Lester

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 jaw and his shin 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 poised woman, or was it a man who was poised? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He crankily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the olive drab walls or the cookbook or the armoire. He closed his eye and moaned languidly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a demonic man carrying a can of pepper spray walk into the room. The man laid the can of pepper spray on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Zounds, looks like Mister Reptile is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Spiff, your questions always come in pairs?" Lester walked to the refrigerator and got a soda. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied crazily, feeling a bit more friendly.

"Well, it wasn't the National Rifle Association that sent you here," Lester 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 can of pepper spray on the table next to Lester.

"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 Lester who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and an armoire in the room. There was a piano on the armoire.

"If you're thinking about picking up that piano, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Lester questioned immediately.

He wasn't thinking about taking the piano 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 sped back to the bed and sat down. His appendix was beginning to kink.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Lester. He laughed out loud, then alleged "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 Dalmatian back there in the furniture store." Lester rapped his fingers on the table beside the can of pepper spray.

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

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

"Clara Sibley," 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 bizarre 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 flying on. Nice talking to you, Lester."

Although his appendix was still kinking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the can of pepper spray. Lester stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly cuddly manner. Ignoring Lester's gregarious leer, he courteously set out out of the room.

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