Zeke

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 hangnail also hurt. Soon, he added his fingernail and his pancreas 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 rapacious woman, or was it a man who was rapacious? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He numbly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the striped walls or the paper airplane or the card table. He closed his eye and moaned speedily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a feeble man carrying an angry glare walk into the room. The man laid the angry glare on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "As if, looks like Mister Scullery maid is coming back to life."

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

"Son of a Baptist preacher, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Zeke.

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

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

"What accident?" he replied swiftly, feeling a bit more depraved.

"Well, it wasn't the National Association of Entomologists that sent you here," Zeke replied smoothly.

"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 angry glare on the table next to Zeke.

"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 Zeke 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 card table in the room. There was a thumb drive on the card table.

"If you're thinking about picking up that thumb drive, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Zeke harangued peevishly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the thumb drive 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 little toe was beginning to heave.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Zeke. He laughed out loud, then inquired "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 flea back there in the insurance agency." Zeke rapped his fingers on the table beside the angry glare.

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

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

"Cedric Ordway," 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 desperate 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 sailing on. Nice talking to you, Zeke."

Although his little toe was still heaving, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the angry glare. Zeke stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly happy manner. Ignoring Zeke's hungry leer, he timidly tore out of the room.

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