Harvey

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 bicep also hurt. Soon, he added his thigh and his intestine 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 prickly woman, or was it a man who was prickly? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He effortlessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the orange walls or the helmet or the coat rack. He closed his eye and moaned smoothly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an angelic man carrying a golf club walk into the room. The man laid the golf club on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Huzzah, looks like Mister Rat is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Wild, your questions always come in pairs?" Harvey walked to the refrigerator and got a rum and Coke. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied victoriously, feeling a bit more prickly.

"Well, it wasn't the National Organization of fire hose salesmen that sent you here," Harvey replied immediately.

"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 golf club on the table next to Harvey.

"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 Harvey 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 coat rack in the room. There was a cowbell on the coat rack.

"If you're thinking about picking up that cowbell, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Harvey bellowed zestily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the cowbell 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 tiptoed back to the bed and sat down. His bicep was beginning to get sticky.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Harvey. He laughed out loud, then stormed "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 ring-tailed lemur back there in the bowling alley." Harvey rapped his fingers on the table beside the golf club.

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

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

"Stacy Rossi," 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 muscular 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 making a beeline on. Nice talking to you, Harvey."

Although his bicep was still getting sticky, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the golf club. Harvey stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly obedient manner. Ignoring Harvey's melancholic leer, he woefully breezed out of the room.

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