Machine Of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

“No,” he continued, “far more likely, I am to be torn apart and devoured by lionesses, a group of huntresses intent on bringing food back for their leonine patriarch.”
    “I…see.”
    “As you might expect,” Simon went on, “I’ve given this some thought, and I have eventually come to the conclusion that the word ‘lions’ doesn’t necessarily refer to the male of the species exclusively. Good news for me, you understand, because I must confess to harboring this romantic notion of how it will all play out.”
    Mrs. Murphy smiled into the phone; you could hear it in her voice. “Just got your prediction today, did you?”
    “Actually,” said Simon, “it’s been seven weeks now.”
    “Oh,” said Mrs. Murphy.
    “But, I’m sorry, you’re quite right. We should probably go back to talking about life insurance now.” Simon cleared his throat, straightened his tie and put his salesman voice back on. It was a good salesman voice, keen and enthusiastic, and it bore shockingly little resemblance to the one he’d been using his entire workaday life up until that day about two months ago, the day Simon now liked to call “Torn Apart And Devoured By Lions Day.” “Missus Murphy,” the new, exciting Simon began, “did you know that in the event of your sudden, accidental death, your family might incur miscellaneous costs of upwards of—”
    “Ah, see, there,” said Mrs. Murphy. “I’m sorry, I was waiting for something just like that. I’m to kick off from colon cancer, lad, not a stroke or a heart attack or anything quick like that. Plenty of time to get my affairs in order.”
    A common response, these days. Simon knew the company rote. “Many of our potential customers come to us with this same story, Missus Murphy,” said Simon. “Truth to tell, though you may believe that you know the circumstances surrounding your eventual demise based on your prediction alone, the fact of the matter is that the specifics can often be surprising. To both you and your loved ones.”
    Mrs. Murphy chuckled. “Come now,” she said. “Have you ever heard of anyone crossing the street one day and getting hit by a runaway colon cancer?”
    Simon had to admit that he had not.
    “I’m fairly certain that I’m destined to pass away peacefully in a hospital bed, lad,” said Mrs. Murphy. “All shrouded in white and surrounded by my family. Probably in some pain, too, mind, but there’s little helping that.”
    “Missus Murphy, if I might—”
    “Lad,” said Mrs. Murphy, “I have my fantasy, just as you have yours. And I am unwilling to cheapen it by banking on the possibility that the chips might not fall that way.” Her voice smiled again. “You clearly have one of your own. And I think that if you think about it,” she said, “you’ll understand.”
    Simon thought about it. And he did.
    “Well,” he said, after a moment. “Good day to you, then.”
    “To you as well,” said Mrs. Murphy. “May God bless. And say hello to the lions for me.”
    “Will do, Missus Murphy,” said Simon. There was a click as Mrs. Murphy disconnected the line, and then a low, steady drone. Dutifully, Simon’s auto-dialer started in on another number.
    “Dude,” said Scott, the guy in the cubicle next door. “You gotta cut that out. Armbruster is going to be mighty horked if he ever catches you in the middle of that.”
    Simon pulled his chair closer to his desk, fully intending to ignore his wall-mate, as per usual. After all, he had insurance to sell.
    “You can’t let this Death Machine crap run your life, man,” continued Scott, heedless, as Simon waited for his line to pick up. “I mean, geez, look at you. Ever since you did that stupid prediction thing, you’ve gone, like, totally mental on us. With the suit, and the tie, and—”
    Simon’s line picked up; it was an answering machine. Simon dropped his headset to his neck for a moment and rolled his chair back. “Customers can hear the tie, Scott,”