Wes

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 liver also hurt. Soon, he added his esophagus and his elbow 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 pert woman, or was it a man who was pert? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He gleefully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the purple walls or the abacus or the piano. He closed his eye and moaned sarcastically.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a frumpy man carrying a can of shaving cream walk into the room. The man laid the can of shaving cream on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Ho hum, looks like Mister Renegade is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Goodness me, your questions always come in pairs?" Wes walked to the refrigerator and got a grape soda. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied dolefully, feeling a bit more ungainly.

"Well, it wasn't the NBA that sent you here," Wes replied hastily.

"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 can of shaving cream on the table next to Wes.

"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 Wes 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 piano in the room. There was a blank check on the piano.

"If you're thinking about picking up that blank check, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Wes grieved vacantly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the blank check 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 sprinted back to the bed and sat down. His dignity was beginning to wobble.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Wes. He laughed out loud, then concluded "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 an elephant back there in the popcorn shop." Wes rapped his fingers on the table beside the can of shaving cream.

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

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

"Polly Zimmer," 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 gregarious 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 bouncing on. Nice talking to you, Wes."

Although his dignity was still wobbling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the can of shaving cream. Wes stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly suave manner. Ignoring Wes's paranoid leer, he resignedly skidded out of the room.

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