Broderick

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 kneecap also hurt. Soon, he added his beard and his calf 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 masculine woman, or was it a man who was masculine? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He languidly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the metallic red walls or the roll of toilet paper or the couch. He closed his eye and moaned boldly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a dark man carrying a scythe walk into the room. The man laid the scythe on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Mommy, looks like Mister Pervert is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Whoopee, your questions always come in pairs?" Broderick walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of wine. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied openly, feeling a bit more modest.

"Well, it wasn't the FBI that sent you here," Broderick replied irritably.

"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 scythe on the table next to Broderick.

"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 Broderick 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 couch in the room. There was a rope on the couch.

"If you're thinking about picking up that rope, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Broderick insisted energetically.

He wasn't thinking about taking the rope 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 leapt back to the bed and sat down. His ego was beginning to flip out.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Broderick. He laughed out loud, then snorted "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 pigeon back there in the burger joint." Broderick rapped his fingers on the table beside the scythe.

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

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

"Lauren Boudreaux," 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 idiotic 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 slithering on. Nice talking to you, Broderick."

Although his ego was still flipping out, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the scythe. Broderick stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly queer manner. Ignoring Broderick's ambitious leer, he bravely flounced out of the room.

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