Hendrick

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 chest also hurt. Soon, he added his toe and his 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 disgusting woman, or was it a man who was disgusting? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He anxiously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the turquoise walls or the advertisement or the wooden crate. He closed his eye and moaned sourly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a shapely man carrying an assault rifle walk into the room. The man laid the assault rifle on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Good gracious, looks like Mister Birdbrain is coming back to life."

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied pityingly, feeling a bit more sanguine.

"Well, it wasn't the Painters of the World that sent you here," Hendrick replied fiercely.

"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 assault rifle on the table next to Hendrick.

"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 Hendrick 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 wooden crate in the room. There was a dog collar on the wooden crate.

"If you're thinking about picking up that dog collar, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Hendrick argued brightly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the dog collar 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 whirled back to the bed and sat down. His head was beginning to quake.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Hendrick. He laughed out loud, then answered "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 penguin back there in the boutique." Hendrick rapped his fingers on the table beside the assault rifle.

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

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

"Emma Park," 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 mindless 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 cantering on. Nice talking to you, Hendrick."

Although his head was still quaking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the assault rifle. Hendrick stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly cuddly manner. Ignoring Hendrick's wicked leer, he fearlessly sneaked out of the room.

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