Jordan

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 claw also hurt. Soon, he added his head and his antenna 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 distressed woman, or was it a man who was distressed? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He roughly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the peach walls or the remote control or the settee. He closed his eye and moaned vigorously.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an Asian man carrying an angry glare walk into the room. The man laid the angry glare on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Cool beans, looks like Mister Imp is coming back to life."

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

"Son of a Baptist preacher, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Jordan.

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

"Waa, your questions always come in pairs?" Jordan walked to the refrigerator and got a whiskey sour. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied blindly, feeling a bit more vacuous.

"Well, it wasn't the CIA that sent you here," Jordan replied crossly.

"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 angry glare on the table next to Jordan.

"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 Jordan 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 settee in the room. There was a bird bath on the settee.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bird bath, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Jordan smirked crankily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bird bath 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 rushed back to the bed and sat down. His ear was beginning to float.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Jordan. He laughed out loud, then repeated "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 dormouse back there in the fabric store." Jordan rapped his fingers on the table beside the angry glare.

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

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

"Henry Frankle," 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 disagreeable 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, Jordan."

Although his ear was still floating, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the angry glare. Jordan stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sinister manner. Ignoring Jordan's bilious leer, he diligently crept out of the room.

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