Introducing Tony McManus
Where did the idea for the story come from?
Just my imagination.
Give a quote from the books, one that says little but speaks volumes.
Grant was expansive. “As you boys know, I’m a wealthy man. They say I’m as rich as Croesus. I make topflight computer software. I’m building vehicles that will hopefully take America back to the moon and maybe onto Mars. I’m about to produce the world’s most advanced fighter plane. I’ve won the America’s Cup, twice. I’m a high achiever.
“I have beautiful homes in many countries. I have a yacht that cost a king’s ransom. I know the personal phone number of the President of the United States. I’m a VIP.
“But none of that means a darn thing on nights like this. Deep in my heart, I’m a tramp. I like roughing it; sleeping in a tent in a riverine wilderness is my thing. I’m a risk taker. I like danger. It’s what I do. But most of all, I love evening campfires.” He smiled. “And campfire tales. Would you like to hear some?”
Give a short summary of what the book is about.
James Fallon, takes a break to fulfill an old dream.
To drive across America, taking back roads, camping out in the desert. Fallon On the Road. He rents a truck in New York and heads west. What can possibly go wrong?
Plenty.
What genre is it?
Adventure thriller.
How many pages is it?
265
Why do you think the readers will want to read it?
Because it’s a tightly written thriller, with lots of action from the start, with fascinating villains and characters operating in a terrific plot. High concept it is.
Where are you located?
Chiang Mai, Thailand.
Description
James Fallon in America.
On the road.
Heading west. Taking a vacation. Feeling good.
What could possibly go wrong?
Captain Sullivan aimed a broad smile at Fallon and broke the silence. “I did a little reading about you, Mr. Fallon. An interesting life you lead.” “It has its moments,” Fallon returned the smile. “But don’t believe everything. As someone once put it: ‘Life often reads better than it lives.’”
“You’re here on a tourist visa?” Sullivan held up Fallon’s passport.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And inside three weeks of arriving in the United States, you take a combat pistol shooting course at the American Pistol Institute in Arizona. Three weeks later, you go on to shoot three men dead in Colorado. Any comments?”
And so a vacation becomes a mission.
Excerpt
Aspen, Colorado,
United States.
A little after 6.00 am, James Grant left Aspen, taking Highway 82, direction northeast. He smiled with pleasure as he watched the sun rise between two peaks, turning their snow-covered flanks bright pink.
A Colorado boy, born and bred, Grant loved the land, and the mountains that he’d hiked and climbed since his youth. He reached for his coffee in the cup holder and sipped the hot brew. From the car’s sound system, Sonny Rider, the jazz singer, delivered, Body and Soul.
At Glenwood Springs, he switched to Interstate 70 heading east. The traffic was sparse, few cars, mostly trucks heading for Denver with their deliveries. Light, spindrift snow moved over the road in clouds. Grant took the Jaguar into the slow lane, holding a steady sixty, giving the big rigs all the room they required.
He reflected on the previous night’s poker game. Mick Barolo had lost heavily. Cy Upton had lost his nerve early. He’d taken crazy risks. Grant had taken them down and cleaned up. The games were tough, not for the weak-hearted. He grinned at the memory of Barolo’s face as he was wiped out.
An old black Buick eased behind Grant. Two rigs passed by in the high lane. Grant indicated the Buick should pass. The car moved out, pulled alongside, and slowed to his pace. Grant lowered the window and smiled. In response, the Buick’s front passenger window dropped from sight, and the double barrels of a shotgun was poked toward him. A shocked Grant floored the throttle as flame emerged from two barrels, missing him, but blasting away the rear passenger window. Grant braked hard and shifted into the fast lane behind the Buick. He rammed the Buick’s rear, hard, forced it sideways, and steered back into the slow lane, leaving the Buick spinning in the path of a following truck, which slammed into the Buick and drove it onto the hard shoulder and over the barrier of the central reservation into the fast lane of the westbound traffic. Grant pressed on toward Denver.
Luke McGuire, examined the damage to the Jaguar, scratched his head and smiled. “A shotgun blast, you say. Quite a bit of body and upholstery damage. Some front-end damage. But you’re okay, boss?”
“I’m fine.”
“Looks like they meant business.”
“I’d say so, Luke. But they can’t shoot straight. Take her to the Jag dealership. Have them fix her like new.”
“I’ll do that, boss.”
“I’ll take the Ford truck. I have a meeting, soon.”
Behind the wheel of his Ford Ranger, Grant passed through the gate of Midas Integrated Systems, paused by the security gate, and drove over to the main office building. He parked and went inside.
“Good morning, Alice,” he paused at his secretary’s desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Grant.”
“The meeting this morning. I need you to postpone it till tomorrow.”
“I’ll do that. Anything else?”
“No.”
In his office suite, he slipped out of his jacket, went over to a corner bar, and poured two fingers of Jack Daniels over an ice cube. He slugged it back and poured two more. At his desk, he went over the morning’s events and the attempt on his life. He’d had no warning; no threats. Who the hell were those guys?
World of Stories 