The Ups and Downs of Being Dead (33 page)

“Yeah. We think that’s what will happen.”

“But what about all the things that are happening now?
Aren’t all these memories kind of like unsaved data? When you come back, will
all of this information get saved onto your hard drive? Or is it all going to
be lost?”

* * *

At Robbie’s trial the next morning, Robert tried to
concentrate on the proceedings. But his mind kept drifting back to Suzanne’s
questions about his memory once he was revived. He tried to imagine in his mind
how at the moment that he was brought back, his new memories would somehow meld
with the memories already in his brain. A niggling fear kept harping at
him—what if none of this did get saved?

All the other temps assumed they would remember. But what
kind of guarantee did they have? The more he thought about it, the more
stressed he got. He decided that he would discuss it with Sam the first chance
he got at the December meeting. But that plan didn’t offer much solace. How was
Sam to know what the future held?

Forlorn, Robert turned his attention back to the witness on
the stand. A middle-aged woman with graying hair sat pensively considering the
prosecutor’s last question.

Briscoe had told Rachel he wasn’t worried about the woman.
He knew the prosecution had gotten the records for Robbie’s flight to Atlanta.
This woman had sat next to Morgan during the trip.

“I know they were talking about diamonds,” the woman told
the district attorney. “And there was something about emeralds. I definitely
remember the girl saying that her favorite color was green. Then the man next
to her said something about rubies and the girl said red was her favorite
color.”

The woman shook her head, like a mother listening to a
child’s silly joke.

At the defense table, Robbie was oblivious to the woman’s testimony.
His appearance had deteriorated. He hadn’t even attempted to wear a tie; his
shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. He sat bobbing his head and tapping a pencil
on the table like he was drumming to a song. Briscoe nonchalantly slid a hand
over and took the pencil away.

Once the prosecutor was finished, Briscoe asked the woman if
what she had overheard could have been from a movie or a TV show. Possibly even
a book.

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose they could have been discussing
a movie.”

Briscoe was already turning back to the defense table when
the woman twisted her mouth and scrunched her eyebrows.

“But why did he say he didn’t know the combination to the
safe?” she asked.

It was like a stab in his back. Briscoe’s face turned to
stone, a slight flush rose on his cheeks.

“No further questions,” he snapped.

Robert wasn’t sure if that last statement had an affect on
Robbie, but for some reason, he was suddenly plagued with an itch. He yanked
his shirt out of his pants and stuck a hand up under to scratch his belly.
Briscoe looked like he might have a stroke.

The policeman who had first arrived at the scene described
Robbie as distraught, nervous, and definitely under the influence of drugs.
They ran a blood test as soon as they got Robbie and Morgan to the police
station.

Again Briscoe had foreseen this, and even knew the damaging
results of that blood test. He didn’t cross-examine.

As he’d told Rachel, he wasn’t really building a defense.
How could he? Robbie was caught red-handed with a duffle bag full of jewelry.
His prints were on the plastic bag still wrapped around the gun.

And he definitely would not be calling Robbie to the witness
stand. He was letting the prosecutor lay out his case, and hoping that he could
not prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Robbie intended to kill his mother.

The next morning, Robbie looked even worse. He had dark
circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept. A casual observer might have
surmised that the gravity of the situation was finally sinking in. But Robert
knew better. The only thing on Robbie’s mind was drugs.

At one point during the morning’s proceedings, Robbie’s head
suddenly nodded forward, like he had dozed off.

The next witness was the john who Morgan had performed
sexual favors on in downtown Atlanta.

“She asked me if I had a gun,” the man stated. “I got the
impression that if I’d said no, she would not have gotten in the car with me.”

“So what happened next?”

The man related how Morgan had asked him to drive her to
some place secluded. He took her to a small park where she’d coaxed him out of
his car. Then she got down on her knees, asked him to point the gun at her
head, and then she—

Hesitating, the man looked down at his hands. The prosecutor
finished for him. “She performed a sex act, is that correct?”

The man nodded.

Then, while he was still in the throes of ecstasy, she
grabbed the gun and ran. Somewhere along the way, she must have dumped
someone’s newspaper out of its plastic delivery bag and used it to preserve the
man’s fingerprints.

Briscoe’s summation was pretty good. He threw all the blame
on Morgan, who hadn’t even gone to trial yet. She had talked about the jewelry,
she had stolen the gun, and she had pulled the trigger, killing Amanda Malone.

In fact, Robbie’s behavior for the past several days played right
into Briscoe’s plan. As he paraded in front of the jury, Briscoe said, “Ladies
and gentlemen of the jury. Does this look like a man who could mastermind a
cold-blooded murder?”

He threw his arm out toward the defense table, where Robbie
had slouched down in his chair with his elbows planted on the armrests. His
head had fallen back on his shoulders. He was fast asleep, with his mouth
gaping open.

* * *

The jury deliberated for three days. During that time,
Briscoe was in contact with Rachel, assuring her that the longer they were out,
the more likely Robbie would be acquitted or at least found guilty of the
lesser count of involuntary manslaughter.

When the bailiff reported that the jury had come to a
decision, Robert and Suzanne were sitting in the front row of the courtroom.

Technically, Robbie had his suit on, but he wore no tie, and
his jacket hung open, revealing the right half of his shirttail hanging out.
Robert wondered if he even knew where he was. He slumped into his chair and
immediately closed his eyes.

But Robbie’s inattentiveness abruptly ended when the bailiff
declared him guilty of premeditated murder in the first degree.

He shot up out of that chair like he’d been set on fire.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he screamed at the judge. “I want
a new lawyer. This asshole hasn’t done a goddamn thing for me! I told him a
thousand times I didn’t do it, but he wouldn’t even—”

As Robbie ranted, the judge banged her gavel, calling loudly
for the bailiff to have Robbie removed from the courtroom.

He was still calling a Briscoe a son-of-a-bitch as he was
dragged away.

A sentencing hearing was scheduled for a week later. This
time, when Robbie came into the courtroom, his suit was straight, the jacket
buttoned, the tie so tight Robert thought it might cut off the circulation to
Robbie’s brain.

But the judge wasn’t buying the act. In fact, the first
thing she did was reprimand both Robbie and Briscoe for their spurious and
superficial attempt at attrition.

“Mr. Malone,” she then said, “All during your trial, I never
saw the first hint at remorse over the senseless killing of your own mother.
You showed no respect for my courtroom, or for your counsel. It is my
understanding that you would not even participate in a rehabilitation program
in one of our state’s premiere facilities.”

Robert tuned out most of the mumbo-jumbo about penal codes
for the State of Georgia. But he heard the judge’s sentence loud and clear.
Robbie was sentenced to life in prison, without parole.

20 years later - June

Robert and Suzanne had arranged to meet Maggie and Joe at
the Prince Albert Memorial across the street from the Royal Albert Hall.
Already the crowd of temps was swarming on the sidewalk in front of the huge
round auditorium.

“Let’s go around to the back and see if the lines are any
shorter,” Robert suggested.

As they strolled around Kensington Gore, Maggie asked, “Have
you got a new address yet?”

“Actually, we do.”

Robert gave Suzanne a quick glance before asking Maggie, “Do
you remember Dan and Melinda, the couple we hung out with on our Baltic
cruise?”

“Your sex partners from Ohio?” Maggie asked.

“Geez, Maggie,” Robert complained. “We didn’t just hang out
with them for the sex.”

“That’s right,” Suzanne agreed. “We also used them to
fulfill our food and beverage needs.” She smiled at Robert.

“Anyway,” Robert said, “We followed them back to Dayton, to
check them out on their home turf.”

Maggie’s eyebrows went haywire. “And did they pass
inspection?”

“It’s uncanny how Melinda and I think alike,” Suzanne said.
“We’re like sisters.”

“And Dan is just like me,” Robert said. “Brilliant,
handsome, a great conversationalist, and a savvy businessman. I mean, we both
went on a cruise of the Baltic Sea with a shipload of senior citizens, and he’s
only thirty eight. How freaky is that?”

“So you’re living with them?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, but don’t worry. We haven’t taken over their minds.
It’s just nice to be in a house with music I like playing, or the television
on. Suzanne likes to drop in while Melinda’s soaking in a hot tub,
occasionally.”

Robert decided he didn’t need to elaborate on how wonderful
the sex was, too. Dan and Melinda were definitely bit old-fashioned. They made
love in the dark, with lots of cuddling and kissing, and very little verbal
banter. Those preferences made it much easier for Robert to imagine he was
making love to Suzanne.

Years ago, Maggie had attempted to overcome the barrier of
occupying someone else’s mind. She even tried a couple times to start a fight
with another ghost, but no one was interested in duking it out with a ninety
year-old woman. Joe finally convinced her to give it up.

“Are you commuting to Audrey’s?” Joe asked.

“I pop into the office a couple times a week, but believe it
or not, I’m losing interest. Dan owns several lawn and garden centers. I’ve
been learning how to landscape.”

“I don’t believe it,” Maggie said. “Let me check those
fingernails for dirt.”

They all laughed.

The crowd didn’t seem much thinner at the back side of the
hall. And it appeared as though most of the temps were just standing around
chatting with friends rather than moving inside.

“How are the kids?” Maggie asked.

“We’re going to see Angie right after the meeting,” Suzanne
said. “Then down to Atlanta to see Rachel and her brood. Are you still coming
to the extravaganza?”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Maggie said. “This Saturday, right?”

Joe leaned toward Robert. “Anything new on Robbie?”

“No, he’s still running with the big dogs,” Robert said.
“Rachel heard he even celebrated twenty years in prison by throwing a party for
some of his friends. Drugs. Booze. I wouldn’t be surprised if the warden made
an appearance, the way Robbie throws his money around. I guess he was greasing
the wheels with the guards, too. Telling them to buy a little something extra for
the kids.”

Maggie clicked her tongue. “What a shame.”

“Yeah, Rachel’s over it,” Robert said. “After his attorney
told her about the party, he invited her to accompany him when he visits Robbie
next week. I’m not sure what it’s all about, because Briscoe never goes to see
Robbie any more. There’s no need to since they’ve exhausted any appeals.”

“I told Robert maybe he should go, too,” Suzanne said.

The crowd took a sudden shift and temps began to disappear
through the doors and walls.

“Guess it’s time,” Maggie said.

Inside, Robert made a mooing sound as all the temps milled
through the lobby, trying to decide where to enter the arena.

“I still think Stuart should assign seats, or at least
sections,” he said. “If we have to meet in huge halls like this now, at least
we should be able to sit together.”

“How is Stuart supposed to know who you want to sit with,”
Maggie asked.

Suzanne had her own opinion. “I think you should just meet
in smaller groups now. I mean, really. Five thousand people? How are we going to
be able to hear the speakers?”

Bernie, the BMW dealer from Jersey flowed by in a crush of
temps.

“Bernie!” Robert called out. “Where are you sitting?”

“Madeline’s trying to get one of those boxes. I’m just
tagging along.”

Maggie nudged Robert. “Here comes Jess. I understand he’s
taking his twelfth group on an Everest expedition. You can still get in on
that.”

“Yeah, right,” Robert scoffed.

“Look!” Suzanne hissed. “It’s Brian Campbell and his crew.”

Glancing off to his left, Robert spotted the young man who’d
committed suicide all those years ago. He had a following of nearly one hundred
other young people, all

looking bored, sullen, and angst-ridden.

“Dear God, they look just like those Goth kids did back when
I was alive,” Maggie said.

Inside the arena, the center floor was empty except for a
lone ping-pong table. A tournament was scheduled for the next day. All the
seats on the floor were taken with temps.

“We need to move up.” Robert pointed to the loggia above.

“Let’s get a box,” Suzanne suggested.

But after wandering around the hall for several minutes,
they realized all the boxes were taken.

“You know,” Robert said as they made their way to the cheap
seats, “I’m seeing a lot more women temps now.”