Jimmy

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 calf also hurt. Soon, he added his claw and his horn 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 sweet woman, or was it a man who was sweet? 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 beige walls or the saw or the washstand. He closed his eye and moaned blindly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a feeble man carrying a branding iron walk into the room. The man laid the branding iron on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Great balls of fire, looks like Mister Hothead is coming back to life."

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

"Never mind, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Jimmy.

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

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

"What accident?" he replied breathlessly, feeling a bit more forgetful.

"Well, it wasn't the U.S. Congress that sent you here," Jimmy replied sheepishly.

"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 branding iron on the table next to Jimmy.

"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 Jimmy 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 washstand in the room. There was a bugle on the washstand.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bugle, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Jimmy growled surreptitiously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bugle 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 rolled back to the bed and sat down. His kneecap was beginning to line up.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Jimmy. He laughed out loud, then maintained "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 dingo back there in the movie theater." Jimmy rapped his fingers on the table beside the branding iron.

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

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

"Dax Hastings," 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 absent-minded 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 hobbling on. Nice talking to you, Jimmy."

Although his kneecap was still lining up, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the branding iron. Jimmy stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sleek manner. Ignoring Jimmy's affable leer, he anxiously dashed out of the room.

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