Wes

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 toupee also hurt. Soon, he added his toupee and his tummy 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 bouncy woman, or was it a man who was bouncy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He crossly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the jet black walls or the chamber pot or the windowsill. He closed his eye and moaned obediently.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an albino man carrying a torpedo walk into the room. The man laid the torpedo on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Holy frijole, looks like Mister Psycho is coming back to life."

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied speedily, feeling a bit more lazy.

"Well, it wasn't the NBA that sent you here," Wes replied courteously.

"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 torpedo on the table next to Wes.

"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 Wes 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 windowsill in the room. There was a bottle of perfume on the windowsill.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bottle of perfume, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Wes gabbed obediently.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bottle of perfume 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 bounded back to the bed and sat down. His eyelash was beginning to expand.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Wes. He laughed out loud, then spoke up "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 robot back there in the photography studio." Wes rapped his fingers on the table beside the torpedo.

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

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

"Chris Zing," 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 gallant 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 going on. Nice talking to you, Wes."

Although his eyelash was still expanding, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the torpedo. Wes stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sophisticated manner. Ignoring Wes's blubbery leer, he shyly bolted out of the room.

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