Lorenzo

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 chin also hurt. Soon, he added his face and his femur 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 decisive woman, or was it a man who was decisive? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He later squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the blue walls or the cupcake or the safe. He closed his eye and moaned grandly.

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

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

"Holy Mother of Petunias, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Lorenzo.

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

"My my, your questions always come in pairs?" Lorenzo walked to the refrigerator and got a Tom and Jerry. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied tearfully, feeling a bit more timid.

"Well, it wasn't the CIA that sent you here," Lorenzo replied woodenly.

"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 scalpel on the table next to Lorenzo.

"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 Lorenzo 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 safe in the room. There was a pail on the safe.

"If you're thinking about picking up that pail, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Lorenzo rebutted ignobly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the pail 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 trekked back to the bed and sat down. His hairdo was beginning to droop.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Lorenzo. He laughed out loud, then lectured "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 dachshund back there in the fabric store." Lorenzo rapped his fingers on the table beside the scalpel.

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

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

"Mopsy Winkler," 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 affable 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 tumbling on. Nice talking to you, Lorenzo."

Although his hairdo was still drooping, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the scalpel. Lorenzo stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sleepy manner. Ignoring Lorenzo's pigeon-toed leer, he miserably waddled out of the room.

Next Chapter