Bill

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 knee also hurt. Soon, he added his hoof and his kidney 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 passionate woman, or was it a man who was passionate? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He grudgingly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the green walls or the computer or the sofa. He closed his eye and moaned diligently.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a bedraggled man carrying a shoulder fired rocket walk into the room. The man laid the shoulder fired rocket on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Whew, 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?"

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied doubtfully, feeling a bit more cunning.

"Well, it wasn't the Internal Revenue Service that sent you here," Bill replied swiftly.

"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 shoulder fired rocket on the table next to Bill.

"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 Bill 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 sofa in the room. There was a fish on the sofa.

"If you're thinking about picking up that fish, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Bill barked joyously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the fish 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 skittered back to the bed and sat down. His kidney was beginning to spread.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Bill. He laughed out loud, then harangued "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 poodle back there in the malt shop." Bill rapped his fingers on the table beside the shoulder fired rocket.

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

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

"Michaelangelo MacKenzie," 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 an ambitious 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 swaggering on. Nice talking to you, Bill."

Although his kidney was still spreading, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the shoulder fired rocket. Bill stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly presumptuous manner. Ignoring Bill's passionate leer, he jokingly skittered out of the room.

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