Guy

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 fingernail also hurt. Soon, he added his finger and his little toe 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 crafty woman, or was it a man who was crafty? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He vacantly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the peach walls or the doll or the billiard table. He closed his eye and moaned warmly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an angelic man carrying a cobra walk into the room. The man laid the cobra on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Why not?, looks like Mister Ne'er-do-well is coming back to life."

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

"Stoked, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Guy.

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

"Piffle, your questions always come in pairs?" Guy walked to the refrigerator and got a hot buttered rum. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied dreamily, feeling a bit more mournful.

"Well, it wasn't the National Rifle Association that sent you here," Guy replied steadily.

"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 cobra on the table next to Guy.

"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 Guy 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 billiard table in the room. There was a knitting needle on the billiard table.

"If you're thinking about picking up that knitting needle, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Guy fumed dreamily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the knitting needle 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 zipped back to the bed and sat down. His belly was beginning to unravel.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Guy. He laughed out loud, then blustered "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 buffalo back there in the bar." Guy rapped his fingers on the table beside the cobra.

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

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

"Pallavi Lott," 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 precocious 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, Guy."

Although his belly was still unraveling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the cobra. Guy stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly merry manner. Ignoring Guy's disorganized leer, he woefully barrelled out of the room.

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