Craig

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 belly also hurt. Soon, he added his leg and his hoof 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 lazy woman, or was it a man who was lazy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He valiantly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the amber walls or the baseball bat or the bed. He closed his eye and moaned warily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a tiny man carrying a shoe walk into the room. The man laid the shoe on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Never mind, looks like Mister Dorf is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Hell's bells, your questions always come in pairs?" Craig walked to the refrigerator and got a Long Island iced tea. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied positively, feeling a bit more annoying.

"Well, it wasn't the International Guild of Bootleggers that sent you here," Craig replied sweetly.

"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 shoe on the table next to Craig.

"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 Craig 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 bed in the room. There was a basket on the bed.

"If you're thinking about picking up that basket, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Craig begged zestily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the basket 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 strode back to the bed and sat down. His claw was beginning to feel funny.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Craig. He laughed out loud, then provoked "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 wombat back there in the jewelry store." Craig rapped his fingers on the table beside the shoe.

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

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

"Reginald Zilch," 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 cheerful 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 darting on. Nice talking to you, Craig."

Although his claw was still feeling funny, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the shoe. Craig stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly refined manner. Ignoring Craig's solitary leer, he doubtfully clambered out of the room.

Next Chapter