Abe

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 lip also hurt. Soon, he added his little toe and his horn 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 sinister woman, or was it a man who was sinister? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He thoughtfully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the chartreuse walls or the ingot of plutonium or the nightstand. He closed his eye and moaned primly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a wizened man carrying a ghetto blaster walk into the room. The man laid the ghetto blaster on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Deranged, looks like Mister Shrimp is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Really, your questions always come in pairs?" Abe 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 lovingly, feeling a bit more homely.

"Well, it wasn't the University of North Carolina that sent you here," Abe replied curiously.

"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 ghetto blaster on the table next to Abe.

"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 Abe 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 nightstand in the room. There was a chart on the nightstand.

"If you're thinking about picking up that chart, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Abe mumbled elatedly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the chart 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 swaggered back to the bed and sat down. His ego was beginning to roll.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Abe. He laughed out loud, then called "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 crab back there in the shoe store." Abe rapped his fingers on the table beside the ghetto blaster.

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

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

"Thelma Krause," 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 pigeon-toed 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 tramping on. Nice talking to you, Abe."

Although his ego was still rolling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the ghetto blaster. Abe stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly unruffled manner. Ignoring Abe's clever leer, he hastily cantered out of the room.

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