Studs

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 hairdo also hurt. Soon, he added his dignity and his wrist 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 sophisticated woman, or was it a man who was sophisticated? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He defiantly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the hot pink walls or the piece of chalk or the bunk bed. He closed his eye and moaned deliberately.

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

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

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

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

"Duh, your questions always come in pairs?" Studs walked to the refrigerator and got a can of Ensure. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied thoughtfully, feeling a bit more insane.

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

"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 dagger on the table next to Studs.

"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 Studs 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 bunk bed in the room. There was an ingot of plutonium on the bunk bed.

"If you're thinking about picking up that ingot of plutonium, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Studs cackled frantically.

He wasn't thinking about taking the ingot of plutonium 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 scurried back to the bed and sat down. His eyeball was beginning to tremble.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Studs. He laughed out loud, then disputed "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 an eel back there in the art gallery." Studs rapped his fingers on the table beside the dagger.

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

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

"Kaylee Onassis," 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 an intense 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 sidling on. Nice talking to you, Studs."

Although his eyeball was still trembling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the dagger. Studs stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly humble manner. Ignoring Studs's talkative leer, he perkily struggled out of the room.

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