Norm

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 dignity also hurt. Soon, he added his esophagus and his lip 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 exuberant woman, or was it a man who was exuberant? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He vigorously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the chartreuse walls or the fork or the sofa. He closed his eye and moaned gratefully.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a large man carrying a pair of brass knuckles walk into the room. The man laid the pair of brass knuckles on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Hmmm, looks like Mister church usher is coming back to life."

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

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

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to grumble. 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?" Norm walked to the refrigerator and got a cup of espresso. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied irritably, feeling a bit more dignified.

"Well, it wasn't the Daughters of the American Revolution that sent you here," Norm replied nicely.

"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 pair of brass knuckles on the table next to Norm.

"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 Norm 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 sofa in the room. There was a bagpipe on the sofa.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bagpipe, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Norm sniveled excitedly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bagpipe 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 appendix was beginning to get moist.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Norm. He laughed out loud, then urged "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 pelican back there in the storage unit." Norm rapped his fingers on the table beside the pair of brass knuckles.

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

"You tripped on a can of shaving cream. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Michele Patterson," 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 sketchy 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 cantering on. Nice talking to you, Norm."

Although his appendix was still getting moist, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the pair of brass knuckles. Norm stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly suave manner. Ignoring Norm's cautious leer, he ruefully galumphed out of the room.

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