Sports Can Be Lethal (Tony Avanti, Private Eye Book 3)

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Still, building a legal case against Harley and Millie will be next to impossible, which means the last resort may be Dom's only resort--taking Carla away from them forcefully. And that's the part of the favor that makes Tony nervous in agreeing to help Dom. Later, Tony and Dom gain access, illegally, to the Dragon residence, where they discover the basement's secret worship room to The Prince of Darkness.

Tony is not only "shook up," he's also now convinced that Dom has to get Carla away from Millie and Harley. The anxiety factor rises for Tony, but so does the necessity of rescue for the kid's sake.

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And when Dom, backed up by Tony, returns to the Dragon property to confront his ex-wife, hoping to get Carla to expose the child abuse, with Tony as a witness, the plot takes a frustrating twist for them. While sitting in Dom's car, watching the Dragon family carry luggage to a waiting van, indicating a family trip in the offing, their confrontation plan suddenly needs revising. In reality, they have no choice but to follow the van.

Which they do, all the way north by northwest to Lake Wallenpaupack in northeastern Pennsylvania's Pocono Mountain region. The planned confrontation will now take on new meaning and will require new planning. It will be physical and head-on. Tony becomes chief orchestrator and choreographer, of sorts, hoping to lead their adventure toward a satisfying conclusion, from Dom's perspective and Carla's welfare, while adding another positive mission-accomplished to the Tony Avanti resume.

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Buy now. Tony Avanti is a private investigator with a special attribute: a New Jersey ethnic-tinged, Italian-American, in-your-face attitude. He's alertly human, not half man, half robot-type Robocop. And he never gets involved just for the money, even when he says he's taking on a case just for that reason. There are always his pride, his dignity, and the challenge to his manhood that are involved. This time it's to northern New Jersey to begin looking for a client's basketball-playing college student son who's missing; whereabouts unknown by his college for months and now a dormant missing-person case for the local police.

The result is a twisting and a turning, a digging and a filling of the human landscape: from the snobby, elitist academics who give him a pain in the butt, to the brutal hit squad that wants to make him dead, after he refuses to quit the case.

The word--quit--is not in Tony's lexicon, nor will he ever let it enter his mind. But life for Tony Avanti is never simplistic, especially when he's on a case. And this one ends up needing more than just solving; it demands survival moves as well, in order for Tony to bring the college student back home safe and sound of mind and body--and still breathing--to his worried parents. He begins by interviewing her five stepchildren, who are all adults. She's convinced that at least one of them, or maybe even all of them, want her dead.

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How does she know? Her dreams tell her so. It puts Tony in a race, so to speak, to find out who is plotting to kill Marcella, if--by chance--her cockamamie claim ends up turning into morbid reality. And can he prevent it? And even more bizarre, she makes Tony swear that he will find her murderer, if he can't find the future killer before the deed is consummated. She has taken care of his fee for that contingency with her attorney.

She wants to rest in peace, knowing that he will find her murderer and get her justice from the grave. Tony, being a man of his word, begins his legwork with his honor at stake, as well as his professional detective expertise. Tony Avanti, private eye, accepts an assignment to locate a missing wife from a lawyer who is acting as an intermediary for an anonymous client.

The lawyer is handling the matter for an out-ot-town relative.

It's an embarrassment, since the traveling lover-companion to the missing wife is a cousin to the cuckolded husband--a monumental show of disrespect all-around. Tony is to locate the pair only, with no contact whatsoever. The identities of the cuckolded husband in Arizona and the interested relative in Trenton, New Jersey are never revealed to Tony--on purpose.

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But Tony's no dummy, sensing they're "connected. He even hits a small jackpot. Everything is "coming up roses" for him. But the good times are short lived when Tony is arrested the following Monday after the police find a baseball bat in his car's trunk with bloodstains, human hair and skin tissue on it that had belonged to the now murdered lover-companion of the missing wife.

Tony gets released on bail and immediately begins his quest to prove his innocence, working his way back from the employees of the bar where the victim had his contacts to relatives and the two men who had actually killed him. Tony brings in the killers himself, one at a time. He thinks he's safe and "home free" and that his lawyer, his cousin, Cheech, will be able to get the charges dropped, but Tony is soon the target of two hit men.

He has to backtrack once more, finding out that it's the missing wife who has put out the contract on him. Tony manages to contact the woman through her mother, but because she can''t get in touch with the hit men to call them off, he has to solve the problem himself.

He turns predator and hunts them down, and he has a confrontation with them in one of Trenton's many back alleys where he wins the right to go on living. Hey, losing is not an option for Tony Avanti! Szabo's Song 19 Dec, Sandor Szabo pronounced Shan-dor Say-bo becomes a young refugee from a Catholic orphanage school and heads for Hollywood to seek his dream. He wants to be an actor. He had been dumped into the orphanage by his Hungarian refugee mother, after his father her husband dies prematurely.

She's desperate and takes a job as a domestic, but her employers won't let her kid live with her in their house.

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The only temptation to attack their lives offered was their gentle radiance,—to eyes hating the light, that was offence enough. The stupid uselessness of such an infamy affronts the common sense of the world.

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One can conceive how the death of a dictator may change the political conditions of an empire; how the extinction of a narrowing line of kings may bring in an alien dynasty. But in a well-ordered Republic like ours the ruler may fall, but the State feels no tremor. Our beloved and revered leader is gone—but the natural process of our laws provides us a successor, identical in purpose and ideals, nourished by the same teachings, inspired by the same principles, pledged by tender affection as well as by high loyalty to carry to completion the immense task committed to his hands, and to smite with iron severity every manifestation of that hideous crime which his mild predecessor, with his dying breath, forgave.

How many countries can join with us in the community of a kindred sorrow!

I will not speak of those distant regions where assassination enters into the daily life of government. But among the nations bound to us by the ties of familiar intercourse—who can forget that wise and mild autocrat who had earned the proud title of the liberator? Against that devilish spirit nothing avails,—neither virtue nor patriotism, nor age nor youth, nor conscience nor pity. We can not even say that education is a sufficient safeguard against this baleful evil,—for most of the wretches whose crimes have so shocked humanity in recent years were men not unlettered, who have gone from the common schools, through murder to the scaffold.

The life of William McKinley was, from his birth to his death, typically American. There is no environment, I should say, anywhere else in the world which could produce just such a character. He was born into that way of life which elsewhere is called the middle class, but which in this country is so nearly universal as to make of other classes an almost negligible quantity. He was neither rich nor poor, neither proud nor humble; he knew no hunger he was not sure of satisfying, no luxury which could enervate mind or body.

His parents were sober, God-fearing people; intelligent and upright, without pretension and without humility. He grew up in the company of boys like himself, wholesome, honest, self-respecting. They looked down on nobody; they never felt it possible they could be looked down upon. Their houses were the homes of probity, piety, patriotism. They learned in the admirable school readers of fifty years ago the lessons of heroic and splendid life which have come down from the past. It was a serious and thoughtful time. The boys of that day felt dimly, but deeply, that days of sharp struggle and high achievement were before them.

They looked at life with the wondering yet resolute eyes of a young esquire in his vigil of arms. The men who are living to-day and were young in will never forget the glory and glamor that filled the earth and the sky when the long twilight of doubt and uncertainty was ending and the time for action had come.

A speech by Abraham Lincoln was an event not only of high moral significance, but of far-reaching importance; the drilling of a militia company by Ellsworth attracted national attention; the fluttering of the flag in the clear sky drew tears from the eyes of young men. Patriotism, which had been a rhetorical expression, became a passionate emotion, in which instinct, logic and feeling were fused.

The country was worth saving; it could be saved only by fire; no sacrifice was too great; the young men of the country were ready for the sacrifice; come weal, come woe, they were ready. At seventeen years of age William McKinley heard this summons of his country. He was the sort of youth to whom a military life in ordinary times would possess no attractions.

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His nature was far different from that of the ordinary soldier. He had other dreams of life, its prizes and pleasures, than that of marches and battles. But to his mind there was no choice or question. The banner floating in the morning breeze was the beckoning gesture of his country.