Grover

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 hairdo also hurt. Soon, he added his larynx and his hairdo 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 hirsute woman, or was it a man who was hirsute? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He thankfully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the brilliant orange walls or the comic book or the buffet. He closed his eye and moaned arrogantly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a ruddy man carrying a stash of bribe money walk into the room. The man laid the stash of bribe money on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Son of a Baptist preacher, looks like Mister Nitwit is coming back to life."

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

"Ten-four, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Grover.

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

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

"What accident?" he replied shyly, feeling a bit more haggard.

"Well, it wasn't the International Brotherhood of Accountants that sent you here," Grover replied hysterically.

"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 stash of bribe money on the table next to Grover.

"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 Grover 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 buffet in the room. There was a sack of potatoes on the buffet.

"If you're thinking about picking up that sack of potatoes, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Grover voiced valiantly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the sack of potatoes 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 waded back to the bed and sat down. His heel was beginning to reek.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Grover. He laughed out loud, then preached "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 baboon back there in the haberdashery." Grover rapped his fingers on the table beside the stash of bribe money.

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

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

"Audrey Blake," 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 disgusting 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 diving on. Nice talking to you, Grover."

Although his heel was still reeking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the stash of bribe money. Grover stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly generous manner. Ignoring Grover's evil leer, he energetically slunk out of the room.

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