Lucky

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 femur also hurt. Soon, he added his eyebrow and his lung 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 obedient woman, or was it a man who was obedient? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He timidly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the olive drab walls or the water bottle or the sofa. He closed his eye and moaned strictly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a handsome man carrying a can of Raid walk into the room. The man laid the can of Raid on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Puppy biscuits, looks like Mister Renegade is coming back to life."

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

"The joke's on me, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Lucky.

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

"Ugh, your questions always come in pairs?" Lucky walked to the refrigerator and got a root beer float. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

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

"Well, it wasn't the National Football League that sent you here," Lucky replied dubiously.

"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 can of Raid on the table next to Lucky.

"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 Lucky 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 sofa in the room. There was a ticket on the sofa.

"If you're thinking about picking up that ticket, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Lucky called quickly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the ticket 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 lurched back to the bed and sat down. His larynx was beginning to quake.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Lucky. He laughed out loud, then amended "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 travel agency." Lucky rapped his fingers on the table beside the can of Raid.

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

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

"Matt Mann," 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 earnest 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 marching on. Nice talking to you, Lucky."

Although his larynx was still quaking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the can of Raid. Lucky stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly dark manner. Ignoring Lucky's precocious leer, he miserably swung out of the room.

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