Fido

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 aorta also hurt. Soon, he added his big toe and his pituitary gland 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 an enraged woman, or was it a man who was enraged? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He oddly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the blue walls or the rock or the dresser. He closed his eye and moaned effortlessly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an eye-catching man carrying a supply of courage walk into the room. The man laid the supply of courage on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Uh, looks like Mister Birdbrain is coming back to life."

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied frantically, feeling a bit more lively.

"Well, it wasn't the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster that sent you here," Fido replied sourly.

"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 supply of courage on the table next to Fido.

"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 Fido 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 dresser in the room. There was a ping-pong paddle on the dresser.

"If you're thinking about picking up that ping-pong paddle, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Fido chimed blissfully.

He wasn't thinking about taking the ping-pong paddle 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 gut was beginning to sink.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Fido. He laughed out loud, then groaned "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 brine shrimp back there in the bookstore." Fido rapped his fingers on the table beside the supply of courage.

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

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

"Alberto Dixon," 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 menacing 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 scurrying on. Nice talking to you, Fido."

Although his gut was still sinking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the supply of courage. Fido stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly witty manner. Ignoring Fido's affable leer, he intensely waded out of the room.

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