The Ups and Downs of Being Dead (36 page)

Another charismatic grin from Robbie. He was a handsome man,
Robert thought, even with the stitched eyelid. His hair was styled, and he
looked healthy, rested. He was almost as old as Robert had been when he died,
but Robbie didn’t have that paunch from too much scotch and rich food. Broad
shoulders filled out a navy polo with a logo. The next time the camera zoomed
in, Robert saw that the shirt had been issued by the correctional facility where
Robbie was housed.

“You are the son of Robert Malone, the Audrey’s Corporation
magnate, yet no one associated with Audrey’s offered financial assistance for
you to receive a transplanted eye.”

“Oh, no.” Robbie waved a finger at the reporter. “Don’t try
to put the blame on anyone else here. I was bad, pure and simple. Not a bully,
just a spoiled rich kid. And if it wasn’t for my sister, I never would have
turned my life around.”

Lifting his hand, Robbie brushed a finger across the closed
eye. “This is a good reminder that I made some very bad choices.”

“You say your sister got you on the right track. That would
be Rachel Malone, CEO of the Audrey’s clothing store chain.”

“She sure did,” Robbie said. “Ten years ago, I was almost
beaten to death. A lot of the inmates had a score to settle with me. I layed in
that hospital bed, bawling like a baby. I pleaded with my sister to kill me.”

“You were at the end of the line,” the reported offered.

“I sure was.”

Robbie gazed off as he recalled those days. “Rachel came to
see me every day. She even cried with me those first few days. But then she got
tough.”

Robert remembered the day Rachel showed up at the hospital
like a drill sergeant with a new recruit. The moment Robbie started in on his
daily rant on how unfair life was, she raised her hands to cut him off.

“We’re done with that, Robbie,” she told him. “The bandages
are gone, the stitches are out. Now we’re going to get you healed inside.”

Robbie gave her this vapid stare, like he had no idea what
she was talking about.

“I pulled a lot of strings to keep you here,” she continued.
“But time is running out. They want to send you back to prison next week.”

Panic hit Robbie. “No! You can’t make me go back there.”

“I have no choice. If I thought I could get you another appeal,
believe me, I would.”

Robbie sat up in bed. “Get me some heroin, or some sleeping
pills. Anything I can OD on.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Please!” he screamed. “Don’t make me go back. They’ll kill
me, I swear they will.”

“No they won’t. I’ve got lawsuits against the warden, the
prison, and the state. The guards who were on duty the night you were attacked
have already been dismissed. Trust me, no one is going to look the other way
any more.”

“You don’t understand,” Robbie whined, “if somebody wants to
get me, they will.”

That’s when Rachel sat on the edge of Robbie’s bed and
looked him in the eye. “Then you have to be strong. You have to show those men
that you’re not afraid.”

“Rach…”

She held up her hand to stop him. “Surely you’re not the
only one who’s been picked on, Robbie. It’s been this way for as long as there
have been prisons. It’s the bullies against the rest. You need to team up with
those guys and stand against the bullies. If you make friends…”

“How am I supposed to make friends?” Robbie screeched. “I’m
broke!”

“Oh, Robbie.” Rachel shook her head. “You can’t buy
friends.”

She brushed his shaggy hair away from his forehead then
rested a palm on his cheek.

“You have to show you care. That may mean you have to stand
up for someone else before he’ll stand up for you.”

“You mean get beat up again.”

“If that’s what it takes to show them all that you aren’t
afraid.”

The reporter shook her head as she listened to Robbie’s
story. “Did the guards protect you when you got back to prison?”

“Oh, some,” Robbie said with a sigh. “But I still got
harassed by other inmates. My sister was right though. I saw new guys coming in
all the time who were just as strung-out and scared as I was. And I saw the
makings of a new generation of bullies, choosing up sides, gathering recruits.

“There is a very complex hierarchy of power in prisons, some
based on money, like mine was at one time, others based on fear and
intimidation.”

“So you teamed up with the underdogs, so to speak.”

“Underdogs. That’s good,” Robbie said with a chuckle. “Yeah,
we get together and talk. I’ve taken a few more knocks to prove that the tough
guys can’t push me around anymore. Men are notorious for using their fists
instead of their words. But some of us are getting better. Slowly but surely,
more guys are willing to take a stand against the injustices.”

“Doesn’t that camaraderie aggravate the bullies?”

“Oh, sure.” Robbie rubbed his stomach and grimaced. “And
it’s hard sometimes to forgive and forget. But that’s what you have to do.”

Robert tuned out the rest of the interview. Forgive and
forget? Robbie sure had done his share of that once he was released from the
hospital.

At least once a week, Robert showed up at the prison; not in
the hopes of seeing Robbie get punched or kicked, but to see if his son could
live up to Rachel’s expectations.

One afternoon, Robbie stumbled upon two goons pulverizing a
punk named Frankie. Robert had seen him before, usually tagging along like a
mutt behind a bully named Del.

Frankie must have really pissed someone off. He was wedged
in the corner, his forearms up protecting his face. One of his attackers
punched him in the stomach and Frankie dropped his arms. That’s when the other
tough socked him in the nose. Blood gushed.

“Oh, that’s gotta hurt,” Robbie said.

“Keep walkin’,” one of the guys said.

“I wish I could,” Robbie answered, “Cause I got a feeling
I’m gonna get my nose busted again, too.”

The other thug turned to glare at Robbie.

“What’s with you?”

Robbie shrugged. “You’re what? Two hundred thirty? Two
hundred thirty-five pounds? I see you working out every day. Why does it take
two of you to kick the shit out of Frankie here? He’s what? A hundred sixty?”

He didn’t sound confrontational, just curious. Both brutes
turned on him, and Robert was sure he’d get more than a busted nose. But Robbie
relaxed his shoulders and turned his hands up in a ‘what the hell?’ gesture.

“Fuck you, Richie Rich,” one of the thugs said, and then
they both stomped off.

Blood rolled down Frankie’s chin and onto his prison
uniform. He took a swipe at it with a sleeve.

“That won’t work,” Robbie told him. “You gotta pinch your
nose until it stops bleeding.”

“Fuck you!” Frankie answered.

“I’m telling you, I’ve had plenty of bloody noses. You gotta
pinch it.”

“Leave me alone,” Frankie yelled. “I see what you’re doing.
You think if you’re nice to me, I’ll be your friend. Well fuck you. I’m never
gonna be your friend.”

“That’s fine, man.” He even raised his hands, as if warding
off further abuse.

“Fucking rich kid,” Frankie blurted, then he took another
swipe at his nose. He paced back and forth like a caged animal, like he
couldn’t get past Robbie to run away. His fists opened and closed. He shook his
head, like a debate was going on inside. Then he screamed at Robbie.

“I’m the one who sliced open your leg, motherfucker!” Blood
flew off his lips in a fine mist.

Robbie stood in stunned silence. His mouth hung open. He
blinked slowly as though Frankie’s words were just now reaching him. Robert was
just as shocked. He watched Frankie ball his fists and raise them, expecting
Robbie to pounce on him.

But he didn’t.

“Thanks for telling me, man,” he said calmly. He started to
turn away, but then added. “I’m not bullshit though. You gotta pinch your
nose.”

Then he just walked away.

“Hey! You wait a minute,” Frankie yelled after him. “I know
what you’re up to. You’re gonna make me sweat. Then when I’m not ready for it,
you’re gonna come after me.”

Glancing back, Robbie shook his head. “No. That road leads
to pain. I don’t need any more of that.”

Suzanne reached her hand along the table to Robert’s.

“I remember the day you came home from your visit to Robbie
and told me that story,” she said.

“Yeah. Everything kind of turned around then,” Robert said.
“It was the first time I was tempted to get inside Robbie’s head. To let him
know I was there. And to tell him how proud I was of him.”

December meeting, 2070

A gust of wind blew pellets of sleet ticking across the
parking lot. A lone glove was swept up from the pavement and went sailing right
through a temp off to Robert’s right.

“I never realized how lovely Ann Arbor can be in December,”
he remarked.

“At least fans don’t sit out in this kind of weather like
they used to,” Maggie said.

Joe turned from the giant stadium across the lot. “I wonder
if they ever covered the stadium in Green Bay?” he asked.

A group of temps ahead disappeared through double glass
doors of the arena.

“This is stupid,” Robert said. “How are we going to hear
anything?”

“Stop being such a stuffed shirt,” Maggie told him. “Sam
says the Michigan Stadium is the largest in the country, and they needed some
place big to get all us temps in one place.”

“I still don’t see why all the different cryonics groups
wanted to meet here. Who’s going to speak? Stuart Greyson, or someone else?”

“Just be patient, Robert,” Maggie said. “It will all make
sense soon.”

“You already know?”

“Yes, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

“What’s all the mystery?”

“Why can’t you just appreciate how much work went into
getting every cryonics temp, in the world, at this gathering today. Over one
hundred thousand souls all in one place, with one commonality.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right.”

Suzanne tickled her fingers under his chin to cajole him out
of his sour mood.

“We’re going to be great, great grandparents again soon,”
she told Maggie.

“Really?”

“Hey, that’s my news,” Robert said.

“Then tell it.”

Jerking his head away when Suzanne zeroed in on another
tickle, Robert said, “Hunter’s granddaughter Erica and her husband have
petitioned for a child.”

Maggie clapped her hands. “Oh, how exciting. Are they asking
for a boy or a girl?”

“I think they’re waiting until they get permission,” Robert
said. “They don’t want to get their hopes up.”

“This is their first, isn’t it?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, but Brock, her husband is a little worried that his
financial dossier isn’t strong enough.”

“I’m sure everything will work out,” Maggie said.

A greeter at the door asked what year they had been
preserved, then directed them to a section with the rest of a group with
similar dates.

“How’s Angie?” Maggie asked.

“She’s so happy,” Suzanne said. “And she loves London. The
conservancy she volunteers for can’t believe how organized she is.”

“After thirty-five years of managing Mark’s life, she should
be good,” Robert said.

“Is Mark still badgering her?”

“I don’t think he knows where she is,” Suzanne said. “Last
he knew, she was in Paris.”

At the top of a flight of stairs, Robert stepped out into
the stadium.

“Good God!” he said.

His eyes scanned the huge basin. An ocean of temps filled
nearly every seat. He turned to look up at the seats behind him, also filled.
He spotted Bernie and waved. Surrounding Bernie were total strangers.

The agitation Robert had been experiencing eased a bit. If
this many people were waiting to come back, surely he had several more years
with Suzanne before his number came up for reanimation. Even with all the
mergers, he was still only number two-hundred fourteen. That meant thousands of
others would be reanimated first.

Five men strolled out to the middle of the football field,
and stood on a huge M on the fifty-yard line. Some kind of animal had been
spray painted on the turf as well.

The only person Robert recognized was Stuart Greyson. A
rather portly gentleman next to Stuart raised his arms to quiet everyone down.

“Welcome everyone,” he said, pronouncing each word slowly.
“Some of you may know me. My name is Nigel Witherington, I was an actor in the
British Theatre for over thirty years.”

A smattering of hoots could be heard in various areas of the
stadium. Probably all Brits. Robert had never heard of the man.

“I was asked to speak today,” he continued slowly, “because
I’ve been told I have a big mouth.”

More laughs erupted.

“We were lucky to procure this magnificent stadium. I
understand the Badgers are undefeated this year.”

A wave of boos and hoots rumbled through the crowd. One of
the men on the field turned to whisper something to Witherington. He nodded and
raised both arms.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’ve been told the team mascot is a
wolverine, not a badger.”

As Witherington spoke, he turned in a circle, so that
everyone could hear him. Robert was amazed that the man’s voice carried fairly
well, even with his back turned.

“This month, December, of the year two thousand seventy, is
a momentous date for all of you. On December twelfth, nineteen ninety-five, the
first man was cryopreserved in California, here in the United States.
Seventy-five years ago, this month, a small group of forward-thinking pioneers
carried out the first successful procedure on Mr. James Gallagher.”

Witherington gestured to the man next to him and he stepped
forward. Because no one could clap, they cheered. Gallagher took a bow before
stepping back with the group.