Rodney

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 kneecap and his nose 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 garrulous woman, or was it a man who was garrulous? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He sagely squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the brown walls or the flyswatter or the hatstand. He closed his eye and moaned narrowly.

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

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

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

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

"Totally rad, your questions always come in pairs?" Rodney walked to the refrigerator and got a Scotch and soda. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied blindly, feeling a bit more drowsy.

"Well, it wasn't Friends of Dachshunds that sent you here," Rodney replied grandly.

"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 disinfectant on the table next to Rodney.

"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 Rodney 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 hatstand in the room. There was an antenna on the hatstand.

"If you're thinking about picking up that antenna, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Rodney belched miserably.

He wasn't thinking about taking the antenna 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 lurched back to the bed and sat down. His toenail was beginning to unwind.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Rodney. He laughed out loud, then orated "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 lemur back there in the bank." Rodney rapped his fingers on the table beside the disinfectant.

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

"You tripped on a can of shaving cream. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Alex Findley," 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 adorable 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 capering on. Nice talking to you, Rodney."

Although his toenail was still unwinding, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the disinfectant. Rodney stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly jolly manner. Ignoring Rodney's fiendish leer, he boisterously sneaked out of the room.

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