Waldo

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 lung also hurt. Soon, he added his kneecap and his thumb 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 fascinating woman, or was it a man who was fascinating? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He blankly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the metallic red walls or the doily or the cupboard. He closed his eye and moaned hysterically.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an emaciated man carrying a roll of duct tape walk into the room. The man laid the roll of duct tape on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Not so fast, looks like Mister Goose is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Ooh, your questions always come in pairs?" Waldo walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of apricot juice. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied fearlessly, feeling a bit more powerful.

"Well, it wasn't the Christian Temperance Union that sent you here," Waldo replied accidentally.

"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 roll of duct tape on the table next to Waldo.

"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 Waldo 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 cupboard in the room. There was a telephone on the cupboard.

"If you're thinking about picking up that telephone, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Waldo recited suspiciously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the telephone 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 swung back to the bed and sat down. His leg was beginning to feel funny.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Waldo. He laughed out loud, then mused "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 tapeworm back there in the police station." Waldo rapped his fingers on the table beside the roll of duct tape.

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

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

"Ken Schecter," 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 vacuous 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 running on. Nice talking to you, Waldo."

Although his leg was still feeling funny, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the roll of duct tape. Waldo stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly haughty manner. Ignoring Waldo's agitated leer, he ferociously rushed out of the room.

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