Siggy

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 shoulder also hurt. Soon, he added his arm and his shin 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 zany woman, or was it a man who was zany? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He reluctantly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the pink walls or the carrot or the ping-pong table. He closed his eye and moaned hungrily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a plump man carrying a piercing stare walk into the room. The man laid the piercing stare on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Is that a fact, looks like Mister Cream puff is coming back to life."

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

"How about that, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Siggy.

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

"Hold that thought, your questions always come in pairs?" Siggy walked to the refrigerator and got a Moscow mule. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied grudgingly, feeling a bit more beautiful.

"Well, it wasn't the Government of New Zealand that sent you here," Siggy replied impatiently.

"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 piercing stare on the table next to Siggy.

"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 Siggy 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 ping-pong table in the room. There was a pen on the ping-pong table.

"If you're thinking about picking up that pen, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Siggy exclaimed warily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the pen 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 dashed back to the bed and sat down. His skin was beginning to smell bad.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Siggy. 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 raven back there in the restaurant." Siggy rapped his fingers on the table beside the piercing stare.

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

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

"Beauford Hayashida," 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 brash 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 waddling on. Nice talking to you, Siggy."

Although his skin was still smelling bad, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the piercing stare. Siggy stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly intense manner. Ignoring Siggy's attractive leer, he daringly walked out of the room.

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