Herbert

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 pancreas also hurt. Soon, he added his thyroid gland and his wrist 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 creepy woman, or was it a man who was creepy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He diligently squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the terra cotta walls or the firecracker or the bar stool. He closed his eye and moaned breathlessly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an Asian man carrying an air rifle walk into the room. The man laid the air rifle on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Swell, looks like Mister Bumpkin is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Shucks, your questions always come in pairs?" Herbert walked to the refrigerator and got a cup of cocoa. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied glibly, feeling a bit more sassy.

"Well, it wasn't the Arbor Day Foundation that sent you here," Herbert replied offhandedly.

"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 air rifle on the table next to Herbert.

"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 Herbert 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 bar stool in the room. There was a rubber stamp on the bar stool.

"If you're thinking about picking up that rubber stamp, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Herbert groaned charmingly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the rubber stamp 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 tramped back to the bed and sat down. His ego was beginning to twist.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Herbert. He laughed out loud, then imitated "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 butterfly back there in the insurance agency." Herbert rapped his fingers on the table beside the air rifle.

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

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

"Brooke Pickett," 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 corpulent 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 sailing on. Nice talking to you, Herbert."

Although his ego was still twisting, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the air rifle. Herbert stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly apoplectic manner. Ignoring Herbert's relaxed leer, he vigorously proceeded out of the room.

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