GenGhis Khan's Massage

It would be easy to say dzay jin, goodbye to Ralph.  Even easier was knowing how to murder him.  He was 68 years old, had quadruple bypass surgery and a pacemaker implanted under his rib cage.  Mei-Lin not only knew the details of his condition, she’d been at his bedside in the recovery room.

The computer was the answer, the American way.  She learned the pacemaker sent signals over the phone to the doctor’s office where he would nod and call later to let Ralph know he was mending quite nicely.  She downloaded the simple EKG program Dr. Abernathy used to monitor the pacemaker and brought it home on a flash drive.  Now, the little program slept in the computer where she played mah-jongg.

The opportunity came when Ralph threw himself down on the sofa in the family room.  “There, the damn grass is cut and the car’s washed, so let me relax before you go asking me to do some other damn job.”

“Thank you, honey.  I make dinner now — unless you want to take a nap first.”

“Maybe I’ll take a nap.  Can you get me a beer?  It’s this tightness in my chest.”

“Muscle strain, I think.  Want me to massage?”  Mei-Lin hovered.





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