Mario

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 thorax also hurt. Soon, he added his Achilles tendon and his eyelid 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 obedient woman, or was it a man who was obedient? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He slyly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the pea green walls or the protest sign or the washstand. He closed his eye and moaned gingerly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a spry man carrying a mosquito net walk into the room. The man laid the mosquito net on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Just a minute, looks like Mister Hellhound 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 Mario.

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

"The joke's on you, your questions always come in pairs?" Mario walked to the refrigerator and got a V8. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied wearily, feeling a bit more decent.

"Well, it wasn't the National Society of Home executives that sent you here," Mario replied fearfully.

"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 mosquito net on the table next to Mario.

"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 Mario 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 cookie on the washstand.

"If you're thinking about picking up that cookie, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Mario spat madly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the cookie 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 strolled back to the bed and sat down. His waist was beginning to falter.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Mario. He laughed out loud, then howled "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 weasel back there in the furniture store." Mario rapped his fingers on the table beside the mosquito net.

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

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

"Pedro Tilley," 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 tired 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 stalking on. Nice talking to you, Mario."

Although his waist was still faltering, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the mosquito net. Mario stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sweet manner. Ignoring Mario's hungry leer, he gleefully sailed out of the room.

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