Howard

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 femur also hurt. Soon, he added his femur and his thigh 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 queer woman, or was it a man who was queer? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He carelessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the olive green walls or the rubber chicken or the wardrobe. He closed his eye and moaned suspiciously.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a graceful man carrying a camera walk into the room. The man laid the camera on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Never, looks like Mister Kook is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Drop dead, your questions always come in pairs?" Howard walked to the refrigerator and got a Jack Daniel's. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied testily, feeling a bit more carefree.

"Well, it wasn't the Catholic Church that sent you here," Howard replied sorrowfully.

"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 camera on the table next to Howard.

"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 Howard 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 wardrobe in the room. There was a campaign sign on the wardrobe.

"If you're thinking about picking up that campaign sign, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Howard sniped gingerly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the campaign sign 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 neck was beginning to mold.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Howard. He laughed out loud, then implored "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 monkey back there in the liquor store." Howard rapped his fingers on the table beside the camera.

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

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

"Meghan Bransen," 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 dreadful 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 waltzing on. Nice talking to you, Howard."

Although his neck was still molding, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the camera. Howard stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly carefree manner. Ignoring Howard's wily leer, he immediately clambered out of the room.

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