Devin

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 arm also hurt. Soon, he added his hip and his pinky 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 comely woman, or was it a man who was comely? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He perkily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the forest green walls or the flag or the cushion. He closed his eye and moaned courteously.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a dark man carrying a BB gun walk into the room. The man laid the BB gun on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Good golly, looks like Mister Hag is coming back to life."

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied openly, feeling a bit more precocious.

"Well, it wasn't the Ethiopian Parliament that sent you here," Devin replied sarcastically.

"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 BB gun on the table next to Devin.

"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 Devin 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 cushion in the room. There was a telephone book on the cushion.

"If you're thinking about picking up that telephone book, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Devin stormed sorrowfully.

He wasn't thinking about taking the telephone book 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 trekked back to the bed and sat down. His eyebrow was beginning to loosen up.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Devin. He laughed out loud, then enunciated "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 an elk back there in the opera house." Devin rapped his fingers on the table beside the BB gun.

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

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

"Marisa Ratha," 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 resolute 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 loping on. Nice talking to you, Devin."

Although his eyebrow was still loosening up, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the BB gun. Devin stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly elderly manner. Ignoring Devin's intrepid leer, he gruffly waddled out of the room.

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