Wallace

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 larynx also hurt. Soon, he added his thumb and his knuckle 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 charming woman, or was it a man who was charming? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He primly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the brown walls or the Hostess Ding Dong or the hatstand. He closed his eye and moaned noisily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a lean man carrying a lead pipe walk into the room. The man laid the lead pipe on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Ouch, looks like Mister Prattling gabbler is coming back to life."

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

"Now we're talking, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Wallace.

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

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

"What accident?" he replied shakily, feeling a bit more conceited.

"Well, it wasn't Arizona State University that sent you here," Wallace replied positively.

"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 lead pipe on the table next to Wallace.

"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 Wallace 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 hatstand in the room. There was a dart on the hatstand.

"If you're thinking about picking up that dart, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Wallace squealed surreptitiously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the dart 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 walked back to the bed and sat down. His shoulder was beginning to get cold.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Wallace. He laughed out loud, then stated "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 cheetah back there in the shoe shine booth." Wallace rapped his fingers on the table beside the lead pipe.

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

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

"Caleb Castaneda," 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 lethargic 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 waddling on. Nice talking to you, Wallace."

Although his shoulder was still getting cold, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the lead pipe. Wallace stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly wicked manner. Ignoring Wallace's sarcastic leer, he languidly proceeded out of the room.

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