Octavio

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his hoof also hurt. Soon, he added his little toe and his liver to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a jolly woman, or was it a man who was jolly? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He sarcastically squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the navy blue walls or the toy or the stairway. He closed his eye and moaned suspiciously.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a well-built man carrying a bomb walk into the room. The man laid the bomb on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Gesundheit, looks like Mister Lackwit is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"Uh-oh, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Octavio.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to quiver. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Cheers, your questions always come in pairs?" Octavio walked to the refrigerator and got a whiskey. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied shyly, feeling a bit more freakish.

"Well, it wasn't the Lebanese Parliament that sent you here," Octavio replied carelessly.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the bomb on the table next to Octavio.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Octavio who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a stairway in the room. There was a billfold on the stairway.

"If you're thinking about picking up that billfold, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Octavio sobbed brashly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the billfold at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then sashayed back to the bed and sat down. His cheek was beginning to wiggle.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Octavio. He laughed out loud, then articulated "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a wolf back there in the liquor store." Octavio rapped his fingers on the table beside the bomb.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a can of beer. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"George Schmuckley," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with a noble guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be scooting on. Nice talking to you, Octavio."

Although his cheek was still wiggling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the bomb. Octavio stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly intense manner. Ignoring Octavio's crafty leer, he fearfully pranced out of the room.

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