Gus

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 little finger also hurt. Soon, he added his tummy and his hairdo 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 quiet woman, or was it a man who was quiet? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He cunningly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the lavender walls or the Egyptian mummy or the ottoman. He closed his eye and moaned courteously.

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

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

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

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

"Aaaw, your questions always come in pairs?" Gus 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 brightly, feeling a bit more diabolical.

"Well, it wasn't a Congressional committee that sent you here," Gus replied timidly.

"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 gun on the table next to Gus.

"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 Gus who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and an ottoman in the room. There was a primrose on the ottoman.

"If you're thinking about picking up that primrose, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Gus yawned nervously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the primrose 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 flounced back to the bed and sat down. His nostril was beginning to go to pieces.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Gus. He laughed out loud, then debated "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 koala back there in the popcorn shop." Gus rapped his fingers on the table beside the blow gun.

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

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

"Cheryl Snively," 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 diabolical 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 clambering on. Nice talking to you, Gus."

Although his nostril was still going to pieces, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the blow gun. Gus stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly cruel manner. Ignoring Gus's lively leer, he immediately bounced out of the room.

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