The Sinister Mr. Corpse (13 page)

He inhaled deeply, held it, and exhaled.
Sure, no oxygen was being delivered, but it still felt good. He
closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and just let nature work its
magic.

"Warm weather kind of guy, huh?" Veronica
asked.

Stanley didn't open his eyes. "I spent weeks
in a freezer. I've got a lot of catching up to do."

They stood there for a while. Stanley smiled
as an almost imperceptible breeze blew across his skin.

"We should have a picnic," he said.

"I'll add that to the itinerary."

He opened his eyes. "I'm feeling good today.
Not Snoopy Dance of Joy good, but pretty darn good. And not giddy
or giggly, but, y'know, good. Well, maybe a little giggly."

Brant and Martin walked over to join them.
"Are you ready to go?" Brant asked.

"There went my gigglyness," Stanley told
Veronica. "Yep, let's get this freak show on the road." He tapped
on the side of the limousine. "I call shotgun."

* * *

Brant was lost in some paperwork and thus
wasn't being a complete prick. Martin read a comic book with a slug
on the cover. The driver, John, had seemed like a nice enough guy
but he'd prepared a playlist of zombie-related music that got old
pretty quick. Veronica wrote in a notebook. Stanley watched
Veronica.

He was developing a serious crush on her, one
that went beyond simple thoughts regarding the quality of her
buttocks. She wasn't just gorgeous; she was intelligent, funny, and
both able and willing to put Stanley in his place. If he'd had
somebody like her in his life before, he would never have ended up
living in a trailer park crying into a crusty pillow on a daily
basis.

Too bad he was a monster.

She seemed like somebody who could get past
the whole "physically repulsive" element, but still, he knew that
he'd never dare to make a move. Shameless flirting and crude
comments were fine. A genuine admission of his feelings was not. He
couldn't put her in the position of having to admit that dating a
corpse wasn't really her thing. That would be more than a little
socially awkward.

Veronica probably had a boyfriend. Maybe even
a husband. She didn't like to talk about her personal life. Hell,
for all he knew, she kept a harem in her basement.

Beauty and the Beast.

Hottie and the Zombie.

Never gonna happen.

"What?" Veronica asked as she noticed that he
was staring at her.

"Booger."

She wiped at her nose. "Did I get it?"

"No, now it's crawling on your cheek."

"You need a hobby."

"I have a hobby. I just need a better
one."

Veronica tore a piece of paper out of her
notebook and handed it to him, along with a pen. "I want you to
write down the names of all fifty states and their capitals by the
time we reach Santa Fe. That's about two hours. No asking for
help."

"Will you flash me if I get them all?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. If you get all fifty states and their
capitals without asking for help by the time we get to Santa Fe, I
will flash you for three seconds."

"Wow, let out your inner floozy! You've got a
deal."

* * *

"Slow down the limo!" Stanley cried. "I'm
almost there! Park at that Dairy Queen or something!"

"How many states do you have?" asked
Martin.

"Forty-nine. I think I'm missing one of the
states with East or West in the name!"

"Let me see," said Veronica, taking the paper
from him. "East Mississippi is not a state."

"I thought that sounded wrong."

"You don't even have New
Mexico on here. We're
in
New Mexico."

"New Mexico! Thanks!" Stanley grabbed the
paper and hurriedly wrote down the state. "Why is this limo going
so fast? Isn't there a speed limit in New Mexico?"

"Give it up, Stanley," said Veronica. "You
only have twelve capitals on there."

"I have fifteen."

"No, three of them are wrong."

"Really? Which ones?"

"Anchorage, Miami, and Vermont City."

"Damn. So I get a one second flash instead,
right?"

"No."

"A one second flash of one breast?"

"You get nothing. But I got two hours of
relative peace. It's a win-win situation for me."

"You're a tease."

"And your U.S. geography skills are pathetic.
We're going to have to work on that if you're going to be speaking
to our nation's youth."

Stanley crumpled up the paper. "I challenge
you to a rematch. Name the Three Stooges."

"No time for that," said Brant. "It's time to
meet up with the Mr. Corpse Cavalcade."

* * *

"Oh my God," said Stanley as they turned the
corner, so astounded that he couldn't even think of a sarcastic
remark, let alone deliver one.

Both sides of the street were jam-packed with
people as if it were a parade at Disneyland. Cheering people with
balloons and confetti. A huge banner stretched out over the street
read "SANTA FE WELCOMES MR. CORPSE."

"All these people are here for me?" Stanley
asked.

Brant nodded. "Miles of them."

"I thought I was supposed to be a freak."

"No, you're a celebrity," said Veronica. "Now
stand up and make thousands of people happy."

Stanley was almost too dazed
to get to his feet. This was incredible. He was a
zombie
, for God's
sake!

He stood up through the small section of open
roof and waved at the crowd. Their cheers intensified a
hundredfold.

They'd gone over the security precautions
beforehand. Supposedly lots of highly trained individuals were
monitoring the crowd very closely, and at the first sign of trouble
Stanley would be given the signal to duck back down into the
limousine. Stanley had personal safety concerns, but still, he had
to trust that Project Second Chance would do everything it could to
protect its investment, and he sure as hell didn't want to spend
the rest of his life underground.

The limo moved slowly down the street,
flanked on all four sides by police cars with their lights
flashing. Stanley waved, blew kisses, and hoped that his smile
wasn't too creepy.

Some college-age girls were holding a banner
that read "WE LOVE YOU MR. CORPSE!"

"I love you, too!" he shouted back.

He gave a thumbs-up sign to a crowd of
children. Why hadn't they brought candy along to throw out? He'd
have to rectify that at the next parade.

Another sign: "MR. CORPSE IS AMAZING!"

And another: "I WANT YOU DEAD OR ALIVE."

"I love you, Santa Fe!" Stanley shouted into
his microphone. "All of you, remember that life is precious! Help a
neighbor! Give blood to the Red Cross! Feed a stray cat! And then
go PARTY TILL YA PUKE!!!"

The crowd roared.

There seemed to be no end to the people, all
of them cheering and shouting their support. Stanley knew that
there was an alternate gathering of angry protestors, and he
would've loved nothing more than to drive by, give them all the
finger, and request that they all pluck their thumbs out of their
rectums, but he suspected that Brant would veto the suggestion.

An amazingly hot blonde held a sign that said
"MARRY ME MR. CORPSE."

"But think of the babies!" Stanley shouted to
her. She laughed and waved her sign at the camera crew.

Finally, what seemed like hours later, the
crowd thinned out and Stanley ducked back down into the limo. His
legs were sore from standing for so long but he was feeling
great.

"People love me!" he said, plopping down into
the comfy seat.

"Of course they do," said Veronica. "You're
the Amazing Mr. Corpse."

"But I thought our culture worshipped youth
and beauty."

"That's for female celebrities," said Martin.
"You're a guy. You're allowed to be ugly."

"Ah, so that's it," said Stanley. "Still, I
never would've expected this. I was thinking lynching, burning at
the stake, voodoo dolls...that kind of stuff."

"That's six blocks away," said Brant.

"I think I know what was missing from my life
before," said Stanley, settling back into his comfy seat. "I wasn't
an adored celebrity. I guess now it seems like such an obvious
solution to my lack of direction, but hindsight is
fifty-fifty."

"Twenty-twenty," Veronica corrected.

"Right." Stanley frowned. "Martin, did I say
dumb stuff like that before?"

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so. Why am I suddenly
becoming a bimbo?"

"Don't worry about it," said Veronica. "I'm
sure it's just stress and excitement."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Stanley
agreed, with more conviction than he felt. His mouth spewed out a
gigantic waterfall of stupid comments on a regular basis, but he'd
always said them on purpose. Being an accidental dullard was
something new. Did sudden celebrity turn one into an idiot? It
would certainly explain a lot...

* * *

Next up was a press junket,
where Stanley got the unbearable thrill of sitting in a room and
talking to a series of reporters for five minutes each. This was
not quite as cool as the parade, because it was pretty much the
same questions over and over and he eventually quit trying to think
of new ways to answer them. He only had two decent answers
for
What was it like to be dead?
("Like being alive, but without quite as much
breathing" and "Sort of like living in Iowa") and so he just
alternated between them, until Veronica suggested that he try not
to annoy his Iowa fan base, forcing him to stick with a single
answer.

Several of the female reporters were damn
attractive, though. He flirted with the first one ("What's your
sign? Mine's a tombstone") but she seemed kind of creeped out by it
and lost her place in her notes, so he stopped.

After the assembly line was finished, they
went to a private room in an exquisite steakhouse, where Stanley
ordered the New York Strip and lobster. He usually preferred his
steak rare, but was concerned that the rumor mill might equate that
with a desire for raw human flesh, so he went with medium well.

The food was delicious. It had been a
ridiculously long time since Stanley had a restaurant meal, and the
waiter was sufficiently snotty enough to make the whole experience
seem like he was living the high life.

Which he was.

Stanley Dabernath, the Amazing Mr. Corpse,
had finally found his niche.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The next day was more of the same.
Interviews, cheering fans, and great food. After a seafood lunch,
Stanley, Veronica, Martin, and Brant sat in a luxurious hotel room.
Several boxes were piled on the bed.

"Most of these have already been approved,"
said Veronica, "but I wanted you to see what we've got." She
reached into the first box and took out a shirt. "T-shirts, of
course." She unfolded the shirt and held it up to her chest. It was
a close-up of Stanley's face.

"I'm sure teachers will love
seeing their students wearing
that
," said Stanley.

"Don't forget, you're educational." She
modeled several more t-shirts, including a couple with the annoying
skeleton version of him.

"A lot of bootleg shirts are already on the
streets," said Brant, "but that's only to be expected given your
instant popularity."

"There aren't any with Calvin peeing on me,
are there?"

"No, but I've seen one depicting you as an
African American that says 'Mista Corpse.'"

Stanley thought about that. "I can't decide
if that's racist or not."

"It was a black teenager wearing it."

"Then I guess it's not."

"There are lots and lots of t-shirts, so I
won't show you all of them," said Veronica. "But I've got a
prototype of the Mr. Corpse action figure."

"Wow, that was quick."

"Oh, they started on it before you came back
to life, then they did some tweaks after the resurrection." She
tossed the action figure to him.

Stanley inspected the figure carefully. "It
doesn't look anything like me."

"Between you and me, I think they just
painted a Luke Skywalker figure."

Stanley walked the Mr. Corpse figure up his
leg. "They should make a super-villain figure of Brant." He
suddenly wished he hadn't said that, but Brant chuckled and seemed
genuinely amused.

"Let me see that," said Martin. Stanley
tossed the figure to him. "Does it have Super Punching Action or
anything like that?"

Veronica shook her head. "Nah."

"What a lame toy."

"Well, most of them will probably be kept in
their original packaging anyway."

"Like my first condom," said Stanley.

"There's serious interest from several
different companies in doing a Mr. Corpse video game," said
Veronica. "We haven't yet decided which bid to accept. Obviously,
the development period on that will be fairly long, but we intend
to keep your popularity going strong."

"I could fight zombie Pac-Men."

"Anything's possible." Veronica took more
items out of the box. "Of course, we've got the Mr. Corpse watch,
in both realistic and skeleton models. Tomorrow we'll be taking you
in to record some dialogue for the Mr. Corpse Talking Alarm
Clock."

"They'll have to record his dialogue on a
five-second delay," Brant noted.

"Hey, I uttered nary a swear word in any of
my interviews or during the Corpse Caravan."

"And I applaud you for it."

"But I think there'd be a market for a
swearing alarm clock. 'Get the fuck out of bed, you lazy
zombie.'"

"There was very little interest in food
tie-ins," Veronica admitted. "The closest we came was Sour Gummi
Corpses, but they didn't want the word 'Corpse' in the name of the
candy. We tried to sell them on Sour Gummi Stanleys, but that's
still up in the air."