Sanjay

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 scalp also hurt. Soon, he added his thorax and his collarbone 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 an energetic woman, or was it a man who was energetic? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He narrowly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the navy blue walls or the iPad or the TV. He closed his eye and moaned testily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a lanky man carrying a scalpel walk into the room. The man laid the scalpel on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Pish posh, looks like Mister Flake is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Be still, my beating heart, your questions always come in pairs?" Sanjay 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 victoriously, feeling a bit more gargantuan.

"Well, it wasn't the Government of Bangladesh that sent you here," Sanjay replied cruelly.

"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 scalpel on the table next to Sanjay.

"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 Sanjay 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 TV in the room. There was a fishhook on the TV.

"If you're thinking about picking up that fishhook, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Sanjay gabbed steadily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the fishhook 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 tumbled back to the bed and sat down. His arm was beginning to dance.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Sanjay. He laughed out loud, then prattled "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 kitty back there in the malt shop." Sanjay rapped his fingers on the table beside the scalpel.

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

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

"Eubie Tang," 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 relaxed 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 striding on. Nice talking to you, Sanjay."

Although his arm was still dancing, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the scalpel. Sanjay stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly self-confident manner. Ignoring Sanjay's corpulent leer, he resignedly waltzed out of the room.

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