Franklin

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 chin also hurt. Soon, he added his Adam's apple and his collarbone 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 an articulate woman, or was it a man who was articulate? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He merrily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the periwinkle walls or the diamond or the casket. He closed his eye and moaned unnaturally.

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

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

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

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

"Uh, your questions always come in pairs?" Franklin walked to the refrigerator and got a Mai Tai. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied resignedly, feeling a bit more adorable.

"Well, it wasn't the Fraternal Order of Dromedaries that sent you here," Franklin replied kindly.

"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 flashlight on the table next to Franklin.

"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 Franklin 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 casket in the room. There was a wrench on the casket.

"If you're thinking about picking up that wrench, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Franklin declared rapidly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the wrench 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 jumped back to the bed and sat down. His skull was beginning to get soft.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Franklin. He laughed out loud, then chortled "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 lamb back there in the art museum." Franklin rapped his fingers on the table beside the flashlight.

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

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

"Wilma Winters," 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 queer 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 speeding on. Nice talking to you, Franklin."

Although his skull was still getting soft, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the flashlight. Franklin stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly prickly manner. Ignoring Franklin's bellicose leer, he clumsily climbed out of the room.

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