Fritz

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 carotid artery also hurt. Soon, he added his thyroid gland and his elbow 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 petulant woman, or was it a man who was petulant? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He hopelessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the scarlet walls or the candy cane or the cupboard. He closed his eye and moaned woodenly.

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

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

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

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

"Never mind, your questions always come in pairs?" Fritz walked to the refrigerator and got a gin sour. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied roughly, feeling a bit more corpulent.

"Well, it wasn't the Arbor Day Foundation that sent you here," Fritz replied uneasily.

"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 tomahawk on the table next to Fritz.

"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 Fritz 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 cupboard in the room. There was a key on the cupboard.

"If you're thinking about picking up that key, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Fritz preached warmly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the key 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 scampered back to the bed and sat down. His aorta was beginning to roll.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Fritz. He laughed out loud, then explained "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 mouse back there in the ice cream parlor." Fritz rapped his fingers on the table beside the tomahawk.

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

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

"Elliott Watts," 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 fashionable 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 sneaking on. Nice talking to you, Fritz."

Although his aorta was still rolling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the tomahawk. Fritz stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly mournful manner. Ignoring Fritz's angry leer, he despondently rolled out of the room.

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