WHERE TO WEAR YOU'RE HEART
Next door to me lived a man as mean as a wounded tiger. The guy had no compassion. His son told the roofer who spent a week fixing broken slates not to bother to send an invoice as his dad never paid anything. All he’d do was snag the work, find spurious defects and challenge them one at a time until trying to collect became impossible. He called himself a professional non-payer. Seventy-two he was with a trail of tears stretching back fifty of them which was the consequence of having super intelligence; plenty of brain power to think up schemes. Tax avoidance schemes, money making schemes, scams to rip the wealth out of bank accounts. Fifty years of enemies followed the trail of tears. Ruined people stacked up high with resentment enough to commit murder. Some had tried; all had missed. Until one day when a man whose wife had been diagnosed with terminal cancer cheered the life of so many people. Cryogenics, suspended animation, that was his game and he froze his wife to be ...