LONG LIVE MR. MCMAHON

"You know…I still can't believe it!" Jonathan Coachman, AKA acting General Manager, shook his head as he watched the footage for the umpteenth time. There it was-Mr. McMahon leaving the arena, taking one last look around, getting into his limo, and then…

Whoosh! Fire and debris everywhere, and no trace of his former boss to be found.

Eric Bischoff laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "There wasn't anything you could have done. You didn't know what was going to happen."

Coach sighed and turned off the VCR. "Thanks for coming, Eric. I know Vince fired you, but…"

"Yeah, well, he was my boss too, and as one manager to another, I respected him. Now, come on. We have to get out to the arena."

STONE COLD'S DRESSING ROOM

John Cena looked at the Texas Rattlesnake in disbelief. "You're gonna do what?"

"I'm gonna investigate the stupid bastard's death," Stone Cold repeated. "Damn, son, are you hard of hearing or something?"

"You hated Vince's guts. You even pointed a gun at his head once and made him pee his pants."

Stone Cold chuckled. "Yeah, I did, didn't I? But you see here's the thing. Sure, I hated Vince's guts. Hell, I gave him so many stunners I'm surprised his stupid head didn't fall off of his shoulders. But, he did bring me over to the WWE. So, I do owe him that much. Besides, I respect Linda McMahon too much to just let this slide. So yeah, I'm gonna play detective and ask a few questions. And if I don't like what I hear, somebody's gonna get an ass-whooping and a mud hole stomped in their eye, and that's the bottom line 'cause Stone Cold says so! Now are you with me or not?"

The Champ thought about it. "Yeah, why not? At the very least we can find out who hated Vince more than we did!"

SHANE MCMAHON'S OFFICE

"What happened, Dad? Why'd you do it?" Shane, heir to the vast McMahon fortune, looked at the painting of his father that hung on the wall behind his desk. "Dad, you could have come to me. I could have helped you. I…" He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Now what?" he grumbled. Shane's eyes widened as he saw Stone Cold and John Cena standing in the doorway.

"What do you two want?" Shane demanded. "Look, I don't have time for this. I need to go out to the arena and say a eulogy for my father in a few minutes…"

"Calm down, Shane. We're not gonna do anything to ya."

"Unless you make us," Cena added.

"What the hell does that mean? Look, if you're trying to threaten me now that my father is no longer around…"

Stone Cold looked puzzled. "Threaten you? Who said anything about threatening your little ass? We just want to ask you some questions, man."

"Yeah…specifically, like-where were you when Vince was killed?" Cena gave Shane his best "Marine" hard stare.

Shane stared back. "What are you talking about? You think I wanted my own father killed?" Shane gestured at the framed painting. "That man was the greatest individual I have ever known. He was like a god to me. He taught me everything I know about this business, and I'm going to make sure that his tradition of excellence lives on. You guys think I killed Vince? I was trying to save him!" Shane glared at the two wrestlers. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to join my family in paying tribute to the greatest wrestling promoter who ever lived." Shane stormed out of the office.

"Well, he was helpful." Cena glanced at the desk as a phone rang. The Champ picked it up. "Hello? You want to speak to Shane? No, he's not here. He just left to go to the arena. What's that? Yeah, I'll tell him you called." He put the phone down.

"Who the hell was that?" Stone Cold asked.

Cena frowned. "Somebody who seemed really upset that Shane wasn't here. In fact, it may have been the killer."

"If you're right, he'll probably show up later tonight. I never trusted that sneaky bastard Shane. Maybe we ought to pay him and his little friend a visit later on."

Shawn Michaels stuck his head in the doorway. "Oh, there you guys are. Come on; Shane wants everybody out there for the memorial service."

Cena sighed. "Let's go pay our respects."

ONE HOUR LATER

The service was over. Shane was back in his office when he heard a knock on the door. "What, again?" But when he opened it, his sister Stephanie stood there.

"What you said about Dad was really beautiful. He would have loved it." Stephanie hugged her brother. "Hey, it's okay. We'll get through this. Just remember-we're McMahons. Now Mom's waiting to go back to the hotel. Go and make sure she's all right, okay?"

Shane wiped a tear away. "Thanks, Steph. You're the greatest."

"Go ahead, Shane. I can take care of things here."

When he was gone, Stephanie looked at the painting of her father. "You really are the best, Dad." Then she sat down at the desk.

The phone rang. "Hello?" Her eyes widened and she smiled. "Everything went right according to plan. They fell for it hook, line and sinker. I don't think you have anything to worry about. Now take care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay, Stephanie. I love you." The raspy voice said. In a hospital many miles away, a badly burned hand put a receiver back on the nightstand. Blue-gray eyes watched a TV screen from behind a bandaged face as the highlights of the memorial service were replayed. The figure began to chuckle. His breathing became labored and a nurse came in to check on him.

"You shouldn't exert yourself like that. You've still got a long way to go before you're back on your feet again."

"Thank you nurse. I'll be more careful." The nurse nodded and looked back at him with some concern. The only other part of his face that wasn't bandaged was his mouth, and it slowly formed a smile as the figure started chuckling again.

"You're damned right I'll be back on my feet again. And when I am, those who get in my way will have no chance…no chance in Hell."

Vince McMahon's laughter began to echo through the hospital.

THE END?