Mookie

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 esophagus also hurt. Soon, he added his mouth and his tongue 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 forgetful woman, or was it a man who was forgetful? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He truculently squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the scarlet walls or the notepad or the cushion. He closed his eye and moaned threateningly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an eye-catching man carrying a vial of poison walk into the room. The man laid the vial of poison on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "For Pete's sake, looks like Mister Clapperdudgeon is coming back to life."

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

"Uh-huh, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Mookie.

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

"Great balls of fire, your questions always come in pairs?" Mookie walked to the refrigerator and got a hot toddy. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied victoriously, feeling a bit more earnest.

"Well, it wasn't the International Brotherhood of Fashion designers that sent you here," Mookie replied cautiously.

"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 vial of poison on the table next to Mookie.

"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 Mookie 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 cushion in the room. There was a bird bath on the cushion.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bird bath, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Mookie hollered boisterously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bird bath 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 paraded back to the bed and sat down. His thumb was beginning to get soft.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Mookie. He laughed out loud, then chanted "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 monkey back there in the library." Mookie rapped his fingers on the table beside the vial of poison.

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

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

"Larry Bristol," 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 sexy 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 zipping on. Nice talking to you, Mookie."

Although his thumb was still getting soft, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the vial of poison. Mookie stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sincere manner. Ignoring Mookie's self-assured leer, he breathlessly crawled out of the room.

Next Chapter