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 throat also hurt. Soon, he added his pituitary gland and his paw 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 anemic woman, or was it a man who was anemic? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He surreptitiously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the blue walls or the fossil or the wardrobe. He closed his eye and moaned queerly.
Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a demonic man carrying a quick retort walk into the room. The man laid the quick retort on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Bless my hide, looks like Mister Twerp is coming back to life."
He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"
"Kaboom, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Billy.
That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to pass out. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"
"Hell's bells, your questions always come in pairs?" Billy walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of champagne. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"
"What accident?" he replied quickly, feeling a bit more sober.
"Well, it wasn't the Communist Party that sent you here," Billy replied charmingly.
"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 quick retort on the table next to Billy.
"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 Billy 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 wardrobe in the room. There was a tablet computer on the wardrobe.
"If you're thinking about picking up that tablet computer, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Billy taunted automatically.
He wasn't thinking about taking the tablet computer 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 tramped back to the bed and sat down. His appendix was beginning to turn red.
"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"
This seemed to genuinely amuse Billy. He laughed out loud, then taunted "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 polar bear back there in the gift shop." Billy rapped his fingers on the table beside the quick retort.
"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"
"You tripped on a blanket. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"
"JD Popper," 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 scurrying on. Nice talking to you, Billy."
Although his appendix was still turning red, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the quick retort. Billy stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly gargantuan manner. Ignoring Billy's cruel leer, he noisily sped out of the room.
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