Rip

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 tongue also hurt. Soon, he added his back and his face 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 desperate woman, or was it a man who was desperate? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He arrogantly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the green walls or the joint or the chair. He closed his eye and moaned gleefully.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a well-built man carrying a scythe walk into the room. The man laid the scythe on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Feh, looks like Mister Bandicoot is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Hello, your questions always come in pairs?" Rip 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 dubiously, feeling a bit more self-confident.

"Well, it wasn't the World Sisterhood of Vacuum cleaner salesmen that sent you here," Rip replied boisterously.

"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 scythe on the table next to Rip.

"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 Rip 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 chair in the room. There was a contract on the chair.

"If you're thinking about picking up that contract, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Rip agreed speedily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the contract 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 dignity was beginning to tighten up.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Rip. He laughed out loud, then squealed "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 snipe back there in the brewery." Rip rapped his fingers on the table beside the scythe.

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

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

"Marjorie Petrov," 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 athletic 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 lurching on. Nice talking to you, Rip."

Although his dignity was still tightening up, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the scythe. Rip stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly nervous manner. Ignoring Rip's humble leer, he strictly danced out of the room.

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