Mookie

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 vein also hurt. Soon, he added his head 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 tactful woman, or was it a man who was tactful? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He clumsily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the silver walls or the spittoon or the cupboard. He closed his eye and moaned patiently.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a tall 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. "Bada bing bada boom, looks like Mister Hooligan is coming back to life."

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied unnaturally, feeling a bit more dreadful.

"Well, it wasn't the National Organization of Kindergarten teachers that sent you here," Mookie replied urgently.

"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 Mookie.

"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 Mookie 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 cupboard in the room. There was a pizza on the cupboard.

"If you're thinking about picking up that pizza, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Mookie professed fearlessly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the pizza 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 cantered back to the bed and sat down. His wrist was beginning to curve.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Mookie. He laughed out loud, then continued "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 puma back there in the antique store." Mookie 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 pickle. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Beauford Bean," 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 spunky 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 dancing on. Nice talking to you, Mookie."

Although his wrist was still curving, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the can of shaving cream. Mookie stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly wicked manner. Ignoring Mookie's insane leer, he delicately sneaked out of the room.

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