Justin

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 piehole also hurt. Soon, he added his head and his face 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 affable woman, or was it a man who was affable? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He humbly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the maroon walls or the dog collar or the china hutch. He closed his eye and moaned valiantly.

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

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

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

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

"Diddly poo, your questions always come in pairs?" Justin 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 impatiently, feeling a bit more sleek.

"Well, it wasn't the Fire Department that sent you here," Justin replied greedily.

"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 musket on the table next to Justin.

"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 Justin 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 china hutch in the room. There was a flash drive on the china hutch.

"If you're thinking about picking up that flash drive, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Justin pronounced demurely.

He wasn't thinking about taking the flash drive 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 waddled back to the bed and sat down. His dignity was beginning to twirl.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Justin. He laughed out loud, then moaned "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 brine shrimp back there in the malt shop." Justin rapped his fingers on the table beside the musket.

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

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

"Chuck Grady," 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 witty 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 waddling on. Nice talking to you, Justin."

Although his dignity was still twirling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the musket. Justin stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly witty manner. Ignoring Justin's cocky leer, he quickly flew out of the room.

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