The Last Heir

4. Not Him

When I raised the phone to my ear and spoke in a loud voice, I could not understand what had happened because there was only silence on the other end of the line.

I pulled the phone to my face again and looked at the screen. The screen was bright, but it did not appear like I had received a call.

"Did I press the wrong button?" I contemplated.

"Tring Tring." The phone rang again with a sharp trill.

I whispered to myself, gawking curiously at the phone buttons. “'Which button should I press this time?”

"This button has the icon of a telephone drawn on it, and it is green. The other button also has the icon of a telephone but it is red." "I pressed the red button before and I heard silence. I will press green this time."

Immediately as I pressed the green button and lifted the phone to my ear, I heard a deep male voice talk to me on the phone. "Hello, am I onto Mr Marcus Taylor?"

"This is not the voice of the old man, nor is it the voice of his stupid henchmen. Who is it on the phone, and how did he know about my phone to call me?' I wondered."

" 'Yes. This is Marcus,' I answered at the top of my voice."

"You do not have to scream before I can hear you," the voice on the phone said.

"Oh! Okay," I said, trying to shrink my voice into a whisper and I also nodded, confused by the right expression to make.

"My name is Mr Harry Rice, and I am a private investigator. Mr Franks told me about you." He continued.

" 'The old man is Mr. Franks?' I muttered. 'He bears a human name for a gang leader.'" "But a private investigator? I wondered, 'What does a private investigator want with me?'"

" 'I took no belongings from the drunk or the ladies. I only tasted the drink in the glass. Please don't arrest me,' I pleaded."

"Oh! I do not know what you speak about, but I am sending you an escort in the evening and we will discuss your family’s wealth and murder." He added.

But what wealth and what murder? "Excuse me, sir. I already told Mr Franks that he mistook me for the wrong person. My dad and mother died in an accident in Chicago, and they left no inheritance for me. They were poor before the accident, sir." I explained.

" 'Nonsense! With that necklace? There is no other Taylor, and you are his last heir,' he said before hanging up."

"No, sir. This is a mistake. Hello? Hello? Hello?"

Was it not enough that I was a struggling fellow on the street with no family, just trying to survive each day? Now, I became the person who they investigated. All because of a necklace? It was as if my already poor world collapsed again into another worsened world.

The more I thought about how the old man and now the private investigator mistook me for the son of a wealthy man, the more it troubled my heart.

I knew that if they found out they were wrong in the long run, the old man would put a bullet in my head for wasting his time, or the private investigator would throw me in the cell for wasting his time.

"But I already told them. It is not me! Why won't they listen to me?"

"I should run away! They should never…"

"The Police! Run!" A sudden scream from the boys and the young adult on top of the bridge traveled down to where I was.

"The police?" I asked myself again.

"It's been ages since the cops came to the street to arrest any of us because we mostly ambush at night and not during the day. But today was different. I wondered, 'How did they learn about what was going on here so fast?'"

"Maybe it is a good thing after all if they arrest all the gangs here on the street, and no other person has to die like a tiny fly." I thought as I shot my legs into escaping.

There were not so many places a person like me could run to. If I ran into a store and hid there until the police were completely gone, they would assume that I tried to steal from the store.

Or, if I ran into someone else’s home, the house occupants would not think twice before handing me to the police and hence, I would get arrested.

And so as I ran, the only place that came to mind was the dumpster.

Quickly, as I opened the dumpster, all my hopes of eluding the police were lost, I met a few of the street boys and young adults inside the dumpster for the same reason I wanted to hide in it.

"Go away! There is no place for you here." One guy voiced as he rose to his feet and pushed me to the ground. The other boys laughed and then closed the dumpster.

A valuable lesson I learned on the street: A person must know his strength and his weakness and if we talk about strength, I was not the person with the muscular strength and so I rather avoid than confront.

"Don’t move!" I heard.

From what I have seen so far. No one says 'do not move', 'freeze', or 'hands up' more than the police and immediately as I heard that, I knew at that moment that my hope to escape was all lost indeed.

A group of men and women in their police uniforms rallied around me from afar. They pointed their guns at me like I was some notorious criminal.

"Get down on your knees and your hands on your head," One police officer with the megaphone instructed.

Immediately, just as they instructed, I did, and I heard footsteps rush at me at that moment. They held my hand and pulled it behind my back and put a handcuff on it.

The police officer, as he handcuffed me, pulled me up to my feet and took me to their patrol car. He opened the door and pushed me in, then closed the door.

He looked at me from the car window and asked, "where are the others?" However, the only response I gave him was perfect silence.

Another lesson I learnt from the street is that: You do not get to be a snitch. If you snitched on the street, do you want to be ripped apart whenever you are out of custody?

“He won’t talk. Search for the others. They can’t be far.” The police officer instructed.