Devlin

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 wig also hurt. Soon, he added his eyebrow and his shin 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 beautiful woman, or was it a man who was beautiful? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He silently squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the tan walls or the egg shell or the coat rack. He closed his eye and moaned thoughtfully.

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

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

"Lord be praised, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Devlin.

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

"Drop dead, your questions always come in pairs?" Devlin walked to the refrigerator and got a Manhattan. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied reluctantly, feeling a bit more frumpy.

"Well, it wasn't the Impossible Missions Force that sent you here," Devlin replied steadily.

"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 pistol on the table next to Devlin.

"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 Devlin 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 flyswatter on the coat rack.

"If you're thinking about picking up that flyswatter, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Devlin screamed timidly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the flyswatter 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 sneaked back to the bed and sat down. His eye was beginning to hang.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Devlin. He laughed out loud, then rumored "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 Guinea pig back there in the barbershop." Devlin rapped his fingers on the table beside the pistol.

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

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

"Edward Gutierrez," 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 rapacious 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 bouncing on. Nice talking to you, Devlin."

Although his eye was still hanging, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the pistol. Devlin stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly enraged manner. Ignoring Devlin's calm leer, he silently flew out of the room.

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