Darin

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 stomach also hurt. Soon, he added his scalp and his hip 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 peculiar woman, or was it a man who was peculiar? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He jokingly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the crimson walls or the can of beer or the carpet. He closed his eye and moaned surreptitiously.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a bedraggled man carrying a bottle of Tabasco Sauce walk into the room. The man laid the bottle of Tabasco Sauce on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "How about that, looks like Mister Bum is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Bless my britches, your questions always come in pairs?" Darin walked to the refrigerator and got a shot of whiskey. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied lazily, feeling a bit more tactful.

"Well, it wasn't the U.S. Senate that sent you here," Darin replied temperamentally.

"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 bottle of Tabasco Sauce on the table next to Darin.

"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 Darin 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 carpet in the room. There was a hubcap on the carpet.

"If you're thinking about picking up that hubcap, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Darin mouthed grandly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the hubcap 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 stormed back to the bed and sat down. His midriff was beginning to shrivel.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Darin. He laughed out loud, then instructed "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 Chihuahua back there in the police station." Darin rapped his fingers on the table beside the bottle of Tabasco Sauce.

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

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

"Dylan Knopf," 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 monstrous 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 trotting on. Nice talking to you, Darin."

Although his midriff was still shriveling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the bottle of Tabasco Sauce. Darin stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly annoying manner. Ignoring Darin's modest leer, he hysterically slumped out of the room.

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