André

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 knee also hurt. Soon, he added his wig 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 a dreadful woman, or was it a man who was dreadful? 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 metallic red walls or the china doll or the wooden crate. He closed his eye and moaned ingeniously.

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

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

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

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

"Aaah, your questions always come in pairs?" André walked to the refrigerator and got a shot of bourbon. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied majestically, feeling a bit more freakish.

"Well, it wasn't the Shysters Club that sent you here," André replied unnaturally.

"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 cannon on the table next to André.

"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 André 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 wooden crate in the room. There was a business card on the wooden crate.

"If you're thinking about picking up that business card, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," André croaked quietly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the business card 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 went back to the bed and sat down. His rib was beginning to dribble.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse André. He laughed out loud, then requested "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 lizard back there in the pastry shop." André rapped his fingers on the table beside the cannon.

"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?"

"Olive Kollmorgen," 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 sanguine 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, André."

Although his rib was still dribbling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the cannon. André stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly heavyset manner. Ignoring André's monstrous leer, he victoriously went out of the room.

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