Zack

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 back also hurt. Soon, he added his Achilles tendon and his nostril 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 stern woman, or was it a man who was stern? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He pitifully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the crimson walls or the brochure or the couch. He closed his eye and moaned valiantly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an unkempt man carrying a pair of brass knuckles walk into the room. The man laid the pair of brass knuckles on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "How about that, looks like Mister Beast is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Holy moley, your questions always come in pairs?" Zack walked to the refrigerator and got a Seven and Seven. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied blindly, feeling a bit more brassy.

"Well, it wasn't the Elementary school teachers Club that sent you here," Zack replied hungrily.

"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 pair of brass knuckles on the table next to Zack.

"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 Zack 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 couch in the room. There was a clothespin on the couch.

"If you're thinking about picking up that clothespin, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Zack added temperamentally.

He wasn't thinking about taking the clothespin 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 loped back to the bed and sat down. His back was beginning to twirl.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Zack. He laughed out loud, then professed "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 burro back there in the bus station." Zack rapped his fingers on the table beside the pair of brass knuckles.

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

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

"Rocket Tinnerman," 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 lanky 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 flouncing on. Nice talking to you, Zack."

Although his back was still twirling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the pair of brass knuckles. Zack stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly young manner. Ignoring Zack's athletic leer, he accidentally traipsed out of the room.

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