and it’d ever be in the records how I’ve spoilt the whole arrangements. Lloyd’s descendants will now be in possession of them and that’ll be so, so bad.”
“I still don’t understand. You’re fifty-one, for Christ’s sake, you can still have a son,” Jennifer said, wondering.
“That’s why I said I’m having a big problem. I can’t have a son again….”
“What!” the two daughters shouted.
“There’s a secret I’ll let you know today. All you know is that I’m suffering from an ailment that usually gives me pains in my belly, and that I’ll soon be healed or something. But let me tell you the truth now… I’m suffering from liver cancer….”
“Oh my God!”
“Oh my dad!”
“Yes, it’s the truth and I have a few months to live, very few months.” He shook his head.
Helen began to cry and her daughters joined her; they couldn’t believe what their father was telling them.
“This is not the time to cry; it’s the time of challenge. Let’s prove to the devil that we can overcome temptations. I’m a man of God and as Job had done in the Bible, I’ll not forsake or deny Him.”
“What are we going to do now, Dad?” Christiana asked amid tears.
“Let’s forget about this estates thing; to hell with them. Lloyd also is a McAnthony. Let’s concentrate on you now, Dad. You’re dying; leave this estates thing alone. If they shift to Lloyd’s descendants, let it be. It’s the Lord’s doing,” said Jennifer.
“If it’s like that, it’d have been considerable, but you don’t understand. Apart from messing up Henry McAnthony’s arrangements, I’d also be responsible to have given his estates to a bastard….”
“Bastard!”
“Lloyd is adopted by my father; he doesn’t have the real McAnthony blood running in his veins. I don’t have time to prove that because it’s a secret kept among my dead parents and we children. Even if I have the time to prove that, where will the estates go? Why don’t I use the knowledge and power to prove this to let the estates go to the real McAnthony?”
“And who is the real McAnthony? Christy or I? As for me, I’ll like we concentrate only on you.”
“The real McAnthony who is entitled is out there, I believe.”
“Are you sure you still know what you’re talking about, George?” Helen was now getting confused.
“Did your Dad have another son?” Christiana asked.
“Actually, there’s this secret I’ll let you know….”
“Do you want to tell me you have a son out of wedlock, Reverend?” Helen frowned. She was hearing this for the first time.
“We’re in the night of secrets,” Jennifer muttered.
“It’s sort of a confession… I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Can we now conclude that the Reverend is crazy?” Helen asked rhetorically.
“Helen, I know what I’m saying. It’s the only solution I have not to lose this honor. It may work. After my retirement I’ll go after him. He must be in Chicago, if I have one. I’m not too sure.”
“If you have one? Mum, don’t you think Dad’s sickness is affecting him now?”
“Don’t be silly, Jenny. I know what I’m talking about. I’m in a mess, can’t you all see? I need your cooperation now. Soon, I’m leaving you alone; don’t you want me to leave honorably? Henry McAnthony’s estates must not go to a bastard.”
“Then don’t you think you have an explanation to make to us concerning this son of yours, our holy Reverend?”
All of them were perplexed now, except the Reverend.
“I met this beautiful young lady at Greyfrairs Theological College in Chicago, several years ago, before I even got married to your mother….”
“How come you never told me about her?”
“She was such a beautiful girl. She had long hair, tall….”
“Why don’t you spare us all that,” Helen advised with a frown.
“We started a promising relationship then; she was a lady I loved so much, the wife I never married….”
“What really happened, Reverend? Can’t you forget all those compliments?” It was Helen again.
Jennifer and her sister seemed to be hypnotized by the revelation their father was about to relate.
“One day, I went to see her at the Civic Center Plaza. It was snowing like billy-o then so I was a little bit late.” He stared into space. The memory of the past time came crawling in to his mind. “I saw her in tears, at first I thought it was because I was late but when she explained to me, I realized that she was being put under pressure by her uncle that we’re incompatible because of their poor background.” He stopped to take a rest.
“How come I never knew anything about what you’re saying now?”
“I considered her uncle’s accusation and promised to summon my father to my school to come and see her….”
“Were you attending the same college then?” Christiana asked excitedly.
“No, I met her during one of our Sunday services. She just came to our college then. Later,” he continued, “I stylishly summoned my father under the pretense that our provost wanted to see him. He came quite all right and I introduced her to him. That was when trouble started. My father rejected her to her face and threatened to withdraw me from the college if I continued with the relationship. She ran from our sight in annoyance and I never heard from her again for several weeks.” He felt a stinging pain in his stomach and stopped.
“Then what happened?”
He sighed. “When I couldn’t see her for some weeks, I became sick; I couldn’t do without her; I really loved her so much. My best friend then, Jimmy Cole, saw my grief and decided to help me out. His suggestion sounded so good and I did just like he’d said.”
“How?” Jennifer was so much interested.
“Jimmy helped to compose some letters for me claiming they were from my parents; they were all apologetic letters and we would travel to L.A to post them to her. As if that was not enough, I paid a lady to always call her acting like my mother. That lady would also apologize to her that they had realized their mistakes, and that was all the magic I needed to capture her love back again.”
“Oh, bad boy!”
“She thought those letters and the calls were truly from my parents and the relationship blossomed again. Meanwhile, I’d been going to my parents to convince them on my choice of Margaret but they rejected out rightly and one day, my dad took me to Washington D.C. to give me a bride who happened to be your mother, Helen Templeton.”
“It sounds like a story in one of the romantic novels I read; it’s quite interesting,” Jennifer admitted.
“What happened later, because it never come to my notice for once that you had any girl in your life then?”
“Having being engaged to you, on my parents’ insistence, I went back to Chicago to give Margaret the bad news but it had already been too late. She was pregnant by me….”
“God, you have another child out of wedlock and I never know anything about it. I never even remember hearing you mentioning any name….”
“Please calm down.”
Helen had jumped from her seat facing the Reverend aggressively. “You kept all these for me? So if we didn’t lose Willy, we wouldn’t have known anything? Too bad.”
“Listen to me for Christ’s sake; when she told me that, I asked her to abort it….”
“Abortion!” Jennifer shouted.
“You’ve been a bad boy, George.”
“I told her to abort the pregnancy….”
“Then how are you sure that you still have a son?” Christiana asked. She loved her father’s story.
“One day I went to their apartment; it was the one I rented for her and Marcus, her uncle, so I had no difficulty in entering it, and I met her uncle parking out of the apartment… it was a week after I had told her to abort my baby. Her uncle told me she’d gone to Mexico for the abortion and that I might not see her again. He said I should see everything as if they never happened and he left me.”
“Did you hear from her again?”
“Yes, but she just called and said she’d aborted the pregnancy….”
“Then what are we saying here?” Helen asked.
“Several years later, I was in Oxford University in the U.K. then for my bachelor’s in divinity when I saw Jimmy again, my friend who had brought me those evil suggestions I used in treating Margaret… he confirmed to me that he had seen Margaret at Chicago a year after we finished at Greyfrairs and she had introduced a boy to him as her son. Since then, I’ve never been totally convinced that the boy Jimmy had seen was not mine.”
“Jenny, see what your father’s saying. Are all these enough to make us so sure that you still have a son or you’re still hiding something from us?”
“I’ve told you all what had transpired between Margaret and I. But my mind’s still telling me that she might not have performed the abortion….”
“We aren’t so sure, Dad.” Jennifer sought the acceptance of her sister on her utterance, and that one nodded.
“But we still need to try… there’s no harm in trying. I’ll go after him after my retirement. Who knows, something positive may spring up because I’m optimistic about it.”
“Sure. No harm in trying, Dad,” Christiana admitted.

CHAPTER THREE

Travis Connors had successfully passed the boundaries of New York to the neighboring state. He was traveling with the host of passengers in a commercial luxurious bus. He sighed as he counted himself out of reach, intermittently chewing peanuts and his fingernails. He leaned comfortably on his seat at the rear of the bus, his mind wandered to the previous night’s incidence. He didn’t want to kill the black clerk at the mart but he had to shoot him out of annoyance for switching the alarm on them. He regretted splashing his brain out but he knew he had no option than to squeeze the trigger at that time. The only thing that had gladdened his heart, apart from the money he had acquired from the robbery, was the murder of his colleague, Winston Natch. He would have done the same to him if he couldn’t have killed him.
Several hours later, Travis reached his destination. Omaha was his chosen town, and it was not until he reached there that he could heave a sigh of relief. Having walked away from the bus station, he found himself a telephone booth and decided to make a call.
“This is T.C.,” he said to the receiver, his briefcase firmly held by his other hand.
“Oh, T.C. Where the fuck are you?”
“Just chilling somewhere in the States.”
“What’s the deal?”
“I wanna know if I can find my level there.”
“Here? You decided to join me?”
“Yes, but on contract basis.”
“We need to talk then. Will you come over now?”
“Not until I’m very sure about it.”
“All right, no qualms. Give me a call after a couple of days’ time and I’ll let you know if I get something for you.”
“Okay.”
“Gee, I’m glad you’ve decided at last. You’re the best.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll really find something for you, T.C.”
“Something very challenging and prosperous?” It was like a question.
“Trust me, Tee.”
He smiled. If Guzzy could find him a job, that would indicate he hadn’t reached his destination. Until then, he had to find himself a suitable abode and blend into the nature of Omaha.
On April 10, 1999, Reverend George McAnthony retired from the pastorate as well as his reverential job at the Immaculate Church of the Lord. The attendance of the congregation was alarming; the church was filled to capacity. It happened a month after the funeral of William McAnthony. Most of the executives of the church were present; Jennifer was there with Mark Cassis and Christiana was in attendance with Ronald who came along with five movie stars and nine bodyguards. It was a day meant to honor the good man of God, to pray for his quick recovery from illness and from the loss of his only son. Helen, though hiding her eyes with black specs, was full of smiles because the exit of her husband from the church was memorable.
When the retirement service was about to come to an end after a powerful sermon from the bishop, Reverend George McAnthony was ushered to the podium to make his last speech. Ovation greeted him from the people as he emerged; he tried to hold up not to cry. He didn’t believe he was leaving the church so soon, the church he had planned to serve till he would be old enough to stop. It had been a big setback for him that an incurable illness could shatter his dream which he had been molding since he was young.
After giving his vote of thanks and appreciation on behalf of himself and his family, he made a very short speech and let them understand that his retirement was an act of God. When he finished, they bade him farewell amid mixed reactions. At that juncture, Reverend George McAnthony began to weep.
Several hours later, the Reverend and his wife were escorted to the airport by their children. He had told them he would be leaving for Chicago immediately after his retirement for the quest of his probable son. He couldn’t let Henry McAnthony’s estates go to Lloyd’s family; he had to prevent its occurrence.
He wondered where he would start looking for Margaret Norman in Chicago. He thanked his wife for her assistance because he doubted if he could do it all alone. As his car came to a halt at the airport, a thought struck him and he grunted. Would I have gone after Margaret if Willy wasn’t dead?
At the back of his Jeep was Jennifer’s Plymouth; it contained the owner, her fiancé and Christiana. When the Reverend’s chauffeur stopped, the trio in the Plymouth quickly alighted and went to support him in alighting.
“Are you sure you can do this?” Jennifer asked.
“Sure. Even if it’s the last thing I’ll do.”
“Never mind, kids. I’ll take care of him. We’re armed with all his medication,” Helen assured.
Christiana stayed hooked to her mother. “Mum, I’m saying well done in advance.”
“We’ll be expecting to see a positive result,” Jennifer said.
“It’d be in the name of the Lord.”
“Amen,” chorused others.
Several minutes later, the plane that conveyed Reverend McAnthony and his wife was on its way to Chicago.
Lloyd McAnthony banged his way into his four-room apartment after arriving from his elder brother’s retirement service. He noted that throughout the Reverend’s speech, there wasn’t any hoax in his behavior. It seemed he noticed him beaming with hope and that had made him wonder if the Reverend didn’t hide any ace up his sleeve as far as Henry McAnthony’s heritage was concerned.
He met his wife gazing at him as if he were coming from the moon and he tried to stay calm.
“Where’s Andrew and others?”
“Is that why you banged in?” Eve McAnthony asked. She had an oval face that changed from interesting to disgusting, depending on her mood.
“No. I’ve got something in my brain. Have you heard from Q.?”
“Lloyd, are you all right? Andrew and his brothers have gone to the movies.”
“Q.?”
“I’ve never heard from him since yesterday. Can’t you check him at his house?”
“Bullshit!” He disappeared into his bedroom.
“I wonder what’s happening.” She shrugged and made her way to the kitchen.
Inside his bedroom, Lloyd rid himself of his suit and made for the phone. He quickly dialed some numbers. “Quincy.”
“Yes Dad.” His eldest son’s voice came through.
“Get your ass here in thirty minutes’ time.” He slammed the receiver.
“What kind of a guy is this Ronald Keller?” Jennifer asked from the driver’s seat. They were returning to the mansion after the departure of their parents.
“And what kind of a guy is Mark Cassis?” Christiana returned the question in a different way. She was in the rear seat.
Mark, who sat beside Jennifer, smiled and replied, “He’s twenty-nine, cool, loving and easy going. He likes creating new ideas, sharing ideas and will soon get married to Jennifer McAnthony. Now, can he know Ronald too?”
“No. Unless he talks about his profession.”
“Oh, sorry. He is a civil engineer and a contractor.”
Jennifer couldn’t stop laughing.
“I hope he’d be a good husband for my sister.”
“Sure.”
“Ronald Keller is an actor, famous, tall, handsomely built and hoping to take me to the altar soon,” she mimicked.
“I know he’s damn famous, but is he really hoping to take you to the altar? I can bet he gets a lot of admirers.”
“I don’t care; he loves me.”
“Need we know him?” Jennifer asked.
And when they reached the mansion, Ronald Keller was already waiting for the arrival of his sweetheart.
At the homicide department of the NYPD, Lance Morrison’s death was critically under investigation. Douglas Hill, the first grade detective in charge of the case, sat longingly on the chair in his office. He was deeply in thought after delving into the deceased’s file in front of him. His killers were still at large.
He heard a rap on the door and his assistant breezed in, one of the day’s dailies in his hand.
“Lance’s mother’s been talking to the press. Take a look at the New York Post.” He slammed the copy of the newspaper on the table.
“What’s she talking about?”
“Ain’t you got no eyes? Read it.”
“I have no time for this bullshit. Lance’s death has been a headache. No clue, nothing.” He clasped his hands.
“Won’t you read this gaddemn paper, Doug?” the black athletic cop asked.
“Okay.” He picked it up, and then flipped three pages.
Douglas Hill peered into the sixth page and after few seconds, his eyes rested on a minor caption—Lance Morrison’s murder: Mother defies police investigation.
Agnes Morrison, the mother of the slain Lance Morrison, has indicated her lack of hope in the police investigation. While speaking with our correspondent, Agnes admitted of being interrogated by the police but declared she didn’t like the mode of their investigation, she said it was too weak. Her fear was that if the police should continue in this process, the real killers of her son would never be found. She then called on all applicable authorities to look into her petitions and find able policemen to take care of the case and not those that look like men from the strip club. She was so sure that nothing good would emerge from those groups of policemen that are currently in charge of her son’s case….
And that was all he could read before his rage boiled.
“Finished?”
“Bullshit! This is trash….”
“Trust the press; they’ll continue maiming us for this.” He studied his assistant for a while. “Look Doug, leave the ol’ ma’am alone; she’s talking out of ignorance.”
“Eddie, what have we got?” He tried to change the topic to ease his anger.
“Same ol’ song. No clue but there’s this thing I’ll want us to take into consideration. Can’t we link Winston Natch’s murder to that of Lance?”
“Why? Any proof?”
“Not yet, but they were killed on the same night.”
“Hundreds of people are being killed on the same day and so what?”
“Anyway, it’s a kind of hunch but I think we can start investigating to that link.”
“Do you think that’d bring any hope?”
“I said it’s a hunch but it can bring something.” He shrugged.
Douglas shook his head. “That’ll be waste of time….”
“Look Doug, I’ve been studying Lance’s file and I don’t think there’s no one we haven’t questioned, still no clue. Can’t we delve to that for a change? Who knows; it may work out.”
He again shook his head.
“Though I do hate hunches, but at least we can have a load of work on our hands. By this, Winston’s killers would also be quickly known.”
“Ellison is in charge of Winston’s case.”
“Let’s talk to him.”
“I know we’ll get to the root of it; it’s just a matter of time according to a cliché.” He shrugged. “All right, we can try that.”
“I can bet Lance was killed by armed robbers, some real dough was missing, and since Winston too was an armed robber, don’t you think we can work things out like that?”
“Let’s try it then… I believe we’re getting somewhere.”
“Yes we are.” He smiled but couldn’t see the progress they had been making.
Quincy McAnthony did not let the thirty minutes ultimatum given to him by his father expire before he arrived. He didn’t know why he was summoned but the note in his father’s voice had indicated a matter of urgency and he had to hasten to it.
On arrival, he met his mother at the living room watching a program in the television.
“Hey, look who’s here. Your dad’s been asking for you.” She hugged him.
“Where is he?”
“In his room, I think. Care for a cup of coffee?”
“No… yes, but that’ll be later. I want to see Dad now.”
“But you have to be very careful. He’s got something in his brain. He’s not happy today,” she whispered.
“I’ll check it out.” He raced to Lloyd’s room. He found him sitting in front of his reading table. He was in shorts and a white tee shirt. “Hi Dad.”
“Get yourself here fast!” He beckoned at him, “But lock the gaddemn door.”
“I hope there’s no problem?”
“Just do as I say!” He grinned.
Quincy shrugged and implemented his father’s order. He was not as fat as Lloyd or potbellied but he too had a plump face. He talked, walked and smiled like him. He was short in stature, had candid brown eyes; he was intelligent, being a doctor. He surpassed his father in beauty, features and prowess. He didn’t have any idea of what Lloyd wanted to say and that aided his puzzlement.
“I called you here because of the Reverend….”
“Christy’s father?” He grimaced.
“Yes. I don’t think he’s ready to accept his fate. He’s even not thinking of Henry McAnthony’s estates at all.”
“What gives you the assurance?”
“He’s happy as ever despite losing his only son and also being prostrated by deadly illness.”
“What does that mean?”
“Think Q., he’s not considering giving you Henry McAnthony’s heritage.”
“But that’s impossible; he doesn’t have a son.”
“That’s why we need to talk. He doesn’t have a son but he may organize one.”
Quincy laughed. “Impossible. Don’t you know anything about DNA tests? It’ll give him up and besides, I don’t think the good Reverend can do such thing.”
“The good Reverend can do anything. We have to act promptly and mustn’t sit down expecting the estates so cheaply.”
He sat beside his father. “Dad, they belong to me now. Let’s wait till he dies, period.”
“Don’t let us wait. Let’s act. He has a very short time to live but not too short to organize himself a son….”
“What can we do?”
“We mustn’t give him breathing space. He too will be running everywhere to get himself a son because of the short time he has.” He paused, then whispered, “Let’s quicken his death.”
“How?” He looked baffled.
“We’ll need to get it done through his doctor. Try and get closer to the Reverend’s doctor. I know what next to do if you can do that.”
“His doctor isn’t my good friend.”
“Then make him! Associate with him. Make him your friend as soon as possible. That’s your first assignment then we’ll know what to do next.”
“Okay, I’ll do that,” he accepted with hesitation.
“Make it snappy because that’s just your primary task. The next one will be how to help the Reverend to leave his painful state permanently.”
“I’ll start tonight.” He didn’t mean it.
“That’s cool. George’s been….” The buzzing of his cell phone interrupted him.

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Product Details
Author: Michael Shina Crown
Publication date: 8/7/2014
Pages: 248
Product dimensions: 260 x 390
More About This eBook
Overview
Reverend George McAnthony has just lost his only son. He has only a few months to live, and to produce another son to inherit the McAnthonys' estates, which are primogeniture by rights, seems impossible. Swimming in these problems, he jets out to Chicago for a probable son who is later realized to not be the right candidate to the estates as was claimed by his first daughter. Chaos sets in when the Reverend eventually dies without an heir, because the multimillion-dollar estates are at risk of being swindled by an ineligible McAnthony and a favored impostor. Then the quest for the real heir begins and even extends to Africa. The longer the quest, the harder the race against time and the more complicated the puzzles. What, then, is the relationship between a murder committed in New York and this quest that seems unending?
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About Author
Michael Shina Crown is an international author, a prolific writer of literary fiction. His experience as a Creative writer makes his books thrilling, suspenceful and scintillating. His novel McANTHONY'S WARS like his others is a bestseller that readers will find very intresting. This page-turning author is also an innovative poet. He is a graduate of University of Ilorin and current holder of Critical and Creative Writing Certificate from the US
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Customer Reviews
McAnthny's Wars
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Tuesday, November 4th 2014

By Jay

Great book

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Sunday, September 6th 2015

By Suspensefully thrilling. Two thumbs up!

Page turner, thrilling, full of suspense and zero dulling

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