Joe

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 collarbone also hurt. Soon, he added his pride and his abdomen 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 taciturn woman, or was it a man who was taciturn? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He rapidly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the pea green walls or the plaque or the chair. He closed his eye and moaned furiously.

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

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

"I think not, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Joe.

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

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

"What accident?" he replied victoriously, feeling a bit more obnoxious.

"Well, it wasn't the Arbor Day Foundation that sent you here," Joe replied firmly.

"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 Joe.

"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 Joe 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 chair in the room. There was a hair dryer on the chair.

"If you're thinking about picking up that hair dryer, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Joe accused craftily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the hair dryer 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 scurried back to the bed and sat down. His leg was beginning to feel better.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Joe. He laughed out loud, then brought up "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 jackal back there in the burger joint." Joe rapped his fingers on the table beside the scythe.

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

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

"Madison Swaanhof," 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 phlegmatic 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, Joe."

Although his leg was still feeling better, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the scythe. Joe stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly resolute manner. Ignoring Joe's lanky leer, he admiringly traipsed out of the room.

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