Rico

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 wig also hurt. Soon, he added his leg and his spinal cord 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 dowdy woman, or was it a man who was dowdy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He surreptitiously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the jade walls or the box of Kleenex or the recliner. He closed his eye and moaned temperamentally.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a dainty man carrying a pair of brass knuckles walk into the room. The man laid the pair of brass knuckles on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Behold, looks like Mister Cream puff is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Can it, your questions always come in pairs?" Rico walked to the refrigerator and got a fruit smoothie. "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 mean.

"Well, it wasn't the Dog biscuit Collectors Club that sent you here," Rico replied madly.

"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 pair of brass knuckles on the table next to Rico.

"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 Rico 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 recliner in the room. There was a yo-yo on the recliner.

"If you're thinking about picking up that yo-yo, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Rico quoted effortlessly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the yo-yo 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 lurched back to the bed and sat down. His dignity was beginning to get sticky.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Rico. He laughed out loud, then professed "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 musk-ox back there in the Starbucks." Rico rapped his fingers on the table beside the pair of brass knuckles.

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

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

"Polly Talley," 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 athletic 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 tearing on. Nice talking to you, Rico."

Although his dignity was still getting sticky, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the pair of brass knuckles. Rico stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly dark manner. Ignoring Rico's fascinating leer, he courageously lurched out of the room.

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