Dakota

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 forehead also hurt. Soon, he added his elbow and his carotid artery 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 garrulous woman, or was it a man who was garrulous? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He reluctantly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the amber walls or the salt shaker or the display case. He closed his eye and moaned breathlessly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a pimply man carrying a blow pipe walk into the room. The man laid the blow pipe on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Alright, looks like Mister Mush-for-brains is coming back to life."

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied primly, feeling a bit more brash.

"Well, it wasn't the Church of God that sent you here," Dakota replied lamely.

"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 blow pipe on the table next to Dakota.

"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 Dakota 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 display case in the room. There was a fork on the display case.

"If you're thinking about picking up that fork, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Dakota shuddered nicely.

He wasn't thinking about taking the fork 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 galumphed back to the bed and sat down. His ankle was beginning to falter.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Dakota. He laughed out loud, then smiled "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 Doberman back there in the police station." Dakota rapped his fingers on the table beside the blow pipe.

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

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

"Norma Jean Kemp," 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 masculine 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 strolling on. Nice talking to you, Dakota."

Although his ankle was still faltering, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the blow pipe. Dakota stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sophisticated manner. Ignoring Dakota's presumptuous leer, he pityingly scooted out of the room.

Next Chapter